Rhiannon chewed on her food. She found herself enjoying these cooked meats almost as much as the raw stuff she normally ate.
Except . . . she did miss the screaming. Although not the sobbing.
After swallowing, Rhiannon said, “I was just discussing this with your daughters. I’ve had many teachers, mistress. And all of them said I was quite the sad failure.”
Ghleanna swirled her wine-filled goblet while one foot rested up on the chair, the hand holding the goblet braced against it. “I’ve thought about this a bit since we spoke, Princess. And I think they lied to you.”
Rhiannon’s eyes looked up at the female sitting across from her. Ghleanna did not waste time wearing dresses or any other human feminine trappings. She wore black breeches, black shirt, and high black boots. She kept her thick hair short, which Rhiannon had never seen before on a dragon.
“Why do you say that?”
“You’re a white dragon. The power you have was born within you. Like the barbarian Kyvwich witches from the north or the Nolwenn witches from the Desert lands. Your power flows through your veins and nothing your mother does can take that away for good.”
Rhiannon swallowed another bit of beef. “Then why are my skills so lacking? Why can I do so little?”
“It took me a bit but I think I finally figured it out. When you trained you were always dragon, weren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“So they would have never seen it because of your scales.”
“Seen what?”
Ghleanna motioned to Rhiannon’s shoulder with a gesture, bare where the dress dipped down. “That brand you wear.”
Glancing down at it, Rhiannon shrugged. “Aye. All my siblings bear this mark. To be honest, I forgot it was there.”
“Well, it’s that mark that keeps you from your true strength, princess. And I’d bet my treasure your mother knew it when she had it placed on you.”
Frowning, Rhiannon looked down at the mark on her shoulder.
Bercelak should have paid more attention to the females’ ongoing conversation. Instead, he sent threatening looks to his two youngest brothers and several of his oldest when they leered at Rhiannon.
Then his baby sister gasped in shock and he turned in time to see his female take her eating knife to the small brand she had on her shoulder.
“Rhiannon!” But it was too late. She’d already shoved the point into the flesh around the brand and dug under it, flicking out a chunk of skin and muscle.
His kin burst into surprise gasps and comments as he pushed himself away from the table and went immediately to her side.
She stared down at the wound gushing blood. “I feel nothing.”
Crouching down beside her, Bercelak took a cloth from off the table and placed it over the wound. “Nothing? You feel no pain?”
“Oh. I feel pain. Lots of pain. But nothing else.”
He worked hard to understand her words, but failed miserably. “What are you talking about?”
She grabbed hold of the cloth and stood up. Holding it against her arm, she walked away from the table, his entire family watching her.
“Nothing’s changed.” She turned and faced them. “Are you sure about that brand?”
“It was a guess,” Ghleanna answered, her eyes wide with shock.
“A guess? That would have been nice to know before I cut it out of my arm.”
“Well, you mad cow, how were any of us to know you were going to do that?”
“What did you expect me to do? You tell me . . .” Rhiannon abruptly stopped talking.
Bercelak stood up as her blue eyes locked onto his.
“Gods, Bercelak. It hurts. It hurts,” she whispered. Then her arms flung out and her body lifted off the floor.
“Rhiannon!” He moved toward her, but two of his sisters grabbed hold of him. “Let me go!”
“No, brother. Leave her be,” Ghleanna ordered against his ear. “You can’t help her.”
Bercelak watched as the Magick of his kind tore through Rhiannon’s body, looping around her limbs, cutting through her chest and stomach, pouring off her like rain water.
“Do something!” he roared, unwilling to watch her writhe in pain. “We can’t leave her like this.”
“Naught we can do, but wait until the gods are done with her,” Maelona whispered.
As soon as Maelona said the words, Rhiannon’s body slowly rose up toward the ceiling. In fascinated silence, he and his family watched her rise and rise.
Then . . . she dropped. As if one of the gods slammed her with his mighty claws. But the force behind it was so great, Rhiannon’s body slammed through the floor of the Great Hall, disappearing from their sight.
“Gods!”
“The dungeon! She’s gone to the dungeon!”
“We have a dungeon?”
Bercelak’s father led the way into the rarely used lower floors of the castle. Cobwebs hung everywhere and they could hear the noises of small, frightened animals scurrying through the dank place. They found her right where she’d landed.
Bercelak ran to her side. “Rhiannon?” Ghleanna and Maelona crouched next to her.
Leaning over Rhiannon’s body, Maelona let out a deep sigh. “She breathes.”
Angry and unable to take it out on anyone else, Bercelak pushed Ghleanna’s shoulder. “Why did you have to tell her that?”
Growling, Ghleanna pushed him back. “How was I supposed to know she’d do something that bloody stupid?”
“Stop it.”
They both looked down to find Rhiannon’s eyes open and staring at them. “Stop fighting.”
“Rhiannon, are you all right?”
She blinked. “My head hurts a bit.” She licked her lips and Bercelak hated himself for wanting to kiss her again as opposed to taking care of her. “And every part of my body’s on fire.”
“Not surprising,” Ghleanna offered. “When that much Magick goes through you, Princess, you can expect a large bit of pain.”
Rhiannon turned those blue eyes to Bercelak’s sister. “That, too, would have been wonderful to know before I did this!” she ended on a healthy yell.
With a shake of his head, Bercelak carefully slipped his arms under Rhiannon’s neck and knees, lifting her off the floor as he stood. “Let’s get you back upstairs, Princess.”
“I’m still hungry, Low Born,” she muttered.
But before he could promise her food, she was snoring.
Rhiannon yawned and stretched. She felt amazing. Alive with power. She could hear things . . . sense things she’d never been able to before. She could actually see tendrils of Magick swirling around her.
She watched one small pink one twirl and twirl and twirl. She turned over, her eyes following it until she realized Bercelak lay next to her in the bed. Awake, his head propped up on one arm, he watched her with warmth, which did nothing but cause her the highest level of anxiety.
Then she realized that, except for the thin animal skin covering them, they were both quite nak*d. As dragon, this would mean nothing. But in human form. . . .
“Ow!” he snapped as her fist made contact with his hard chest.
“Why are we in bed together? What have you done?” She went to punch him again but he grabbed both her wrists, pushing her onto her back.
“Stop hitting me!”
“Get off me!”
“Not until you calm down!”
Very hard to calm down, though, when Bercelak’s warm, heavy body lay directly on top of hers. Part of her would like nothing more than to open her legs to him. All that Magick running through her system had done nothing but increase her overwhelming desire to have this dragon f**k her . . . hard, long, and with absolutely no mercy.
Aye. That’s what she wanted.
Good gods! What have I done to myself?
“Calm down, Rhiannon, and I’ll let you go.”
He spoke calmly, soothingly. Like he were trying to coax a yummy mare over to him before taking her off to be a snack.
Rhiannon had no choice but to comply. As human she was still so weak compared to him.
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself through sheer will of effort to relax. It worked, but instead of releasing her, Bercelak stared at her face. Specifically her mouth.
“Bercelak?”
“Mhmm?”
“Let me go.”
“Are you sure?” And he looked at her with such desperate longing she smiled.
“Aye. I’m sure.”
With a groaned sigh of resignation, he released her wrists and rolled onto his back. Still, she had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing at the sight of his erection creating a nice tent with the bedding.
“You’re too cruel to me,” he groaned.
“Why? Because I won’t let you have your vile way with me?”
“Yes. That’s exactly why.”
He sounded so wounded, it forced Rhiannon’s smile into a brutal grin. “Poor thing. How you’ve suffered so.”
“Don’t mock me, wench.” His arm slipped around her waist and pulled her over so she rested against his chest. “You seem to enjoy teasing me and I was so worried about you.”
He was worried about her? “Really?”
“Aye, Rhiannon. I feared I lost you. Especially when you went through the floor . . . it’s marble, you know. Thick, unyielding marble.”
She blinked. “Oh. I . . . I guess the gods protected me.”
“I guess.” He paused a moment, then said, “Can you shift back now?”
She reached inside herself but after a few moments, she knew. “No. I can’t.”
“Perhaps soon, though.”
“Perhaps.” Or, perhaps she’d be trapped like this forever. Stuck in this weak body until her ancestors called her home. But one look at her human body and they’d most likely send her away in disgust.
“Don’t worry, Rhiannon. I promise we’ll fix this. Soon you’ll learn to manage the Magick that flows through you, and then nothing will stop you.”
“You seem so sure.”
“’Cause I am sure. Now,” he kissed her forehead, then her cheek as he moved down her body, “let’s no longer talk.”
She pushed against his chest, but even she had to admit it was a very halfhearted effort. But what could she do? Especially with him nibbling under her chin and his hands roaming over her body.
“Bercelak,” she panted, “stop.”
He chuckled seconds before his mouth closed over one hard nipple and sucked. His “rules” came rushing back to her and she realized he wouldn’t stop. If she wanted him to stop, she’d have to say “no.”
She said, “Don’t.”
A deep groan reverberated through her breast from his mouth while one of his big hands slid up the back of her leg, settling between her thighs. One of Bercelak’s large fingers slid inside her and Rhiannon heard herself whimper. Gods, the beast had her whimpering like some weak human.
Still, it felt so damn good. His fingers making her body go wild. His tongue and lips teasing her n**ples.
Rhiannon wanted release. Preferably now. But she would never ask. So, instead, she said, “Bercelak . . . we mustn’t.”