“I know this looks bad,” he began, but Dagmar walked into the room and over to the blonde. She leaned down and began whispering in her ear. He tried to hear her, but his damn human ears could be so useless sometimes!
The blonde went from being disturbed that a strange woman was so close to her and right into horrified. The problem was she was staring at Gwenvael in horror. Then she gasped, disgusted, and got off the bed. She picked up her clothes and ran out the door, easing past Gwenvael, as if afraid to touch him. He watched her tear off down the hall before walking into his room and closing the door.
“You going to tell me what you said?”
“No,” Dagmar replied, diving back on the bed. “I’m not.” Then she laughed, which he didn’t like the sound of one bit since it was much more like a cackle.
“You know, I don’t need you damaging my reputation.”
“Yes, because there’s such pride in being Gwenvael the Defiler.”
“It’s Ruiner! And that’s only in the north. And those slappers had their own reputations long before I arrived. But here in the Dark Plains, I am Gwenvael the Handsome. Gwenvael the Loved. Gwenvael the Adored.”
“Gwenvael the Whore.”
“In some parts of Dark Plains, yes. Just remember, you’re representing me now.”
That made her cackle harder. “Oh, am I?”
“Yes. You are.” He stepped farther into the room. “Which is why I brought you up here. We need to talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.” She reached down and pulled the skirt of her gown up, raised her knees, and let her legs fall open. “All right, you. Get that mouth to work and it’d better not be for talking.”
“Although I do find that strangely arousing, that’s not why we’re here.”
She dropped her dress and sighed. “All right, what is it?”
He stared down at her and announced, “I’ve decided to give you the gift of making you my own by Claiming you as my mate. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Dagmar pushed herself up, her palms flat on the bed. “Is that the best way you could come up with to ask me?”
“I didn’t ask you.”
“Yes. That’s the problem.”
“Why?”
“Is it too much to expect to be asked that sort of thing?”
“I’m a dragon. We don’t ask; we take.”
“You mean to tell me that Fearghus didn’t ask Annwyl?”
“The rumor is he tied her to the bed.”
“Talaith?”
“She woke up and boom, she’d been Claimed. And that’s not a rumor; that’s what she told me.”
Dagmar narrowed her gaze then snapped her fingers. “Queen Rhiannon.”
“Chains.”
“No! Really?”
“Really. See? I’m the nice one. I’m trying to do it the polite way. Announcing it before tying you down.” When she only stared at him, he snapped, “And why wouldn’t you want to be my mate? We’re perfect together.”
“And we just found some nak*d woman on your bed, waiting for you.”
“That was not my fault. Probably a gift from Fal.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” She got off the bed, her hand scratching at her chest.
“That rash is getting worse.”
“I know it’s getting worse. I don’t need you to tell me it’s getting worse.”
“Why are you snapping at me? I didn’t give you a rash.”
Still scratching, she began to pace. “I know you don’t understand, but there are several reasons we should end this now.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. Why was she fighting this? Fighting what was so obvious to anyone with eyes? Did he need to get the woman new spectacles?
“Which are?” he tried not to snarl.
“One”—she held up her forefinger—“my father is expecting me home.”
“You’re right. And you were having such a good time there, too.”
“It had its moments. Two,” she didn’t bother to raise another finger. “I have a good sixty or seventy years left, barring disease or an unpleasant fall down a flight of stairs. And I’d prefer my husband age with me.”
“I’ll talk to my mother about it.”
“Your mother? What can she do?”
“Do we really need to argue about this now?”
“Fine. Three”—and still only that one finger—“I don’t share.”
“I never asked you to.”
“You don’t have to.” She motioned to the bed with a wave of her hand. “They’re laid out for you. Like treats.”
“And that’s my fault?”
“Yes. It is. Two hundred years of being a whore does not go away magically. And my life is simply too short to sit around being depressed over you. Or any man.”
“Dragon.”
“What?”
“I’m a dragon. I’m not a man.”
“It doesn’t matter. Once that c*ck grows between your legs, it doesn’t matter what you are; it’s all over. And if you think I’ll be like my pathetic sisters-in-law, living and dying by a man’s cock, you’re sadly mistaken!”
She had no idea when she’d gotten so angry, but she was now. Livid, in fact. She hadn’t been livid when she’d found that pathetic woman sitting on Gwenvael’s bed, waiting for a male to show up and use her as a receptacle for his seed. Yet now Dagmar was blindingly livid and had no idea why.
But if she was going to be livid, she was going to enjoy it.
“So forgive me, Lord Gwenvael, if my idea of a happy life doesn’t involve sitting around waiting for you. Hoping and praying that you’re not off doing what seems to come so naturally to you.” She walked up to him, pointed her finger in his face. “I have things to do, I’ll have you know. I won’t be waiting around for you or anyone. And what I sure as hell won’t accept is someone else waiting for you in my stead!”
He wrapped his hand around her fist and yanked up, forcing her onto her toes. Her forefinger was still extended and he slid his tongue around the tip. The way he did that, the rough with the gentle, drove her mad some days … and most nights.
“Is that what you think I really want? You spread out and waiting for me? No other thought in your head other than how you can please me?”
“That’s what every man wants.”
“Then every man can find that. I want more.” He took her entire finger into his mouth and sucked it, his tongue still playing with the tip, his eyes studying her closely.
She watched him, her stomach twisting into knots, her knees weakening. “You always want more,” she told him, panting a little.
He nodded while leisurely drawing her finger from his mouth. “You’re right. And so do you. Do you really think you’ll be satisfied going back to the life you had? After all this? Pretending to be the good daughter while performing the role of a battle lord in secret?” His voice dropped lower, the huskiness making her n**ples ache for his mouth. “Finding a husband and pretending to be a good wife, while at night you dream of me. Cream for me. Long for me. Your hands not nearly able to do what my mouth can.”
“Is that all you’re offering me, Defiler? Your skills in bed?”
“No.” He turned her hand over and stroked his fingers across her palm and up her forearm. Even with her gown covering her skin, she still felt him as if she were completely nak*d. “I’m offering a partnership.”
“A partnership?” she asked, making sure to sound bored. “You mean as in business?”
He sniffed in disdain, his hand still stroking her forearm but now moving up to her shoulder, her neck. “Don’t insult me. Business bores me and as dragon I simply take what I want. There are caravans of gold, supplies, and jewels just waiting for me. They’re no better than the blond who just ran out of here and equally as satisfying. I have my sights on much bigger prizes than that.”
“And you need me for that, do you?”
“For a good game, the right partner is paramount. I can only imagine what we can do together, Beast, both our families underestimating our skills. The world our playpen.”
“And if I get bored with the game?” Since after two hundred years she felt confident he wouldn’t.
“That won’t happen. You’re addicted to it as I am. You love the challenge. Your brain turns with the possibilities the idiots of the world offer us. As I’ve been waiting for you, you’ve been waiting for me. And we both know it.”
“You’re awfully confident.”
“So are you. And there’s no shame with confidence. It’s conceit and stupidity that get you killed.”
“But if I don’t love you—”
“Don’t lie to me, Dagmar.” Now both his hands were stroking her shoulders, her neck. She frowned as the rash she still had on her neck began to itch a little worse and wondered if it was rude to ask him to scratch it for her.
“Lie to anyone else if you wish. Lie to them, play with them, tell them what they want to hear. But not with me. Never with me. Never again.”
She pushed his hands off. “Why?” She stepped away from him. “Because you’re so bloody special?”
He followed her, kept pace with her as he always did. “See? You understand completely. Now, don’t fight me. Be a good Beast and come here.”
She lifted her skirt and crawled up onto the bed, moving away from him as he placed his hands on the bedding. “Oh, no. Northland women lie down for no one.”
“Then you best get into practice.”
Gwenvael stepped back off the bed and Dagmar frowned. “Now what are you doing?
“Just thinking …”
“Are you in great physical pain, or is that your thinking expression?”
Gods, she was so mean—he adored that.
“I’ll need to improvise a bit,” he went on.
“Improvise? For what? And why are you locking the door?”
“Privacy. My kin don’t understand those simple boundaries.” He walked toward one side of the room, keeping his eye on her as he did. She moved back on the bed, watching his every move. He found linen bedsheets in the closet and quickly tore them into strips.
“What are you doing?”
“You should take your spectacles off.”
“Why?”
“A simple suggestion.” He dumped the strips on the bed, quickly counting them. Stepping back, he examined the bed “How are we going to do this without bedposts?”
Dagmar stared at him. “What are you talking about?”
He snapped his fingers. “I know.” Gwenvael quickly tied the strips end to end. As he did, he explained, “I realize I should prove my love to you. For humans, that usually means killing someone or something, but dragons do that all the time, so it’s simply not that special to us.”
“Which means?”
“Which means giving you a proper Claiming.”