G.A. Aiken Dragon Bundle: The Dragon Who Loved Me, What a Dragon Should Know, Last Dragon Standing & How to Drive a Dragon Crazy by G. A. Aiken
Authors: G. A. Aiken
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the length of it reaching past the tent flaps and—
“Owwwwww! Gods-dammit, female! ”
With a thought, Rhona retracted her weapon. A few seconds later, the Lightning stumbled into the tent, blood flowing from his shoulder, lightning sparking from his body.
“I told ya!” he bellowed “What happened to your spear was an accident!”
They shoved Vigholf into a chair and the two Fire Breathers leaned down to get a better look at his wound. Without much effort, he could see the resemblance between father and daughter. Although Rhona was much prettier.
“He’ll live,” the male said, appearing quite disinterested in Vigholf’s wound.
“Why is it when I come to this bloody kingdom by invitation, I’m nearly killed?”
“Luck?” Rhona asked.
Along with Ragnar and Meinhard, Vigholf had escorted Keita and Éibhear to the Southlands five years ago just before the war with the Irons began. He’d had his first introduction to the infamous Annwyl the Bloody when she’d charged him and Meinhard. Then, while they tried to keep the crazed monarch at bay, she’d gone for Vigholf’s head—and took his hair instead. When it happened, it had been humiliating. A shame he was sure he’d never recover from. But as Vigholf got to know Annwyl better, he quickly realized that he was lucky to have kept his head at all.
Rhona’s father leaned in to take a closer look at the wound. “I can fix this.” He reached for him, and Vigholf couldn’t help but scramble out of the chair that held him.
“No offense if I’d rather not be tended to by a blacksmith.”
“Don’t be such a baby,” Rhona chastised. “Me da’s good with a needle and thread.”
“Your da can keep his needle and thread to himself, thanks.”
Rhona folded her arms over her chest. “So what are you going to do? Wander around all evening bleeding like a stuck cow until you pass out and die and we’re forced to quickly burn your remains so the stink of your corpse won’t bother the children?”
“Your concern for my well-being overwhelms me, Sergeant.”
“You shouldn’t have been following me, Commander .”
“Who said I was?”
“Common sense?”
“I don’t know who that is,” he muttered, turning away and looking over the blacksmith’s work area.
“If you’re not going to let my father tend your wounds, at least see the healers by the lake. They’ll help you.”
“No need.” Vigholf, pulling off his chain-mail shirt, walked over to the forge and picked up a poker that still sat in the burning coals.
“Wait—” Rhona cried out as he pressed the poker to his open wound, sealing it closed. It hurt, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Once he knew he’d stopped the bleeding, Vigholf pulled the poker away, ignoring the bits of skin that went with it, and tossed it back into the forge. When he faced father and daughter, he found them gawking at him. Rhona’s mouth was open, but her father was grinning, even laughing a little.
“You are a mad bastard,” she whispered.
“What? It’s done, isn’t it?” He pulled his shirt back on. “Now—” Vigholf began until that familiar scent caught his attention, and he moved quickly toward the tent opening, ignoring the way Rhona scrabbled out of his way as if he was some dangerous animal.
Such an odd female.
Rhona watched the crazed male walk out of her father’s forge and she couldn’t help but follow, curious to see what had caught his relentless attention. She was taken by surprise, though, when she saw the Lightning put his arms around an older She-dragon in human form.
“Mum,” she heard him whisper.
“My dear, sweet son,” the female whispered back. “Oh, how I’ve missed you so.”
All right. That surprised Rhona. Not that the Lightning had a mother, but that he’d treat her so . . . tenderly.
Rhona’s father tapped her shoulder and she stepped back into the tent.
“You want to tell me what’s going on? Why are you really here?” her father asked,
“Owwwwww! Gods-dammit, female! ”
With a thought, Rhona retracted her weapon. A few seconds later, the Lightning stumbled into the tent, blood flowing from his shoulder, lightning sparking from his body.
“I told ya!” he bellowed “What happened to your spear was an accident!”
They shoved Vigholf into a chair and the two Fire Breathers leaned down to get a better look at his wound. Without much effort, he could see the resemblance between father and daughter. Although Rhona was much prettier.
“He’ll live,” the male said, appearing quite disinterested in Vigholf’s wound.
“Why is it when I come to this bloody kingdom by invitation, I’m nearly killed?”
“Luck?” Rhona asked.
Along with Ragnar and Meinhard, Vigholf had escorted Keita and Éibhear to the Southlands five years ago just before the war with the Irons began. He’d had his first introduction to the infamous Annwyl the Bloody when she’d charged him and Meinhard. Then, while they tried to keep the crazed monarch at bay, she’d gone for Vigholf’s head—and took his hair instead. When it happened, it had been humiliating. A shame he was sure he’d never recover from. But as Vigholf got to know Annwyl better, he quickly realized that he was lucky to have kept his head at all.
Rhona’s father leaned in to take a closer look at the wound. “I can fix this.” He reached for him, and Vigholf couldn’t help but scramble out of the chair that held him.
“No offense if I’d rather not be tended to by a blacksmith.”
“Don’t be such a baby,” Rhona chastised. “Me da’s good with a needle and thread.”
“Your da can keep his needle and thread to himself, thanks.”
Rhona folded her arms over her chest. “So what are you going to do? Wander around all evening bleeding like a stuck cow until you pass out and die and we’re forced to quickly burn your remains so the stink of your corpse won’t bother the children?”
“Your concern for my well-being overwhelms me, Sergeant.”
“You shouldn’t have been following me, Commander .”
“Who said I was?”
“Common sense?”
“I don’t know who that is,” he muttered, turning away and looking over the blacksmith’s work area.
“If you’re not going to let my father tend your wounds, at least see the healers by the lake. They’ll help you.”
“No need.” Vigholf, pulling off his chain-mail shirt, walked over to the forge and picked up a poker that still sat in the burning coals.
“Wait—” Rhona cried out as he pressed the poker to his open wound, sealing it closed. It hurt, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Once he knew he’d stopped the bleeding, Vigholf pulled the poker away, ignoring the bits of skin that went with it, and tossed it back into the forge. When he faced father and daughter, he found them gawking at him. Rhona’s mouth was open, but her father was grinning, even laughing a little.
“You are a mad bastard,” she whispered.
“What? It’s done, isn’t it?” He pulled his shirt back on. “Now—” Vigholf began until that familiar scent caught his attention, and he moved quickly toward the tent opening, ignoring the way Rhona scrabbled out of his way as if he was some dangerous animal.
Such an odd female.
Rhona watched the crazed male walk out of her father’s forge and she couldn’t help but follow, curious to see what had caught his relentless attention. She was taken by surprise, though, when she saw the Lightning put his arms around an older She-dragon in human form.
“Mum,” she heard him whisper.
“My dear, sweet son,” the female whispered back. “Oh, how I’ve missed you so.”
All right. That surprised Rhona. Not that the Lightning had a mother, but that he’d treat her so . . . tenderly.
Rhona’s father tapped her shoulder and she stepped back into the tent.
“You want to tell me what’s going on? Why are you really here?” her father asked,
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