Then she remembered he didn’t take any notice of her at all, apart from if he wanted a spell cast or someone’s future read. She was a slave to the great Dòmhnall, Dragon Lord of Spellholm. When she should have been his woman, his mate and his equal. Her mood worsened.
“Why are you here, Dòmhnall? A wart that needs removing, a spell to make your scales shine brighter in the sun, or have you just come to vex me?” She began to put her books away, knowing she would need to get outside into the forest and walk off her bad mood or she might find herself making a poison to add to his dinner. Nothing fatal, but perhaps one that would make him flatulent. That would be a fine thing for a dragon lord, uncontrollable wind.
“I have been summoned by the dryads,” he announced.
Trying not to let him see her interest, she kept her back to him and asked, “And what does that have to do with me? What do you want, a spell to put you in a good mood while you visit them? I can tell you, if I knew how to do that, I would use it every day.”
He sighed. “Can you drop this verbal abuse for one day?”
She blushed, feeling like a chastised child. It was her way of dealing with the situation, dealing with him. If she made herself believe he was a miserable, commanding oaf, then she wouldn’t feel so bad about him not wanting her.
“I suppose I will survive one day, as long as you don’t expect me to be nice to you.”
“I do not believe you know how to be nice. Especially not to me.” He walked into the room, coming closer, making her whole body sing, her flesh sensitive to his close proximity, her hairs standing on end to catch the electrical current he seemed to emit.
“I could be. But what fun is that?” she asked, running her finger along the edge of the desk, her mind blocking out her earlier fantasy as her senses went into overdrive. “Oh, I forgot, the great Dòmhnall, Dragon Lord of Spellholm, doesn’t know what fun is.”
“Tara, I do not have time to rise to your comments, so I will come straight to the point.” He sounded a little nervous, which piqued her interest; nothing fazed Dòmhnall.
She turned to face him, her haughty expression that of the most powerful witch in Spellholm, which she was, in her opinion anyway. “Tell me.”
“They have asked for us both.”
“Us both?” She raised her eyebrow; no one except for the other dragons and their mates knew that they were a bonded pair. To most other people and creatures in Spellholm, she was simply an abrasive woman whom they avoided at all costs.
“Yes, will you accompany me?” he asked. Dòmhnall never asked, he commanded. What was so special about the dryads?
“I have plans,” she said lightly.
“Tara, the dryads keep themselves away from everyone else. For them to ask to see us must mean there is a problem I am unaware of.”
“And the mighty Dragon Lord should be aware of every problem in Spellholm.” She sounded sarcastic, as she often did around Dòmhnall.
“I wish to build a relationship with the dryads, if for no other reason than they hear things through the trees that the rest of us are never even aware of. They range from the very edges of Spellholm to the very centre, a place of very powerful magic.”
Tara knew what he was trying to do. Tempt her with power: he knew she craved all the knowledge she could get her hands on. Tara wanted to be the most powerful witch in Spellholm, a thing she knew Dòmhnall wanted and feared in equal measures.
At present he could control her, especially if he went all dragon, her magic was no match for him. But one day she would gain the knowledge she needed to at least be his match. Then she would most definitely be the most suitable mate for him, and he would have to accept her. Or risk losing her—she was tired of being taken for granted.
Sadly, that was her main reason for accumulating the knowledge. Not for herself or for the power she would have over other people, but because he
“Why are you here, Dòmhnall? A wart that needs removing, a spell to make your scales shine brighter in the sun, or have you just come to vex me?” She began to put her books away, knowing she would need to get outside into the forest and walk off her bad mood or she might find herself making a poison to add to his dinner. Nothing fatal, but perhaps one that would make him flatulent. That would be a fine thing for a dragon lord, uncontrollable wind.
“I have been summoned by the dryads,” he announced.
Trying not to let him see her interest, she kept her back to him and asked, “And what does that have to do with me? What do you want, a spell to put you in a good mood while you visit them? I can tell you, if I knew how to do that, I would use it every day.”
He sighed. “Can you drop this verbal abuse for one day?”
She blushed, feeling like a chastised child. It was her way of dealing with the situation, dealing with him. If she made herself believe he was a miserable, commanding oaf, then she wouldn’t feel so bad about him not wanting her.
“I suppose I will survive one day, as long as you don’t expect me to be nice to you.”
“I do not believe you know how to be nice. Especially not to me.” He walked into the room, coming closer, making her whole body sing, her flesh sensitive to his close proximity, her hairs standing on end to catch the electrical current he seemed to emit.
“I could be. But what fun is that?” she asked, running her finger along the edge of the desk, her mind blocking out her earlier fantasy as her senses went into overdrive. “Oh, I forgot, the great Dòmhnall, Dragon Lord of Spellholm, doesn’t know what fun is.”
“Tara, I do not have time to rise to your comments, so I will come straight to the point.” He sounded a little nervous, which piqued her interest; nothing fazed Dòmhnall.
She turned to face him, her haughty expression that of the most powerful witch in Spellholm, which she was, in her opinion anyway. “Tell me.”
“They have asked for us both.”
“Us both?” She raised her eyebrow; no one except for the other dragons and their mates knew that they were a bonded pair. To most other people and creatures in Spellholm, she was simply an abrasive woman whom they avoided at all costs.
“Yes, will you accompany me?” he asked. Dòmhnall never asked, he commanded. What was so special about the dryads?
“I have plans,” she said lightly.
“Tara, the dryads keep themselves away from everyone else. For them to ask to see us must mean there is a problem I am unaware of.”
“And the mighty Dragon Lord should be aware of every problem in Spellholm.” She sounded sarcastic, as she often did around Dòmhnall.
“I wish to build a relationship with the dryads, if for no other reason than they hear things through the trees that the rest of us are never even aware of. They range from the very edges of Spellholm to the very centre, a place of very powerful magic.”
Tara knew what he was trying to do. Tempt her with power: he knew she craved all the knowledge she could get her hands on. Tara wanted to be the most powerful witch in Spellholm, a thing she knew Dòmhnall wanted and feared in equal measures.
At present he could control her, especially if he went all dragon, her magic was no match for him. But one day she would gain the knowledge she needed to at least be his match. Then she would most definitely be the most suitable mate for him, and he would have to accept her. Or risk losing her—she was tired of being taken for granted.
Sadly, that was her main reason for accumulating the knowledge. Not for herself or for the power she would have over other people, but because he
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