Light My Fire. G.A. Aiken

      She walked out of her cell and into the hallway, not one of the guards attempting to stop her. Celyn had the feeling she’d had free rein in this place since he’d left her here.

      In fact—he glanced into her cell—someone had decorated her room so that it was warm and friendly. Almost inviting. There was even a tapestry tacked to the wall. A tapestry! In a jail cell!

      What the hell had been going on here? Had she bewitched all these weak-minded human males? His sister was right—nothing was easier to manipulate than human males. They were bloody pathetic!

      “What do you want, useless dragon?” the woman demanded. “Why do you come here after all this time?”

      “My queen has requested your presence, Rider.”

      “To execute me?”

      “No.”

      “Why not?”

      Perhaps Celyn had drunk so much the night before, he’d lost his mind. It had been known to happen. Especially to the uninitiated who’d taken a few sips of his grandfather’s ale.

      But when he looked at his sister, her eyes were wide and her hand was over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud—and he didn’t think he was imagining that part.

      “Could we just go please?” he asked the woman. Nearly begged.

      “So you can continue my shame?”

      Deciding not to engage this crazy female one second longer, Celyn simply stretched out his arm and pointed toward the exit.

      “Wait,” one of the guards said, a catch in his voice. “You’re leaving us?”

      “I must go, comrade,” the Outerplains female explained sadly. “I have been ordered to leave by this cruel, worthless dragon.”

      “I let you live, didn’t I?”

      “I do not speak to you!” she growled back at him.

      “Will we ever see you again?” another guard asked.

      And at that point Brannie walked off, unable to take a second more of this.

      “If not in this life, comrade, then in the next.”

      “No,” Celyn said, grabbing the back of the woman’s shirt. “I won’t listen to another word.” He began walking, dragging her with him. “I refuse to. I absolutely refuse.”

      The dragon rudely pulled Elina out of her home for the last eight months and into the bright sunlight of the town square.

      The sunlight didn’t actually bother her. She’d been allowed to come and go as she’d pleased since being tossed into the jail. She’d soon become friendly with the townspeople, earning a little money at the local stables.

      “Where are you taking me? To the gallows?” she asked.

      “You need to stop talking that way. I’ve never met anyone so ready to die,” the dragon complained.

      “I am always ready to die. At any time.”

      He stopped. “Why?”

      “Why what?”

      A female who had dark hair and eyes like the fool before her stepped in. “I’ll let them know you’re bringing her.” Then she ran off laughing.

      The dragon gave a short snarl before facing Elina. “Why do you want to die?”

      “I have no desire to die.”

      “Then why do you seem so ready for it?”

      “To die with honor. If you cannot avoid death, then you must die with honor. Do you not plan to die with honor, dragon?”

      “No,” he said plainly, dark eyes staring at her. “I plan to fight death all the way, dragging those trying to kill me along for the ride.”

      “I would agree with you, dragon . . . except I am guilty of trying to kill your queen.”

      “But you didn’t do a very good job. Perhaps if you were better at it, I’d feel more inclined to take your head myself. But at this point, it would feel like stepping on a squirrel. Annoying. Sad. And a little messy.”

      Elina assumed that to a dragon she must seem like a small animal, but still . . . she didn’t appreciate being called one.

      Pulling her arm away, Elina glanced around the town and nodded east. “Isn’t there a gallows that way?” she asked, walking off in that direction.

      The dragon cut in front of her and, after a very long sigh, he leaned down and lifted Elina up, placing her on his shoulder.

      As he stalked away from the gallows, he muttered something under his breath, but Elina couldn’t quite make it out.

      Strong, cool fingers pressed against his temples, making soft circles before slipping into his hair.

      Éibhear the Contemptible relaxed into his mate, enjoying how Izzy’s chain mail pressed against his back while she stood there rubbing his head.

      They were all waiting. Still in the war room, everyone quietly chatted amongst themselves.

      “You know,” Izzy said softly, her words for him alone, “you no longer have to be so bitchy to your cousin.”

      “I didn’t say a word to him.”

      “You don’t realize, but your silence speaks volumes. You don’t think Celyn notices that? And when you do deign to say something to him, you’re definitely bitchy.”

      Éibhear smirked. “I wouldn’t call it bitchy. I just call it terse and unpleasant.”

      “It’s been years, Éibhear. Years. It’s time to let it go.”

      “We buried our issues ages ago.”

      “But you still do not speak to one another.”

      “Not true. When he sees me, he says, ‘Hello.’ And I always reply, ‘Cousin.’”

      Izzy returned to his lap, her arms slipping around his neck. “I want you two to be friends again.”

      “Izzy . . . we were never that close. He, like everyone else in the family, always thought I was an idiot.”

      “What makes you think that?”

      “Because they said . . . ‘Éibhear . . . you’re an idiot.’”

      “I don’t see how you can be so close to Brannie but so cold to her brother.”

      “Brannie and I are close because of you. And she stopped calling me idiot after I threw her into that jungle pit with the hungry crocodile.”

      Izzy laughed, but stopped abruptly when the war room door opened and Brannie walked in. “Celyn will be here in a minute,” she announced to the room before rushing over to Izzy’s side and pulling up a chair next to her.

      She sat and stared at Izzy, her lips a thin line because she clearly had something to tell her.

      “What?” Izzy whispered.

      “You have to experience it for yourself, cousin.”

      “Tell me,” she ordered, leaning forward and wiggling her bum around on Éibhear’s lap . . . something that he greatly enjoyed. “I must know, you cow!”

      Éibhear often had to remind himself that in battle these two were an unbelievable team, bringing blood, death, and pain to all who challenged them. But when not in battle . . . they were absolutely ridiculous.

      The door opened again, this time kicked in by a stern-faced Celyn. He stalked into the room with a pert-assed bundle tossed over his shoulder.

      Without a word, he lifted the woman off and placed her on the floor in front of the big wooden table with