Everlasting Bad Boys. Cynthia Eden

the discovery of some bald spots did nothing but make him want to return the favor to the little royal.

      Deniela pinched Ailean’s arm lightly and it took all his strength not to scream out in agony. “You stay away from her, Ailean the Blue. Look at her. Poor wee thing.”

      “Oh, come on! She attacked me, you know?”

      “Aye,” Briaga agreed. “Threw that ax at you to protect her innocence.”

      “That is not what happened, and that’s not what I’m talking about. Just today she attacked me. Pulled hair from my head.”

      “Why do you lie to me?” Deniela laughed. “We both know I’m smarter than you. That wee thing would never attack you, so stop making up stories. Don’t you feel bad for her?”

      “No!”

      “Ailean! I expected more from you.” She leaned in closer and whispered louder, “Look at her face. That deformity.”

      “What?” Ailean looked at Shalin. “What are you talking about?”

      “Those horrible things on her face.”

      “Oh, no, no,” Briaga explained, incorrectly, “that’s just mud. She needs a bath.”

      “It’s neither. It’s freckles.”

      “Then I was right. Deformity.”

      “And you know,” Briaga whispered, “she’s probably a virgin. And you, Ailean the Slag, are not the dragon for virgins.”

      “What does that mean?” And was Shalin a virgin? Ailean shuddered a bit. He didn’t entertain virgins. Much too much responsibility for his liking.

      “She must be. How else would she get such a name?”

      “Especially living at court,” Deniela muttered, pulling more dried beef out of the little carry bag she kept tied to her sword belt. “All the fucking that goes on there.”

      “So you just keep your claws and your cock to yourself, Ailean the Whore,” Briaga warned him, “or I’ll be pulling your father out of his cave to deal with you and he’ll be none too happy.”

      He definitely wouldn’t be happy. For other dragons—a normally unsocial group—to call Ailean’s father Afton the Hermit said a lot. Still, it was better than his earlier name. Afton the Murderer. But there had been a reason for that. A very good reason.

      “Fine. I’ll stay away from her.” At least while she was at his home, under his protection, since that could easily be misunderstood. And how hard could it be? Once this had all been straightened out and Shalin went back to her school and Kyffin, he could finish what had been started that night in the royal archives. “But you two hags leave me be.”

      He covered his head with his arms as soon as he said the words, laughing while both his aunts slammed fists into his head. He didn’t appreciate the kidney shot from Deniela, though.

      Sneaking away had been a lot easier than Shalin thought it would be. No sneaking really involved; she simply stood up and walked out. So engrossed in their own disturbing conversations, none of the others even noticed her leaving.

      Thank the gods.

      She really didn’t know how much more she could take. Her first thirty winters it had been only her, her father, and mother. Thirty winters of reading, quiet contemplation, and soft-spoken discussion on any topic from politics to religion. Her parents had taught her how to think, how to reason. They’d taught her how to survive without lifting a weapon. Good thing, since she was as hopeless with a weapon as Ailean was with a book. That thrown battle ax being nothing more than a lucky shot.

      But the Cadwaladr Clan didn’t really have quiet contemplation or soft-spoken discussions. There was nothing soft or quiet about these dragons.

      Now, all Shalin wanted was some time to herself. Blissful silence. But would she ever find it?

      “Need some help, m’lady?”

      Shalin looked at the sturdy woman before her. One of Ailean’s servants but, Shalin had quickly noticed, none of them looked downtrodden. She’d never seen servants who seemed happy and comfortable with their lot in life. Simply going about their day without misery.

      “Yes…uh…”

      “Madenn, m’lady.”

      “Shalin. Just Shalin.”

      “As you wish.”

      “I know this may be a tall order, but is there anywhere that I can…some place I can…”

      “Get some quiet?”

      Shalin almost dropped from gratitude that the woman so immediately understood her. “Yes.”

      “Just the place.” She held one finger up and quickly went into the kitchens—with a clan this large, Shalin wasn’t surprised Ailean needed more than one. When Madenn returned, she had a basket of warm scones, a chalice, and a wine-filled pitcher. “This way.”

      Madenn silently led Shalin down a winding path of hallways. The castle was enormous and Shalin wondered how Ailean could afford it. The Cadwaladr Clan was not born of wealth or title and had no inherited riches the way most of the royals and nobles did. Anything they had, they stole from humans. But Shalin couldn’t imagine Ailean attacking some unsuspecting caravan.

      “Here you are, luv,” Madenn said while she pushed a door open with her foot. She’d gotten comfortable quickly and Shalin didn’t mind. “Will this do you?”

      Shalin sighed in absolute pleasure as she stepped into the well-lit and dust-covered library. “Aye. Very much.”

      “Thought it might. Ailean’s kin—well, they’re not much for reading, are they?”

      Grinning, Shalin said, “So they won’t be down here, is your point?”

      “Luv, I don’t think they know the castle has one, much less where this room is. You should be fine here for quite a bit. Especially when they make battle plans. They can do that sort of thing for hours.”

      Madenn placed the scones and drink on a long wooden table. “I don’t have any cooked meat for you yet, but I’m guessing the scones will hold you for a while.”

      Slowly walking down one row of shelves, looking at each title, Shalin said, “You know what I am. What we all are.”

      “Aye. I do. We all do.”

      “But you’ve never told.”

      “We never have, we never will. But it’s a long story and not one I’m much in the way of telling at the moment. Besides, it’s more Ailean’s story to tell than my own. I wasn’t there, ya see.”

      Shalin grabbed a book she’d never read and pulled it off the shelf. “I understand.”

      Madenn walked toward the door, but before she left, she added, “We protect Ailean and his kin as he’s protected us and ours. Our loyalty is deeper than any you’ll find and well-earned.”

      Sensing some kind of warning, Shalin turned to look at Madenn, but she’d already walked out the door, silently closing it behind her.

      The chant for food started when the suns set. It turned to cat-calls and loud screaming until the servants began bringing out the platters of hot food and placing them on the tables.

      “Where’s Shalin?” Ailean asked Arranz, who only stared at him. Blankly.

      “You lost her?”

      “We didn’t lose her. She’s around somewhere. We’ll look after we eat.” Of course Arranz said that around a mouthful of food.

      Afraid she might have gone off to handle all this on her own, Ailean searched the castle for her.

      He went to her room first but found