Page 2 of Dragon Lord

“I ate them. Aye.” Not Draknart’s favorite meal for certain. He always forgot a piece of armor, or a hidden dagger strapped to the thigh, and then he’d have indigestion for a sennight.

Einin flashed a fierce scowl. “You conscienceless bastard.”

“They did come to kill me.” Not that Draknart had to explain himself to breakfast.

“And the virgins?” she challenged, chin up, before once again scanning the pile of garbage that littered the corner of the cave, mixed with dirt and decomposing leaves. And when she swiftly found an old broadsword, she didn’t bother to hide the flash of triumph in her eyes.

“I swived them, then ate them,” Draknart told her. The memories were sweet.

Einin paled, but her chin stayed up, her newfound blade in the air, even if her slender arms struggled with the weight. “They could have done you no harm.”

“I couldn’t send them back to the village after I swived them.

They were ruined for mortal men. I did them a mercy.

” He was good that way. Never did cause unnecessary suffering, unless to a well-deserving enemy.

Otherwise, his kills were clean and instant.

He didn’t pull off limbs one at a time and consider the flailing of his victims entertainment, as some of his kind did.

Yet instead of approval, a flash of red flooded Einin’s soft cheeks, and she did scream then, for the first time, just before she charged. Not a scream of fear, like Draknart was used to from maidens, but a battle cry.

He feinted to the left, then rolled his great dragon body to the right.

Blood rushed through his veins at a speed it hadn’t in a long time.

Only when Einin nicked the tip of his snout did he knock the sword from her hand with a talon.

Not that being disarmed held her back. She bit the tip of his wing.

Which happened to be another sensitive spot.

Shite.

He rolled onto his back, planning to use the momentum to roll over her, but she was fast and on his belly the next moment, climbing up and up.

Aah. Och now. That felt nice.

He stilled. He very nearly sighed.

She skidded to the spot where he’d pointed out his heart earlier and dropped to one knee as if readying to slay him. She didn’t seem to realize that she was unarmed.

Except, of course, she wasn’t. From out of nowhere, the wee lass produced a kitchen knife and plunged the little weapon hard between the dragon’s scales. Only luck saved Draknart, for the blade was too short, the vixen unable to do him real harm.

He wrapped her in his leathery black wings and brought her close to his snout once again, baring his curved fangs.

The sparks were back in her fine amber eyes, defiance blazing from their depths. Her fiery hair had escaped her braid during the fight and now floated around her slim face in a cloud of red silk. Her shapely breasts heaved right in front of Draknart’s face.

He righted himself without letting her go and regarded her as he gave matters some thought. “You do realize, Einin, that even if you could kill me, rivers would still flood, war would still come?”

She held his gaze without flinching. “The village is cursed because of the great devil that lives in the hills.”

Draknart had heard that sentiment, or versions of it, enough times. “Says the village priest?”

Yet no village priest had ever been brave enough to confront the great devil himself. Draknart had his opinion of the lot. “Rain brings floods. Greed brings wars.”

The look of certainty on her face faltered. Her expressive eyes betrayed that she had considered the matter on her own before. Of course, she had. She was a smart wee lass.

Draknart set her down. “You don’t believe the curse.”

She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “What I believe matters not when the whole village listens to the traveling priest.”

Draknart raised an eyebrow. “What happened to the old village priest?”

“Died of cholera.”

The news pleased him to no end. “Full of shit, died of the shits. Seems fitting.”

Einin glared. Then she gave a soft sigh. “The village has lost too much. Darkness is strangling people’s hearts. They need hope. The traveling priest is right about that.”

“So because men are weak willed, I should die?”

Her slim shoulders sagged. She looked away.

He disliked seeing her bright spirit flagging. He watched her for a moment, then another and another, puzzled that one of her kind could captivate him so much. His wily dragon mind twisted and turned.

He nudged her with his snout. “What if I was wounded?”

Her gaze snapped to his, hope blooming in her amber eyes. She was just as arresting with her face softened as she’d been when fiercely charging into battle.

Draknart handed her knife back, his blood on the blade, then raked through the dry leaves that covered the ground. He tossed aside a couple of old bones, and rummaged until he found the talon he’d torn out when he’d enlarged the cave a century ago.

“You tell them you fought the dragon and injured him. Let them celebrate.”

Happy people worked harder. They took risks and tried new ways, which more often than not led to success.

In no time, the village would thrive again, and they would leave him alone for another couple of decades.

Although, if the old gods saw fit to favor Draknart, his firm preference was for the next plague to take the whole village.

Einin of Downwood reached for the talon he held out for her.

“You would allow me to leave?” Her voice wavered with disbelief.

Her slim fingers brushed against the tip of Draknart’s extended wing, sending warmth skittering over his leathery skin.

A raven called outside.

The bird’s sharp cry brought Draknart back to sanity.

He could not let Einin go. Sooner or later, she would tell someone the truth, then her people would think the dragon had grown old and feeble. Or worse, soft and fond of people.

Next he knew, they’d be asking him to help with bringing in the harvest and raising barns. The villagers would be up at the cave with one request or another, not leaving Draknart a moment of peace. He shuddered at the thought.

He was dreaded. He was the ancient dragon, the great devil in the hills. He consumed his enemies. He did not return a sacrifice.

And yet…

He looked the wee maiden in the eyes. “In exchange for the talon, you must swear to return to me, of your own will, in a fortnight. Are you, Einin of Downwood, willing to pay the dragon’s price?”