Page 82 of The Dragon Warlord

“Thank you, Alpha.” Tristan’s thumb rubs over his bite on my neck. I think Tristan wants to be punished for that and maybe more. He mostly only argues a punishment on principle. It’s part of who he is.

A loudclicksounds across the canyon and I’m glad they keep the old ice dragon asleep while they remove that barbaric collar. Pulling it from his neck is ghastly as it rips from the flesh, taking half-dead scales with it. Each embedded spike has to be removed carefully and one at a time so they can patch up the gaping wounds as they go.

“Careful. Careful with my drag—you’re doing it wrong. Here, let me,” Father says, rushing up the dragon, scales chipping off in his wake.

Tristan stares after him, glaring. Is he jealous? “It’s okay, Warlord. You’ll always be Father’s favorite omega.”

“Why on Earth would I want that? I hope he takes another omega. With two, his attention can be elsewhere for a change. Can you believe he did this?”

I smile. “Yes.”

Ikara meanders closer to us. The forgiveness she wants is plain. “How mad are you with me, Warlord?”

“Pretty mad.”

“But you bonded deeper with River. You saved the ice dragon. Built your confidence. You know that you’re super bad arse now.”

“What was in it for you?” he asks, not letting her off so easily.

“I wanted every last one of those beasts dead. I wanted them to pay for what their kin did to my mother.”

We never discovered why one showed up one random day to kill her mother. She looked for an answer for years. It’s so very like Ikara to say “fuck it” and have them destroyed instead of hunting for an answer for all of eternity.

“And is revenge best served cold?” he asks her.

“No. It’s best served as hot as sticky dragon’s fire. Thank you, Warlord.”

“I suppose you had to do it anyway—you can’t exactly refuse your father—so it’s probably better you got something out of it,” he reasons out loud.

“I don’t blame you for what happened to my mother, but you blame yourself,” she says. “If it helps, consider this us squaring up and let it go, Warlord. I won’t deny my own agenda, but I did want to play this role in training you—actions, like words, can have more than one meaning,” she reminds him. “You have many more challenges ahead of you. I want you to be ready for them.”

“All right then, we’re even, but endanger my omega like that again and I’ll execute you myself.”

I’m in danger every time I set foot on a battlefield. Tristan knows this, but he considers that my choice. Within that, we take calculated risks. This was far beyond his comfort level of calculated risks. He doesn’t like that I was thrust into this without my consent.

For me, it doesn’t matter. I was going to be there by his side anyway. Where he goes, I go.

“Understood, Warlord.” And that is the language of dragons. She smiles. “Soooo, what’s it like being able to talk amongst yourselves?”

Handy, I say to the Warlord.

He laughs.

“Hey. No, doing that in front of me or I’m telling, Father,” she complains and then winks.

She races off to watch the rest of the proceedings, leaving us semi-alone. We’re still touching. We haven’t stopped touching.

“All right, I’m just alittlejealous. What does that mean, Riv? I don’t get jealous, except over you, and my hate for him isn’t fabricated.”

“Perhaps you do see him as a mentor. You did something magnanimous and got a basic ‘good job’ while he’s cooing openly over the new guy.”

A low growl rumbles in his chest as Father pets the ice dragon and coos at him. “It feels instinctual. The bond must play a factor.”

“The bond plays a factor.”

Tristan thinks on that and then a devilish smile cracks across his face. “C’mon. It’s clear we’ve been forgotten. Let’s go home.”

“He’s going to murder you.”