“Shut up!” She cleared her throat, looked down at the ground. Vigholf knew what she was trying to do. Get control. She was Rhona the Fearless after all. The perfect soldier. Or so she believed. In her female mind, soldiers didn’t lose control, they didn’t get angry, they didn’t shout unless it was to relay an order. And all of that was true—in battle. But Rhona was like that all the time.
To be honest, he was enjoying seeing her lose control for once. Even if it was just a little bit.
Wanting to see her pissy for a few seconds longer, Vigholf helpfully added, “I’ll have another adorable little spear made just for you.”
Brown eyes locked on him. “And you can take that spear and shove it up your—”
“Rhona!” all three triplets cried out, their green eyes wide, their attempts not to laugh weak.
Snarling, black smoke snaking from her nostrils, Rhona the Fearless stalked off.
“Bring those bodies back for the commanders,” she ordered over her shoulder.
“You’re very adorable when you’re angry,” he told her.
“Shut up!”
“She’s going to kill you while you sleep,” one of her sisters—Edana, maybe?—warned once Rhona was out of earshot. “Daddy made her that spear.”
“We’re relatively sure she slept with it,” another said.
“And you went and broke it. While getting between her and a kill and taunting her.” Another observed. “It’s like you wish for an early death.”
“I was really trying to help. You lot shouldn’t be—”
“If you say as females we shouldn’t be out here—”
“—we’ll cut off your legs while you sleep—”
“—and let the forest animals have ’em for dinner.”
One of them patted his chest—Nesta? Gods, who knew—“We like you, Lord Abhorrent. Don’t make us regret that.”
And having been curious about the answer for the last five years, Vigholf asked, “Rhona likes me too, yeah?”
“Gods, no!” one said, laughing, dragging two of the bodies away by their back claws.
“And if I were you, I’d stay away from her until she gets over the loss of that spear,” said another. Vigholf honestly couldn’t tell the three She-dragons apart. “Otherwise, she just might take those pretty grey eyes.”
“I’m a Northlander,” he reminded them. “I don’t have pretty eyes.”
The triplets laughed.
“At least you have them, Lightning. Keep getting between me sister and her glory in battle and you won’t for long.”
Vigholf grinned, watching the three females drag six of the bodies away.
“You better get her a new spear,” a low voice muttered behind him.
Vigholf glanced over at his cousin Meinhard. “Why?”
“Because I don’t feel like leading you into battle because you’re missing your eyes.”
“She wouldn’t hurt me. She’s too nice.”
Meinhard studied the bodies the female had left behind. “I think, cousin, that she’d cut your throat, then go have ale with her kin and not give you another thought.”
“The Babysitter?” It was his nickname for Rhona the Fearless, who seemed to make it her lot in life to watch out for anyone under the age of one hundred and fifty.
“Babysitter to those she cares about.” Meinhard grabbed hold of several bodies by their tails. “But a cold-blooded soldier to those she doesn’t. And the gods know, Vigholf, that female doesn’t care about you.”
“Wrong. Right now she hates me. That is a form of caring, which could easily, with some skill, turn to love and eventually adoration.”
Shaking his head, Meinhard headed off. “My mum was right. You are thick as two planks.”
“Your mum loved me, too.”
“Only ’cause she felt sorry for you.”
“See?” Vigholf laughed. “With some skill, comes the love and adoration!”
Chapter 2
For five long years the war had raged on. For five long years, Rhona had been dealing with the Lightnings on a daily basis. But not as the enemy she was raised to loathe. Instead they were now the allies of her kind. Strange how everything could change so. Rhona’s mother and her aunts and uncles had made their names and reputations by decimating the Lightnings in battle. Her royal cousins, the Dragon Queen’s three eldest sons, Fearghus, Briec, and Gwenvael, had also faced the Northlanders in war, earning them respect beyond their royal titles. So Rhona had always assumed that one day she’d go talon-to-talon against the Lightnings just as her kin had before her.
Instead, Rhona was forced to endure their presence as allies. Forced to forget how Lightnings used to kidnap Southland She-dragons and force them into being their mates. The more difficult ones losing a wing to keep them trapped in the harsh lands of a foreign country with males they loathed. Yet, as the Northlanders were quick to remind anyone who mentioned their past, that had been a long time ago. Now that the older, more heartless Horde leaders had died off, the new regime didn’t allow this practice anymore. They were a new, kinder Horde that still couldn’t manage to believe a female could protect herself during battle.
And, honestly, on days like today, tolerating the Northlanders’ new and kinder image was nigh-on impossible. Then again, maybe Rhona’s problems weren’t with tolerating the Northlanders as a whole but tolerating one of them. Vigholf the Abhorrent or, as she liked to call him, Commander Pest.
Yet by the time Rhona had made it deep into their mountain stronghold and she knew she was officially off duty for the rest of the day, she pushed all thoughts of annoying, closed-minded Northlanders from her mind and decided she desperately needed a bath. She’d found a lovely little lake with a waterfall deep inside the mountain. Only a few of them knew about it and they kept it secret from all the others.
Yet Rhona found that her plans rarely if ever played out exactly as she saw them because something—or someone—always got in her way.
“Oy, Rhona.”
Rhona stopped, her body tensing at the sound of that voice, rough-hewn thanks to a knife to the throat a few centuries back, and faced one of the commanding officers. “General, sir!”
“Can’t you just call me Mum?”
Gods. When her mother said, “Can’t you just call me Mum?” it was a warning to Rhona. As bright and clear as a battle cry from a mountaintop. The first time Bradana the Mutilator had asked Rhona to call her Mum she’d shoved a freshly hatched
