The Dragon Who Loved Me Read Free Page A

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 Delen the Blue into Rhona’s arms and said, “You’re not too busy to take care of your new sister, are you?” Then Bradana went to war—for nearly four years.
    Rhona had been mostly responsible for raising her siblings ever since.
    “Mum.”
    “Heard you ran into a spot of trouble.”
    “Aye, but nothing we couldn’t handle. Had the triplets with me.”
    “They’re growing into right little brawlers, my girls, eh?”
    Rhona cringed at the description because she didn’t raise brawlers. She raised warriors. Yet her mother saw it as a compliment, so Rhona didn’t argue