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A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead.
“My name is Tairneanach, son of Murtcuideam and Fiaclanfuil, descended from the cunning Dubhmadinn line.”
“They’re a mated pair, Tairn and Sgaeyl. The strongest bonded pair in centuries.”
“I’ve wanted you from the first second I saw you, Violence,”
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” His voice lowers. “If not, I’m a fool, because you are magnificently beautiful.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“But I’m going to keep you all the same.”
I’m not going to survive this. I’m going to die right here in this bed. “Then I’m going to die with you,” he promises, kissing me.
