hands over the blade to enhance its strength. Silently, I added detailed runes, slowly etching them into the dragons I engraved over the blade. As an extra touch, I added the Van Helsing crest on the chest of the dragons. Rhys’s name sat on the other side of the sword, written in old lettering that enhanced the weapon’s overall look.
I repeated the steps until I was satisfied with my creation. Moving to the thermostat, I turned the temperature down, spinning on my heel to stand near the glass wall where Nyx waited. Her lips turned up as she and I began to do jumping jacks, her eyes never leaving mine, laser-focused as the room started dropping in temperature at a dangerous speed.
My forge had been built by me, allowing the temperature to drop over time. Rhys didn’t have that option, which meant I’d have to keep moving or chance hurting myself. I’d known that coming into it, since most didn’t plan for a person to be within the room as the weapon finished curing.
My eyes fluttered closed, and Nyx slammed her hands on the glass, jolting them back open. “Look at me! You keep moving, Remington Aliana Silversmith. You don’t close your eyes. Understood?” she snapped, her eyes wild with worry.
“Got it,” I stammered, and immediately started moving again.
I followed her lead, dropping to the ground to do pushups, lunges, and then back up to do more jumping jacks. She kept her eyes bouncing between my armband that told her my temperature, and my eyes that grew heavy. My body fought the urge to go into shock at the extreme temperatures with the sluggish movements we made.
“What is happening?” Rhys demanded.
“It’s normal. At least when Remi makes swords,” Nyx snapped, dismissing him to focus on me. “She isn’t a bladesmith. She’s a damn silversmith. Swords are harder because they need more metal. High temperature is needed and frigid temperatures too. It just went from being 500 degrees in there to 100 below freezing.”
“That’s impossible. She’s mortal.”
“Have you never watched a Silversmith work before?” Nyx asked, and my eyes narrowed as ice dusted my lashes.
“No one has,” he growled.
My head turned, staring at the room packed full of men, all watching me do jumping jacks. I scowled and would have rolled my eyes had they not been trying to freeze in the position they were currently in, forcing me to blink repeatedly. I paused, moving to the thermostat to bring it back up, then withdrew the blade from the fire to grind it down.
My family was going to crucify me. No wonder they never let me outside. I hadn’t known that no one had never before watched a Silversmith forge a blade before, let alone how we created our pieces in extreme temperatures. Winchester was going to skewer me, and I was going to deserve it.
I held the sword to the machine, watching as sparks flew from it before lowering it to eye-level. Turning off the grinder, I gazed at the sides, then running my hand over it, bringing up a bloodied palm. I held the blood over the blade, watching as it dripped on the design, turning the metal golden in color as my blood magic fueled the protection runes.
I whispered the magic enhancement spell, lifting the sword to place into the cooling water, and then lifted it out to test the metal’s temperature, making sure it was safe to touch. I stepped on a button on the floor, as a wood statue emerged from the ground, covered in gouges where other blades had left marks, and I smirked.
Holding Rhys’s stare, I lifted the blade as I spun, sending the sword in a spinning move before releasing one hand and slammed the blade through the wooden frame. I never broke Rhys’s gaze as the statue severed into two pieces, proving that I was worth my weight in gold—or silver. The door buzzed open, and I walked out of the room covered in sweat, still holding the blade in my hands.
“For you, Rhys Van Helsing,” I stated over the excited chatter in the room. My words stopped all talk. Rhys narrowed his eyes on mine, lowering them to the artwork of the blade.
“Are you sure you want to do that?”
“It was made for you. I’m pretty sure no one else will want it with your name engraved on it.” I frowned, noticing the expressions on the men’s faces. It was just a damn sword. So why did they look worried?