mate used to try to kill me,” he said, setting it on the counter.
“This time,” Alasdair added. “Last time, it was her kiss of death.”
“Which apparently should have worked.” Hadrian addressed Balthasar.
“That’s probably Lila’s doing,” Balthasar said. “Anticipating two kinds of shifters helping each other would be a stretch.”
Hadrian shook his head. “She said it shouldn’t have made a difference. It’s a wound no one can heal.”
“Then why aren’t you dead?” Balthasar asked. He got pasta bowls from the cupboard and the two Pyr served up a hot meal.
“I’m not sure that she even knows.”
“Trust you to break the rules,” Alasdair teased and they grinned at each other.
“It’s an expectation I don’t mind challenging,” Hadrian said, his gaze drawn back to the dagger before he sat down. “Thanks, guys. This smells great.”
“Hunger is the best sauce, as they say,” Balthasar agreed easily.
“So?” Alasdair demanded as soon as Hadrian had taken a bite. “Did you satisfy the firestorm?”
“No.”
“What?” his friends demanded in unison.
“She can vanish into thin air.”
The other two Pyr exchanged a glance. “Is that a swan maiden thing?” Alasdair asked.
“Or just her thing?” Balthasar asked.
“I think it’s her thing. She’s an assassin for the Dark Queen, and has to take thirteen lives to free herself and her twelve brothers. I’m number thirteen.”
“As if Maeve would keep any deal,” Alasdair scoffed.
“I mentioned that to her. She seems to trust Maeve.”
“But she’s a swan maiden,” Alasdair said. “That makes her a shifter and puts her on the list of Others that Maeve is planning to exterminate.”
Hadrian shrugged. “She doesn’t seem to think that applies to her. I wonder why.”
“You won’t be able to do much about it when she finds out she’s wrong about the Dark Queen,” Balthasar noted. “You’ll be dead.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Hadrian said.
“You said you were number thirteen,” Balthasar said. “When she kills you, she’ll go to the Dark Queen and find out that there’s a technicality and that the deal isn’t done after all. You won’t be able to defend your mate.”
“I understood what you meant. I just think we might be able to free her brothers another way.”
“Which means you need to change her mind.” Balthasar shook his head at the low chances of that.
“Why you?” Alasdair asked.
“She had to pick one of the Pyr. She hates blacksmiths, so I won the lottery.”
“Why?” Balthasar asked.
Hadrian shrugged again. “I don’t know yet.”
“You might never know,” Balthasar noted.
“She could have picked Quinn,” Alasdair said.
“She said she doesn’t want to orphan his kids.”
Balthasar laughed. “An assassin with a soft spot. That’s interesting.”
“It’s an inconsistency, which is interesting,” Hadrian said.
“Maybe it’s because of the firestorm,” Alasdair suggested. “It might be making her sentimental.”
Hadrian snorted, unable to imagine that possibility. “No. I think it’s about principle.”
“Are we positive the firestorm is real?” Balthasar asked.
“I am,” Alasdair said.
“Me, too,” Hadrian agreed. “It doesn’t seem to be part of her plan either. I sensed that she was surprised, too, and affected by it.” Hadrian picked up her dagger as his friends ate, and examined it, trying to avoid any discussion of how close he’d come to satisfying the firestorm.
His tactic didn’t work.
“But you didn’t satisfy it,” Alasdair said, insisting on clarity as he often did.
“You’re not too nosy,” Hadrian teased and they all laughed.
“We need to know if the spark of the firestorm will reveal her presence,” Alasdair said.
“Like an early warning system,” Balthasar agreed.
“I think she’ll manifest quickly and strike,” Hadrian said. “But I don’t think she’ll target you. Principles.” He nodded, convinced of that.
“Are we going to be collateral damage?”
“I don’t think so. But stay out of the way, just to be sure.”
Balthasar snorted. “Don’t go confusing her motivation with yours.”
“I don’t think we’re that different.”
Balthasar pointed his fork at Hadrian. “That’s the firestorm talking.”
“So, what about her knife?” Alasdair asked, indicating the weapon in Hadrian’s hand.
“It’s a ceremonial dagger,” Hadrian said, showing his friends the curved blade. The hilt was an open oval, with a grip on one side and a dragon on the other. The dragon covered the back of his hand when he held the grip. “It’s called a bichuwa,” he said with appreciation. “I’ve never seen such an ornate one.”
“Where’s it from?” Balthasar asked.
“India,” Hadrian said. “The name means ‘the sting of a scorpion’. These ceremonial daggers always have a curved blade. Frequently they have an oval grip like this that wraps securely around the hand as a knuckle guard.” He tested it, stabbing with the blade. “Good steel. Gold ornamentation. Very, very nice.”