sound flattered that she picked a good weapon,” Alasdair teased and Hadrian grinned.
“I am. It even has a dragon on the guard.” He turned the blade. “That’s the place for a protective demon. Hey, maybe that’s why she couldn’t kill me with it.”
Alasdair rolled his eyes. “The ornamental dragon protected you? I don’t think so.”
“Like to like. Who knows?” Hadrian was still admiring the weapon. “It’s ceremonial but it will definitely get the job done quickly. This blade is sharp.”
His friends exchanged a glance and shook their heads in unison.
“I’d rather be slaughtered cleanly with a good blade than be hacked to death slowly with a dull one,” Hadrian said.
“There is that,” Balthasar agreed.
“No one wants their heart carved out with a spoon,” Alasdair noted, and they smiled in unison at the movie reference.
Balthasar finished his pasta. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Gloves,” Hadrian said. “As many as possible and as soon as possible. Thanks for dinner. I’ll probably work through the night.”
“I can call someone about getting the window fixed,” Alasdair offered.
A glow appeared then around Hadrian’s hand and they simultaneously fell silent to stare.
“She’s closer,” Alasdair whispered, as if she might hear.
Hadrian wondered whether her senses were as keen as his own. “But not approaching anymore.” The light wasn’t getting brighter. “She’s watching.” The hair prickled on the back of his neck that she was stalking him. Would she give him enough time to arm his fellow Pyr? Would she satisfy the firestorm before she kept her pledge to Maeve?
Alasdair shuddered, then got up to clear the dishes.
“I’ll be in the studio,” Hadrian said, rising to his feet with purpose. He didn’t want his fellow Pyr in the vicinity when his mate came for him, just in case.
“You think she won’t come after you there?” Balthasar asked.
“I think she has strong feelings about blacksmiths, and every tiny bit I can shake her judgment is a good thing.” He pursed his lips. “I think surprise throws her game a bit, and I’m not too proud to use it.”
“We can defend you,” Alasdair offered.
Hadrian shook his head. “Let her come. Let her try.” At the sight of his companions’ obvious doubts, he grinned. “You’re forgetting that the firestorm is on my side.”
Night fell slowly, beautifully, darkness claiming the sky in increments. Rania watched the stars come out high overhead. Would she miss them once she was Fae? Would she be able to return to this realm once her ability to manifest elsewhere was reclaimed by Maeve?
She shook her head, disgusted that she could be so whimsical, even for a moment. Stars were unimportant, compared to freedom.
Rania stood, arms folded around herself, and locked her gaze on Hadrian’s lair again. She’d smelled their meal, which made her own stomach complain. When had she last eaten? She liked to fast a little before she struck a lethal blow, but this kill was taking too long.
A van had arrived with new panes of glass for the broken window after the Pyr had eaten and Hadrian’s friends had come out to help the man carry them into the lair. It was hard to believe that his friends were both dragon shifters, as well, and she doubted that the handyman had any idea of their nature. He’d left as the sun was sinking, and the sound of his truck quickly faded from earshot. Creatures rustled in the fallen leaves of the forest, but otherwise, it was quiet.
She’d watched the silhouettes in the living quarters, then realized there were only two figures there. That was when she’d noticed there was a light in the studio.
An orange light.
Rania moved through the forest silently until she was alongside the studio. She was still a distance away, so the firestorm’s light burned but not too brightly. She wished its flame was a little warmer, as she could have used the heat. At least there was no one around to notice its peculiar glow, a light in the forest where there shouldn’t be one.
Through the windows of the studio, she saw Hadrian, silhouetted against the orange fire of his forge. He was working, sparks flying. He wore goggles, gloves and a leather apron, and seemed to be cutting something. She smelled the fire and the steel, the ash and the iron, and it should have fed her resolve.
It certainly made her shudder.
Yet she wasn’t afraid of him. She admired his muscled strength as he worked, and thought about his seductive combination of power and tenderness. He could have killed her more than