He’d given her pleasure instead. He’d tried to convince her to let him live just a little longer. That was different. The recollection of his touch warmed Rania a little. She retreated so that the glow of the firestorm was more faint—and more easily ignored—and watched the light of the forge through that window.
When it was extinguished, she’d make her move.
She walked a bit in the forest, to keep herself warm, and found a clearing not far from the lair. It was close enough that it had to be part of Hadrian’s property, but it seemed secluded, even private. In the middle of the clearing were two pieces of metal. Rania eased closer for a better look. They were about two feet high, like markers. There was a heart at the top of each one, a heart on a post that went into the ground. They were slightly different and she had the sense that one was older than the other. Why were they there? What did they mark?
Was she standing on a Pyr grave?
That idea made Rania retreat from the clearing, a shiver running down her spine. She returned to the spot where she could see the light from the window of the studio.
Would she be able to find her knife in Hadrian’s lair? Would she have time? It would be a shame to lose such a good specimen from her collection, but she had to keep her eye on the prize.
Her prey couldn’t fall asleep soon enough.
Hadrian was aware of the burn of the firestorm, how it increased and decreased. He knew that his mate was vigilant but keeping her distance. She had to know that the light would warn him of her presence. As the hours passed, he suspected that his theory had been right: she would attack when he was out cold and unable to defend himself quickly.
The danger was that he might actually fall asleep. He’d been tired on arriving home and was becoming exhausted after the hours of work in his studio.
He was enjoying the challenge of the gloves, though. Hadrian knew that Quinn had created each blade for Donovan’s gloves individually—in fact, the Smith had crafted each section of each talon before hinging them all together. The gloves were a testament to Quinn’s skill as a craftsman, but Hadrian knew it would take the two of them precious months to replicate enough pairs of gloves for all the Pyr by Quinn’s method.
Every moment counted, so Hadrian had turned to more industrial methods of knife-making. He routinely made knives for historical re-enactors by this method, as he could sell them more cheaply than a purely artisanal blade. He’d chosen stock steel from his inventory, picking an alloy that would be harder and hold its edge longer over one that was less likely to corrode. The battle against the Fae was now: he wasn’t going to worry as much about rust compromising these gloves over time.
Hadrian had made a template for the blade on each finger, copying Quinn’s work, then cut the profiles of the blades from the stock with his laser cutter. He’d been able to cut many in rapid succession this way. He’d made a series of jigs, one for each of the five blades, to cut the bevel with precision.
He’d then put the blades into a furnace to harden at more than sixteen hundred degrees Fahrenheit for several hours, working in batches. This took the steel to its maximum hardness, but also made it brittle. Once hardened, the blades were plunged into water to quench. He left them there until he’d hardened all of the blades he’d cut, then began to anneal them, which meant heating them at a lower temperature than the first time for several hours each in order to make the steel more durable. Again, they were cooled afterward. He checked them repeatedly, pleased with their color which revealed how well the tempering had been done.
For the next stage, he’d have to flatten and tension each blade individually, then finally they could be sharpened. He still had to cut and temper the other pieces to hinge the talons across the back of the glove, then assemble each glove, but the blades were the more challenging element. They had to be right, and Hadrian had done them first in case he had to start over. He was pleased with his progress and surprised by how much time had passed. The darkness was