that thought came from, much less the surge of jealousy that followed it, but she didn’t like either.
She wasn’t going to care for this dragon shifter who would be her last victim.
Enjoying his company and the view he offered, and even his kisses, wasn’t nearly the same as actually caring. The rationalization sounded thin even to her own ears.
“And this is my cousin, Alasdair.” The Pyr who looked like a slightly older and stockier version of Hadrian nodded. He had the same wavy auburn hair and green eyes. Rania wondered whether the two of them had scales of the same color in dragon form.
“And who do we have the pleasure of meeting?” Alasdair prompted.
Hadrian looked interested, too.
“My name doesn’t matter,” Rania said. “I won’t be here long.”
“Prickly,” Alasdair said to Hadrian.
He chuckled. “But she grows on you.” He gave her a warm smile. “I think the firestorm’s right and we’ll get along just fine.”
“Don’t kid yourself. You’ll be dead and I’ll be Fae.”
“That’s the persistent rumor,” he said lightly, as if unconcerned.
“Just a scratch.” He tugged off a glove and wiped the blood away, letting Balthasar peer at it.
“But from a Fae dagger. I’ll put some of Sloane’s salve on it.” He strode away with purpose, then rummaged in a knapsack at the end of the kitchen counter.
“Sloane is the Apothecary of the Pyr,” Hadrian told Rania. “Balthasar has apprenticed with him.”
“I know maybe five per cent of what he knows,” that Pyr said. “But his big secrets will only be surrendered to his son, Tynan, when he trains to become the next Apothecary of our kind.”
It made sense to Rania that the healer’s skills were passed along the family line so she just nodded.
It was interesting that the other Pyr were both handsome men who looked like they worked out a lot, and obviously, both were Pyr. Rania didn’t find either of them as attractive as Hadrian, though.
Was that because of this persistent firestorm? It shone white, illuminating the lair as brightly as a beam of sunlight. Finally, she realized why one of the Pyr’s names was familiar.
“Alasdair,” she repeated, glancing at Hadrian. “Wasn’t he one of the Pyr who entered Fae with you?”
Hadrian nodded and his tone turned teasing. “He’s quite the dancer, my cousin.”
“Very funny,” Alasdair said, his tone more grim.
So, they’d both been cursed by Maeve. Well, if they’d entered the realm without permission, that was the price.
Rania looked at the Fae dagger again. The last of the pool of silver left by the Fae warrior was disappearing. The liquid clung to the inscriptions on the blade and the indentations in the hilt, then suddenly vanished completely. The blade’s glow flickered, then started to dim. Was its fire cold or hot? What fueled it?
“I wonder about that light around the blade,” she said. She remembered the intruder in her home and realized that once she started wondering, it was hard to stop.
“Me, too,” Hadrian admitted. “And the blade itself. How does it generate the light? Is that why it can slice portals between realms, or is there more to that?”
“The light must be from a spell,” Rania suggested. “Maybe magick, maybe conjured by the inscriptions.”
“Maybe. Maybe it’s something else. Magnesium burns white, for example.” Hadrian bent and picked up the blade with care. “Cold,” he said with satisfaction and tightened his grip on the hilt. The glow continued to dim steadily, like the blade was dying, too. The star sapphire in the pommel emitted a faint glow, as if a distant star was captured within it, but even that seemed to be fading.
“So, they light their blades?” Alasdair asked.
“With matches?” Balthasar said, his tone joking. “Like tiki torches?”
“Maybe. I’ll have to analyze the composition of the blade. The weapon can’t be steel, because the Fae can’t touch steel.”
“What if it’s something else that makes the blade glow?” Rania asked, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re thinking like a blacksmith, not like the Fae.”
He grinned crookedly. “Guilty as charged. Call it a habit. What’s your idea?”
Rania shrugged. “That it could be more like fireflies. There are so many of them in Fae, and often the Fae congregate in hollows where fireflies are found. How do they glow?”
“Bioluminescence,” Alasdair supplied. “A chemical reaction. It’s kind of the same: things glow when they burn oxygen. Magnesium burns white, as Hadrian said. Fireflies combine oxygen with calcium, adenosine triphosphate and luciferin in the presence of the enzyme luciferase.”