The gloves. He was looking for the gloves. She’d been right about their importance.
He found them finally and tugged them on, their blades shining wickedly. Did he really need them to defend himself? After all, he could become a dragon.
And he did, right before her eyes, shifting shape in a brilliant shimmer of blue. The blades on the gloves followed him through the change and became steel extensions of his talons. Even though she’d expected as much, she was amazed to witness it
Then she reached back for her kesir, only to discover that it was gone.
“You!” she said and Hadrian’s eyes glinted.
“Me. I’m building the best collection.” That dragon smile was as surprising and attractive as the first time she’d seen it.
To her astonishment, he reached beneath his scales and retrieved the bichuwa, then tossed it toward her. Rania barely caught it, she was so surprised that he would surrender it.
“Stay safe,” he said, sobering as he looked toward the door of the studio. He swore then looked back. Even in dragon form, his gaze was filled with concern. “You should use that disappearing act of yours to get out of here. They’re not coming to party.”
Rania was startled. No one was ever worried about her welfare, especially her intended victims. “I’m not afraid of the Fae.”
“You should be.”
She brandished the bichuwa. “You should be afraid of me.”
“Looks like you’re missing your chance,” he noted as there was a cry from the main lair. Then he winked. “I’m getting the impression you like me better alive,” he teased with that sexy confidence. The sound of fighting carried to her ears as he darted toward the door. “Go!” he commanded then joined the battle.
Alone in the studio, Rania looked down at the bichuwa, amazed that she held it. Hadrian had returned it so she could defend herself. She couldn’t make sense of his choice, much less the surge of pleasure she felt in response.
If the Fae had come for his gloves, she didn’t need to watch.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to.
She wasn’t going to help, not either side, when she felt so jumbled up.
Rania held fast to the bichuwa, then manifested in the forest, upstream of Hadrian’s lair. She was breathing quickly and felt torn—this dragon shifter had the ability to confuse her and turn her expectations upside down. She’d confided in him so much.
Maybe she was lonely.
His decision to surrender the bichuwa was the kind of daring move that was perfectly typical of the dragon shifter she was coming to know. Did he just want her to survive for the sake of the firestorm? He couldn’t seriously believe that she’d bear his son, could he? He was nothing if not optimistic.
How could he trust her not to take advantage of the opportunity? It was that confidence of his. He thought he was irresistible.
The thing was Rania did find this dragon shifter hard to resist.
She couldn’t stay away from the battle. She had to know what was happening.
And it wasn’t because she thought there might be an opportunity to strike Hadrian down in the confusion of the attack.
But Rania wasn’t ready to admit that, even to herself.
Rania manifested closer to Hadrian’s converted mill. She decided to approach from the river, since the windows were there and no one would expect company from that side. She took her human form again and gripped the bichuwa, thinking that her dark clothes were less visible than her white feathers.
She could hear the sounds of fighting and crept steadily closer to the big windows, moving from rock to rock in the stream. She heard a triumphant shout, then saw a flash of silver light. There was a blaze of dragonfire, then more silver lightning. Rania reached the window and peeked in, uncertain what to expect. Hadrian was in his human form in the main room of his lair, still wearing the gloves. The talons shone with menace and she saw that one was stained with blood. He was pumped and alert, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet and braced for attack.
The two other Pyr were there, too. The one who looked most like him, just a bit older and stockier, was beside him, both of them staring down at something on the floor. Hadrian had a line of blood on his cheek. His hair was disheveled but he looked uninjured other than his face.
There was also a dragon of citrine and gold, a sleek and sinuous dragon that nearly filled the space, flicking his tail and looking dangerous as smoke rose from his nostrils. His eyes glittered dangerously as he scanned the lair. He then shimmered blue, and she saw that in his alternate form, he was the Pyr with the man-bun. Which one was Alasdair? The one who had just shifted went to stand beside the others and looked down with them.
What was on the floor? She could see that the Fae were gone.
The light of the firestorm must have alerted Hadrian to her presence, because he looked up and sought her, then gave her a thumbs-up when their gazes met. He beckoned to her.
Rania manifested in the main room beside him, visibly startling the other two Pyr.
“I got two of them,” Hadrian informed her with pride, then gestured to a shining puddle on the floor. It could have been liquid silver or mercury, because it was thicker than blood or water. Its diameter was already diminishing in size and there was a weapon in the middle of it.
Rania wasn’t sure what to think of that. She felt jumbled up inside, her heart tugged with an unfamiliar mix of sympathy for the fallen warriors and an understanding of Hadrian’s jubilation. Where were her alliances in this battle? They should be with the Fae, but she didn’t like Hadrian being assaulted.
Not just because he was supposed to be her kill, either.
She’d never felt so much emotion or uncertainty before. It was as unsettling as the firestorm was seductive.
“They really attacked?” she asked, crouching down beside the puddle. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a Fae die. Had he melted completely?
“Of course they attacked,” the one with the man-bun said with impatience. “They’ve sworn to slaughter all shifters, at the Dark Queen’s command. It’s only a matter of time before we’re all hunted down.”
“Unless we do some hunting first,” Hadrian said with resolve. Rania watched him crouch down to study the sword in the puddle. The silver liquid was disappearing quickly from around and over it. “How about one of these for your collection?” he murmured with a quick sidelong glance, apparently not expecting a reply.
Rania shouldn’t have replied. She should have seized the opportunity of his inattention and taken the clean strike at his throat with the bichuwa. She was close and her blow unobstructed. Hadrian was so interested in the blade that he wasn’t even looking at her. The other two Pyr were similarly distracted.
But she was curious again. She didn’t have a Fae blade in her collection. Maeve managed them very closely, since weapons were always in short supply in a realm with no ability to work metal. This particular one was a gorgeous intricately-carved blade, obviously the possession of a senior and elite warrior.
She wondered whether it was someone she knew. The truth was that she’d only met a few of the Fae: they avoided her because she was still one of the Others. That would all change when her wager with Maeve was complete. She refused to acknowledge a niggle of doubt that all would go as expected. Hadrian wanted her to doubt Maeve, because that was a better strategic choice for his own survival. It didn’t mean he was right.