“Fifteen minutes!” she said, trying to sound tough.
“Twenty!” he replied.
“You...”
Hadrian caught her up and spun her around, giving her an enthusiastic kiss that almost made her consider helping him leave another legacy.
“Go before you change my mind,” she said, trying to sound stern, but he laughed.
“You know where to find me.” He put her down, kissed her in the middle of the brilliant radiance of the firestorm’s light, then strode toward his studio with purpose.
He was even whistling.
Cocky dragon.
Sexy dragon.
Rania watched him go, unable to drag her gaze away, then realized the other two Pyr were watching her.
Alasdair cleared his throat. “I know you have an obligation to fulfill to the Dark Queen,” he said, his voice husky and his Scottish burr more pronounced than it had been. “I know you want to keep your word and that you want to see your brothers freed. I’m not going to argue with any of that.”
“But you’d like me to spare Hadrian,” Rania guessed, bracing herself against his inevitable appeal.
Alasdair shook his head. “There’s another way for everyone to get what they want. You can have it all. You don’t have to choose.”
“The choice is made...” Rania began.
“Change it.” Alasdair said. “Take me as your Pyr victim instead. Give me the kiss of death, spare Hadrian, and set your brothers free. Then you can satisfy the firestorm and stay together.”
Rania was shocked and touched that Alasdair would make such an offer. She stared at him, unable to summon a word to her lips.
Because it was a lot more tempting a proposition than it should have been.
Too bad it was impossible.
Hadrian was glad that his mate had trusted him to examine the Fae blade before fulfilling her quest. He saw each incremental victory as a sign that her determination was weakening, and that she was appreciating the merit of the firestorm, too.
The sword had been tipped with hoarfrost when he’d brought it into the studio and gradually, it seemed to be turning to ice itself. He couldn’t figure it out, but each time he touched it, the process seemed to accelerate.
Would it melt? Would it vanish completely, like the Fae warriors had?
Was it self-destructing because it was no longer in Fae, or because it was no longer in the possession of a Fae warrior?
He wished it hadn’t changed. It would have been sweet to turn the tables on Maeve and surprise her in her own realm. The strategy might change everything. It might also have been a suicide mission, but Hadrian didn’t give a lot of weight to that. He’d be dead soon, anyway, unless he could find a way for his mate to fulfill her quest and leave him alive.
The sword had given hope of that possibility, too, at least briefly.
What if he could satisfy the firestorm and leave a son to follow after him?
What if he could give his son an even bigger legacy, like a world without the Dark Queen hunting all shifters to oblivion?
He heard Alasdair gearing up to tell a story in the main room and smiled. He was going to get more than his twenty minutes, and he’d make it count.
He fired up the forge, wanting at least two pair of gloves done ASAP.
Seven
Rania was amazed that Alasdair would offer to sacrifice himself in exchange for his cousin. It was one thing to try to help family and friends, but dying for them was beyond her experience or expectation. She couldn’t believe he’d volunteered for the kiss of death. “I can’t do that,” she began to protest.
But Alasdair wasn’t dissuaded. “You just don’t understand how important the firestorm is.”
“It’s about sex. And babies.”
“No,” Alasdair said with a shake of his head. “It’s about partnership and destiny, about honor and becoming the best you can be. It’s a dream and an objective, and it’s not something to easily cast aside.”
“All the Pyr work together to ensure that a firestorm is a success,” Balthasar insisted.
“To ensure the survival of your kind,” Rania said. “I understand that, but you have to see that there’s no point. Others are going to be eliminated.”
“But what if we aren’t?’ Balthasar asked. “What if the Dark Queen loses?”
Rania had never considered that to be a possibility. What if it was? “She has all the magick...” she began.
“But we have the firestorm,” Alasdair said, interrupting her. “Let me tell you a story,” he offered. “Let me tell you about the commitment of the firestorm, then maybe you’ll understand why Hadrian should survive to enjoy his.”
“Maybe you’ll understand why the Pyr should survive,” Balthasar added.
Rania understood what Hadrian had meant when he’d said that Alasdair was a good storyteller. She was already tempted to listen to him. She was curious again, even though she recognized that as dangerous. Would it hurt to learn more about the Pyr and their firestorm? She might end up the only person who knew or remembered.
She’d already given Hadrian permission to examine the Fae sword. A story would fill the time. He’d told her that she didn’t listen to enough of them.
And he’d told her to seize any chance to hear Alasdair tell a story, too.
Maybe she’d been missing something.
Rania nodded agreement and Alasdair grinned.
“But I can’t give you the kiss of death,” she said, wanting to ensure he understood.
“I’ve no doubt you could still kill me.” When she would have argued, he raised a hand and began to shimmer blue around his perimeter. He looked more vital and his eyes brightened, reflecting the light that indicated he was on the cusp of change.
“Is it a long story? Should I bring snacks?” Balthasar asked with enthusiasm.
“Why not?” Alasdair said as he moved into the middle of the great room.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Rania protested.
“Just about the right time to go to a movie in New York,” Alasdair replied. “I’m still on Eastern time.”
“This is a fog dragon thing,” Balthasar assured Rania. “It rocks.”
Then Alasdair shifted shape, becoming a dragon of hematite and silver. He wrapped his length around the perimeter of the main living space of Hadrian’s lair, his tail tucking beneath his chin. His eyes glittered like mica as he narrowed them and breathed a cloud of fog. It hovered in the air in the middle of the room, becoming steadily whiter and larger as he continued to exhale.
Balthasar lowered the blinds on the big windows facing the river, as if they were going to watch a movie, then gestured for her to take a seat on the big leather sofa. Rania did, uncertain what would happen. It was meditative to watch Alasdair breathe his cloud of fog, but not exactly fascinating.
She certainly didn’t understand why Balthasar made a big bowl of popcorn before joining her on the couch to watch. His anticipation was palpable and inexplicable.
‘A fog dragon thing.’ What did that mean?
She heard Hadrian hammering in the studio and found the steady rhythm of the sound reassuring. Of course, he was working on the gloves. With his keen hearing, he probably knew what Alasdair was doing and was making the most of every moment. She did admire that.