“And you want to get to work,” Balthasar noted.
“It’s not that far to your place,” Alasdair said.
There was a sound of tearing paper then Balthasar gave a low whistle. “These are amazing!” He put on one glove and held his hand forward over the gear box, wiggling his fingers.
Hadrian looked between the road and the glove repeatedly. It was a good thing they weren’t on a busy road anymore. Each glove was made of fine leather, the long sharp talons attached to each fingertip. The steel continued from each finger across the back of the glove for strength, and the talons were hinged, like long fingers. They were also sharp, essentially five blades on each hand, and retractable. Balthasar flicked his fingers and the blades swung out, flashing dangerously.
“They are amazing,” Alasdair said.
“You’re killing me!” Hadrian complained and they all laughed.
“I might not give them up,” Balthasar teased, then his tone turned thoughtful. “And Donovan carries them through the change?”
“That’s what he said,” Hadrian said. “He’s able to augment his dragon talons with them.”
“Incredible,” Balthasar mused. “I totally need a pair.”
“Me, too,” Alasdair said, taking the other glove and tugging it on. “I can’t be the only one who wants to slice Fae warriors to shreds.” He slashed with his gloved hand and Hadrian heard the blades whistle through the air.
“Not at all,” he agreed with heat. He was never going to forget how much his feet had hurt when he’d been compelled to dance endlessly. He doubted Alasdair would forget it either—plus Alasdair had endured Maeve rummaging in his thoughts.
“Are you going to take one apart?” Balthasar asked.
“I hope I don’t have to,” Hadrian said as he turned onto the smaller road that led into the hills around his lair. He was excited to get to work and didn’t feel tired at all. “Quinn’s instructions were pretty precise. I think I just have to study them closely.”
“You two are competing, aren’t you, to see who can make the most gloves the fastest?” Alasdair teased.
“Just a friendly competition,” Hadrian agreed. “A comparison of methods.”
“How about I make some dinner while you check them out?” Balthasar offered.
Hadrian smiled. “You can tell I want to dive in?”
“Call me psychic,” Balthasar teased.
“Maybe you’re projecting your own enthusiasm,” Alasdair said.
“Probably. I want a pair of these and the sooner, the better.” Balthasar slashed at the air again.
“Plus the sooner Hadrian starts making them, the sooner we’ll all have another weapon,” Alasdair said. “I’ll help cook, too.” He yawned. “Although I’ll probably crash early tonight to try to get over the jetlag.”
“Start tomorrow like you never left,” Balthasar agreed. “It’s the best way.”
Hadrian hadn’t admitted it to his fellows yet, but he was determined to do more than replicate the gloves: he wanted to improve upon them. It had been almost ten years since Quinn had made this pair for Donovan, after all, and Hadrian was inclined to use more modern resources. The Smith of the Pyr loved his wrought iron and artisan tools, but Hadrian respected the benefits of tradition melded to innovation. He knew he’d never convince Quinn to change his methods, and that wasn’t his goal. In a way, he saw improving the design of these gloves as a challenge that would vindicate his view.
Plus, for Hadrian, the battle against the Fae was personal. He’d been imprisoned in that realm and compelled to dance until his feet bled. He’d been tricked by Kade, one of the Pyr who was under Maeve’s spell, and even Alasdair had been forced to lie to Hadrian. He’d forgiven his cousin but not the Dark Queen behind it all. There was no telling when a Fae portal would open and a battle would start. Hadrian was done with spells and sorcery. He was ready to kick some Fae butt.
He also couldn’t evade his sense that his own days were numbered. What Lila called a kiss of death felt like a block of ice in his cheek. It was impossible to ignore. He’d be sure the Pyr were ready if and when he died. That would be the best legacy.
Hadrian turned down his lane and his lair came into view. He parked the Land Rover beside Alasdair’s and his cousin immediately got out to check his own vehicle—which was untouched, of course. Hadrian took a deep breath but there was no hint of Lynsay’s presence.
He shouldn’t have expected otherwise. There was no reason to be disappointed. He knew he’d done the right thing by breaking it off, but he would miss her. He wanted her to be happy, though, and knew he wasn’t the one who could give her that.
Hadrian unlocked the door to the lair and Balthasar followed him with groceries. Hadrian claimed the gloves with purpose.
“I’m going to call Donovan and tell him the package arrived,” Balthasar said. “And ask how he takes the gloves through the shift.”
“I need a shower, then I’ll get to work.”
Alasdair trailed in with the last box of groceries, checking his phone with one hand.
The mill that had become Hadrian’s home and studio was constructed in an L, which made the division between home and work easy. He’d built his studio in the larger arm of the L and his home in the other. At the junction was his office and a formidable barrier of dragonsmoke buttressing the entrance to his lair, hoard and home.
His lair had a large main room, with a high ceiling and exposed brick walls. The kitchen was at one end, immediately inside the door. There was a big fireplace on the opposite wall which divided the bedroom from the rest. Kristofer had done some amazing pointwork during a visit years before, building an arch in the wall to the right of the fireplace. It wasn’t original but blended with the architectural details while still looking a bit modern.
The arch gave access to Hadrian’s bedroom: there was a door between it and the bathroom beyond. Windows on the right of the great room and bedroom offered a view of the river that had originally provided power to the mill. That vista changed with the seasons and Hadrian never tired of it. There was a loft over the bedroom, a second bath for guests, and a room behind the office that could be used as a spare room.
Hadrian paused in the great room and took a deep breath, assessing. His dragonsmoke was undisturbed, although the protective barrier had faded a bit in his absence. It still gave a resonant ping, though, proof that it was intact. He’d have to fortify it before the end of the day. There was a bit of dust on everything, since he’d been gone more than a month.
If Lynsay had stopped by to collect her things, she would have done it right away. Her key was probably under the door mat. He wasn’t going to dwell on the end of that relationship or even check for the key at this point. The dragonsmoke didn’t stop a human intruder although that person might feel a slight chill when passing through it. Hadrian couldn’t smell Lynsay’s skin, though, and had to conclude she hadn’t come by at all.
The odd thing was that Hadrian had the sense his lair wasn’t empty. How could that be? He couldn’t smell or hear anyone, much less see any signs of another presence. He shook his head, thinking that recent events had made him paranoid.