“What are you doing in my house?” she demanded, trying to keep herself from feeling any sympathy for him. He was an intruder, after all.
He turned back to the collection of weapons, not answering her. Despite the fact that he was vulnerable, Rania found herself lowering the kitchen knife. She wanted some answers and she wasn’t going to get them if she killed him.
She might not get them at all.
But she was sufficiently honest with herself to admit that wasn’t the main reason she didn’t strike him.
She was curious.
Again.
How did he know about the ring?
What else did he know?
“Why knives?” He sounded mystified. “Why not...dolls?”
“Dolls?” Rania scoffed. “Why not knives? I’m a warrior. They’re the tools of my chosen trade. Why should I ignore my abilities? Just because I’m female?” She’d stepped up alongside him and met his gaze, knowing hers was filled with challenge.
He eyed her and slowly smiled. His eyes twinkled, which startled her. “My mistake,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “Just because you look like your mother doesn’t mean you share her nature.”
He’d known her mother?
He studied her collection, his scrutiny so intense that she thought he coveted it.
She stepped past him and closed the cabinet doors again. She confronted him, then, staring him down. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“I wanted to meet you,” he replied quietly, answering only her second question. He eyed her as if she was incomprehensible. “I wanted to know why you never wondered.”
“Wondered about what?”
“The ring. Where you came from? Whose blood runs in your veins?”
“My parents are dead.”
“Are they?”
Something about the softly-uttered question fed Rania’s doubts. “Do you know where they are?”
“A thousand years,” he mused. “And you never wondered. How can this be?”
Rania felt as if she’d failed a test, one she hadn’t realized she was taking.
He turned and walked back toward the stairs. “Your house stinks of Fae.” His tone was harsher than it had been. “How can you welcome their kind into your home?”
“I work for the Dark Queen,” Rania admitted and his eyes flashed as he turned on her.
He pointed to the collection. “You kill for her.”
Rania nodded. “I have.”
“It is you, then. You’re the one who is killing Others. I didn’t want to believe it, but it’s true. You even admit it yourself!”
“What does it matter to you what I choose to do? I don’t even know you.”
He flung out a hand. “You’re one of us! Doesn’t that matter to you?”
“Us?” Rania echoed in confusion.
He spun on his heel and headed for the stairs.
“Who are you?” she called, but he didn’t stop. Us. Did he mean he was a shifter, too? “What are you?” His footsteps echoed on the stairs and she raced after him, only catching up when he had his hand on the kitchen door. “Why did you come here?”
He spun then to face her. “To see you,” he admitted in a rush, his gaze roving over her as if she mystified him. “To try to understand.”
“I don’t understand,” Rania admitted.
“You never wondered, not once,” he repeated. “I would have known. You’ve lost the ring, lost your legacy and your touchstone, and I don’t think you care.” He shook his head. “You’re a disappointment.”
“I don’t see how I’m any concern of yours...”
“You were conceived in love. You were your mother’s last wish and the reason for her destruction. I had hoped that the poison of that place had not tainted you, that you were young enough, that you had escaped. I had hoped—” he raised a fist, then let it fall limply to his side. He frowned and cleared his throat. “I thought you would wonder and all would come right. I was wrong. If you can do this for the Dark Queen, then you nevr had a chance of becoming the woman I’d hoped you’d be.” He looked her up and down and swallowed. His voice was husky when he continued and his eyes were filled with inexplicable tears. “She named you Rania. Your name was one of the last things she said. You resemble her so much, with the exception of your cold, cold heart. It must be made of ice for you to do what you’ve done.” He smiled a little. “Hers had all the warmth of a midsummer day.”
“How do you know about my mother?” Rania demanded, but her visitor had already left the house. “Stop! Tell me more! I’m wondering now.” He didn’t slow his pace at all. Rania ran after him, pleading for him to linger, but he raised his arms and blue light shimmered around him.
She knew in that instant that he was a shifter, too, but not what kind. She watched in awe as he leaped into the sky and became a large white swan in the blink of an eye. Her questions were silenced by the sight of such a magnificent and large bird. His feathers were radiantly white and, like Hadrian, he made flight look effortless. Rania could only stand and stare. His wingspan was enormous and each stroke was powerful. She watched him fly high, watched until he disappeared from sight, then she looked down at the kitchen knife, still in her hand.
Rania had the definite sense that something precious had slipped away from her.
How had he known about her mother?
Why hadn’t she ever wondered about her parents?
What had that shard been in her hand? How long had it been inside her? And why had it emerged from her skin now?
It had something to do with Hadrian and his firestorm. He was changing her as surely as if he’d cast a spell upon her. He wanted to live, and he didn’t care about the price, but Rania feared the implications. What would happen to her brothes if she failed Maeve? What would happen to her?
Maeve might kill her as she’d be one of the Others.
Rania pivoted and went back to her armory, then chose a special weapon for Hadrian’s demise. She was looking forward to retrieving that ring.
And then, she’d have all the time in the world to wonder.
Once again, Hadrian felt his mate’s return before he saw it.
It was early evening and the shadows in his studio were drawing long. He’d raided the provisions and cooked a beef stew for dinner, and the aroma had awakened Alasdair and Balthasar. They’d eaten together and he’d returned to his studio, intent on making every moment count. Alasdair had promised to tell the story of Notus and his firestorm, but after he composed his thoughts a bit.
The light of the firestorm flared suddenly, competing with the light from Hadrian’s forge, and a wave of desire nearly took him to his knees. She was behind him and he didn’t have to turn around to know she brandished a weapon.
“Why a blacksmith?” he asked and felt her pause. “You chose me because of my profession. Don’t I have the right to know why that’s important?” He glanced over his shoulder to find confusion clouding her gaze again. Then her eyes narrowed.
“You talk too much.”
She brandished a kesir, a weapon he recognized easily by its distinctive wavy blade. Hadrian was flattered that she was pulling out the good stuff for him.
He laughed at her accusation. “It’s been said before. Why a blacksmith?”
“The Fae hate steel.”
“But you’re not Fae.”
She shook her head. “I was raised by them, though, by Maeve.”
“Why did they raise you, anyway?”
“There was no one else to do it. I was lucky.” This last she said with defiance, obviously guessing that he’d challenge her on it.
“Your parents?”
“Died.” Her gaze slid away again and her frown deepened. “At least, that’s what I was told.” She flicked a look at him, and he saw that she was considering the ring that was now on his finger. Was it a family piece? “I’d like that back, please.”
“You know what I’m going to say.”
“Over your cold, dea
d body.” She lifted a brow. “That can be arranged.”
“So I hear. But your parents must be dead by now, even if they weren’t in the first place. It’s been a thousand years later—assuming at least one of them was mortal,” Hadrian said. She nodded slowly, gaze locked on the ring.
She had doubts.
Interesting.
Why?
“How long do swan shifters live?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only ever met one before and he didn’t tell me.”
“But they’re mortal?”
She nodded.
“But you say there was no one to raise you except the Dark Queen.” Hadrian put his hands on his hips to survey her and call her bluff. “I’m skeptical. There have been hundreds of thousands of orphaned children over the history of time, and I’ve never heard of another one being raised by the Fae. Is there some kind of charity program going on in that realm that the rest of us missed?”
She shook her head and her hair shone in the firestorm’s light. “I was the only one.”
“So, you’re special. How? Why?”
She exhaled and glared at him. “It doesn’t matter.”
Hadrian thought it probably did. “Maybe because you were useful,” he said and saw her eyes widen. “Why blacksmiths?” he asked again.
“You’re relentless.” There was humor in her tone, though, and a sparkle in her eye, as if she found him amusing.
“I’m motivated.”
“You’re stalling.”
“I want to know about you. You’re my destined mate, after all.”
She spoke crisply then, closing the distance between them, the blade leading. It was a beautiful kesir and Hadrian openly ogled it. “I was shackled once. I’ll never forget it or forgive it.”
Hadrian met her gaze in astonishment. She’d spoken without inflection and her expression was impassive. He guessed this was important.
Really important.
He kept his tone casual. “Why didn’t you just vanish?”
“I couldn’t then. I was injured, and he pretended to help me, and then he trapped me.” She spoke coolly, her gaze averted.
“What happened? I mean, how were you injured?”
She frowned a little. “It was my first assignment. A polar bear shifter. He was bigger and stronger than I’d expected.”
“Impervious to the kiss of death?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t have that power then. He’s the reason I got it, actually, to make me more effective in future. The second time we met, he wasn’t nearly so lucky.” She shook her head. “But the first time, we fought and he ripped my gut before I escaped from him. I only managed that because he couldn’t fly.” She touched her stomach. “I still have a scar.”
Hadrian nodded because he’d noticed it.
“But I lost a lot of blood and ultimately passed out before reaching home. When I woke up, I was shackled by the ankle by some crazy loner on the tundra. He tended my injuries but intended to keep me captive forever. I remained in my swan form. He never knew I was a shifter.” She met his gaze. “People keep swans, you know. Trim their wing feathers so they can’t fly. Put metal bands on their ankles.” She shuddered and dropped her gaze again.
“But you escaped?”
She smiled a little and raised her hands. “Obviously. He wasn’t going to release me.”
“What happened to him?”
“He died tragically some time after my escape.” Her tone was hard and she held Hadrian’s gaze steadily. “Maeve gave me both the kiss of death and the ability to manifest elsewhere by will, to ensure I was never injured or trapped like that again. She took care of me.”
Hadrian was astonished by the story but had to keep her talking. “Because she’s kind of your foster mother.”
“No ‘kind of’ about it. She raised me.”
Hadrian wondered why. “Do you remember your mother?”
“I never knew her. She died right after I was born.”
“Your father?”
“I know Maeve,” his mate insisted. “She provided for me. She’s always been there.”
“But what about the brothers you’re trying to save?”
“I’m not trying to save them. I will save them. What about them?”
“Do you know their names?”
“Do I need to?”
“But once they’re free, you’ll get to know them?”
“Of course not. They’ll be mortals and I’ll be Fae.” His mate shook her head then rounded the table, weapon at the ready. He wished he could get a good look at it. He’d never had the chance to examine one of the Indonesian blades closely, though he knew the wave shape of the blade was created by alternating laminations of iron and nickelous iron. “Let’s get this done.”
Hadrian wasn’t quite as ready to finish his assassination. “You don’t have family then?”
“I don’t need one.”
“And I’ll guess you don’t have friends.”
“I don’t need them either.”
“No wonder you’re so ready to talk,” he teased, seeing that she was startled again. “You took this assassination job simply because Maeve asked you to,” he guessed. “You would have done whatever she asked you to do.”
“Why not? I owe her,” his mate insisted. “There was no reason for me to decline.”
“Except that you’re killing people.”
“Not people. Others. Shifters. Abominations and half-breeds.” She repeated Maeve’s accusations against shifters as if they were her own. She must have heard them hundreds of times. “And since she gave me the kiss of death, none of them have been particularly hard to exterminate.” Her eyes narrowed. “Trust a dragon to challenge expectation.”
“Abominations,” Hadrian echoed. “But you’re a shifter. That makes you one of the Others, just like me.”
“Not for long,” she replied. “I think that was why Maeve offered me the deal, so she could save me. It can’t be easy to turn someone Fae and immortal.” She fell silent for a moment and dropped her gaze. Her tone was wistful when she continued. “She must love me.”
But she wasn’t sure.
It was clear to Hadrian that Maeve had twisted the expectations of his mate, which was only possible because she’d spent all of her life—over a thousand years—isolated from anyone other than the Dark Queen. Whatever Maeve suggested to her would seem plausible. Her trust of her patroness was complete.
But it was also misplaced. Maeve was using her. The Dark Queen had turned his mate to her own purpose and Hadrian had no doubt that would continue.
The prophecy revealed that he was right to try to convince her otherwise. He had to succeed.
The future of the Pyr and the Others relied upon it.
Six
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s even possible to turn someone Fae or immortal,” Hadrian said, trying to keep the conversation flowing. “Let alone both.”
“What are you implying?”
“Just that the Dark Queen is lying to you, the same way she lies to everyone else.”
“She made a promise!”
“She makes promises all the time and breaks them. There’s going to be some technicality that allows her to keep from delivering what you’re owed.” He shrugged. “It might just be that your nature is your nature, and that can’t be changed.”
His mate stared at him, frowning slightly. “You mean that you’ll always be a dragon shifter, and no one can change that.”
“How could they? It’s my essence. Plus I’m mortal. A spell can restrict my ability to shift, maybe, but I am what I am. You’re as mortal as I am. I don’t think anyone with any amount of magick can change that.”
“Maeve has all the magick. She has the gem of the hoard. She can do anything.” It sounded as if she was repeating something she’d been told, maybe something she’d once believed, but Hadrian had to wonder whether his mate believed it now.
He really didn’t want to think about Maev
e possessing the gem of the hoard. He still felt that it was partly his fault that she’d managed to reclaim it.
Alasdair had tricked him, driven to do so by Maeve, but he should have guessed that something was up.
He stuck to their line of discussion. “Throughout time there are thousands of stories of the Fae taking children because they can’t have their own, but in every tale I know, that child either dies or returns to the mortal realm. They don’t become Fae, because it can’t be done.”
“You listen to too many stories.”
“I think you don’t listen to enough of them. Remember that she’s had the gem of the hoard before.”
His mate turned away from him, her expression impatient. “It doesn’t matter what you think. You don’t know everything about Maeve...”
“She offered what she thought you might want, but she has no intention of keeping the deal, much less paying up.”
“You can’t be sure of that...”
“I’m absolutely positive. And you should be wondering about it. Why does the firestorm think you’re my mate?”
Her reply was quick and surprisingly mischievous. “Because you want to have sex with me.”
Hadrian smiled. “The firestorm doesn’t work like that, unfortunately, but I trust its choice. We should be partners. We could satisfy the firestorm, and create a son. You’d have a future then...”
“There is no future for Others,” she said, interrupting him flatly. “Whether they’re swan maidens or dragon shifters. All Others are doomed.”
“Not if the Dark Queen is defeated.”
“You won’t have my help for that. I owe her everything.”
“She’s made you what you are,” Hadrian acknowledged. “But what if that’s a lot less than what you could be?”
His mate stared at him in surprise.
“Are you happy?” he asked. “Do you like what you do? Are you fulfilled? I’m thinking not. I’m thinking you’re being manipulated by the Dark Queen to help her get what she wants. I’m skeptical that she cares whether you ever get what you want. She doesn’t even want you to figure out what that is. I doubt she cares whether you live or die.”
“You are stalling,” she said.
Dragon's Mate: A DragonFate Novel (The DragonFate Novels Book 4) Page 13
