Her face flamed, and her look was now . . . ashamed? "Shifter, I must take this sword back with me at first light."
Last light was now streaming through the door, the spring air turning even more frigid. "And where would I be getting time to craft such a thing before morning? Sword-working is a long business, and I have sons to look after. I’m not doing it, lass. Go on home and tell them you couldn’t bully the big, mean Shifter."
"Damn you." Alanna clenched her fists, eyes sparkling. "Are all Shifters this bloody stubborn? I thought I could do this without hurting you."
Niall looked her up and down. Fae could work powerful magic, without doubt, but not much in the human world. They’d given up that power to retreat to the safety of their own realm, while Shifters had learned to adapt and remain in the world of humans. Fae still had magic out here--minor spells, glamour, and misdirection, not that they didn’t use those to lure human beings to their deaths.
"Could you hurt me, lass? In this forge full of iron? I lost my mate ten years ago. That hurt me more than anything in the world ever could. I doubt you could match that pain, no matter how many spells you can throw at me."
"No?" Alanna asked, her voice ringing. "What about if you lost your cubs?"
Niall was across the room and had her pinned against the wall before the echo of her words died, the iron bar he’d just cooled in the water pressed across the her pale throat.
Chapter Two
The Shifter was stronger than she’d imagined, and the iron against Alanna’s skin burned. The spell that her brother had grudgingly let his chief magician chant over her kept the worst at bay, but the bar felt white hot.
Odors of sweat, fire, smoke, and metal poured off the Shifter called Niall. He’d scraped his black hair into a tight braid, the style emphasizing his high cheekbones and sharp nose, the touch of Fae ancestry that had never disappeared from Shifters. His hard jaw was studded with dark whiskers, wet with sweat from his labors. The whiskers and sweat made him seem so raw, so animal-like. Fae men were beardless, their skin paper smooth, and she’d never seen one do anything so gauche as sweat.
Studying the Shifter’s stubbled chin kept Alanna from having to look into his eyes. Those eyes had been deep green when she’d entered the forge; now they were nearly white, his pupils slitted like a cat’s. He was a cat, a predatory cat bred from several species of ancient wildcats, and any second now he’d tear her apart.
And then his two sons would die.
Niall’s towering rage held her as firmly as the iron bar. "You touch my cubs, bitch, and you’ll be learning what pain truly is."
"If you do as I say, they won’t be hurt at all."
"You’ll not go near them."
"It’s too late for that. They’ve already been taken. Make the sword, and you’ll get them back."
The Shifter roared. His face elongated, and animal lips pulled back from fangs. He didn’t shift all the way, but the hand that held the bar sprouted finger-long claws.
At the moment Alanna hated all Shifters and all Fae, especially her brother Kieran, who’d told her that subduing the Shifter would be simple. They will do anything to protect their whelps. We carry them off, and he’ll whimper at your feet.
Niall O’Connell, master sword maker of the old Kingdom of Ciarrai, wasn’t whimpering, or anywhere near her feet. His fury could tear down the forge and crumble the cliff face into the sea.
"Make the sword." Now Alanna was the one pleading. "Craft the sword, and the little ones go free."
Niall’s face shifted back into his human one, but his eyes remained white. "Where are they?"
"They will be released when you complete the sword."
Niall shoved her into the wall. "Damn you, woman, where are they?"
"In the realm of Faerie."
The Shifter’s pupils returned to human shape, his eye color darkening to jade as grief filled them. Niall’s shoulders slumped, but the iron never moved from Alanna’s throat. "Gone, then," he whispered.
"No," Alanna said quickly. "If you give me the sword, they will be set free. He assured me they would not be harmed."
"Who did? Who is this Fae bastard who’s taken my children?"
"My brother. Kieran."
"Kieran . . ."
"Prince Kieran of Donegal."
"There was a Kieran of Donegal in Shifter stories of long ago. A vicious bastard that a pack of Lupines finally hunted and killed. Only decent thing the bloody dogs have ever done."
"My brother is his grandson."
"Which makes you his granddaughter." Niall peered at her. "You don’t seem all that pleased to be running this errand for your royal brother. Why did he send you?"
"None of your affair." Enemies saw your compassion as weakness and used that against you, Kieran had told her. Kieran certainly used every advantage over his enemies--and his friends as well.
"Back to that, are you, lass? What assurance do I have that you’ll not simply kill my boys whether I make the sword for you or not?"
Alanna shifted the tiniest bit, trying to ease the pain of the bar on her throat. "You have my pledge."
"And what worth is that to me?"
"My pledge that if your children are harmed, you may take my life. I wasn’t just sent as the messenger, Shifter. I was sent to be your hostage."
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