Guardian's Mate

“We’ll check,” Zander promised her. “How about we fix the sword first?”

Rae shook herself. “Sure.” She made herself turn away from the two Lupines, take the sword from him, withdraw the broken pieces, and lay them on the table.

Broderick stepped forward and looked down at the blade in dismay. “Oh, come on,” he groaned. “I just put this damned thing back together.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Rae blinked as Broderick balled his fists and glared at Zander. The sword, as though waking from sleep, started to hum. Loudly.

“Zander didn’t break it,” Rae said over the noise. “I did.”

“This is Daragh’s sword, isn’t it?” Broderick asked. “The one that was stolen? Yeah, I recognize its tone.”

The sword swelled into a happy crescendo and then thankfully died away into a quiet ring. Rae knew the story of Broderick returning this sword after it had been stolen—he’d been the one to release Daragh from the Fae and finally send him to dust. Rae hadn’t witnessed the dusting—only Daragh’s immediate family and her father as Shiftertown leader had been there.

“The medallion was broken off when I found it,” Broderick told Rae. “But it went back together without much effort. Why won’t it do that now?”

Zander said, “If I knew how to fix it, I wouldn’t have called you. The sword likes you, Broderick, and you’re good at making metal parts for your boxes and instruments. I figured if anyone had a chance at putting it back together, it was you.”

Mason put his fists on the table, gazing at the sword with the same interest as Broderick. “Instrument making and swordsmithing are two different things,” he said.

“Not really.” Zander touched the hilt. “Hot metal, artistry . . . Like the samurai swords. They’re weapons and works of art at the same time. I would have taken this to the man who made my samurai swords but he’s been dead a couple hundred years.”

“The Shifter swordsmith has been gone even longer,” Broderick said dryly. “Seems wrong that the skill wasn’t handed down.”

“I’m guessing no one thought we’d need it,” Zander said. “The swords lasted eight hundred years without a problem before.”

“Goddess, I hope they all don’t start breaking,” Broderick grumbled.

Mason ran his fingers along the blade. Rae held her breath but he touched it without trouble, no burning.

When Broderick had gazed at her with such intensity and announced she resembled their mother, her heart had leapt and her pulse hadn’t calmed since.

It wasn’t so farfetched to believe they were related—Shifter clans had been broken up when they were put into Shiftertowns, with clan members scattered all over the world. Rae’s mother could have been separated from her clan long before her death. She had no idea.

Also, Broderick had succeeded in driving this very sword through Daragh’s heart and sending him to dust. Only a Guardian could dust another Guardian. Broderick wasn’t one, but the story went that the sword chose him to help out Daragh. Afterward, Eoin had asked Broderick to stay in Montana and see if he’d be their Shiftertown’s next Guardian but Broderick had declined.

Six months after that, Rae had been chosen. If Broderick and Rae were related, all this would make sense—they both might be descended from a Guardian, or at least from a clan with Guardian blood.

Zander had given her a warning look when Broderick made his pronouncement. He didn’t want her to get too excited in case they proved to be no relation at all.

Rae couldn’t help it. For the first time in her life there was a possibility that she’d found her family. She hadn’t met Broderick when he’d come here to send Daragh to the Summerland—he’d left the moment he’d finished and Rae had never seen him.

Broderick touched the hilt but he did it in trepidation, as though he expected a spark or flame. Nothing happened—the sword remained a cold hunk of silver.

“We’ll need a forge,” Broderick said, resigned.

“No problem,” Zander said. “I know—”

“Cheese and rice, Zander,” Rae cut him off. “You can’t know a guy who has a forge.”

Zander’s dark eyes sparkled. “Sure I do. You know him too. You boys up for a trip north?”

* * *

Rae found herself once more saying good-bye to her father and brothers and once again boarding Marlo’s cargo plane and heading north to Alaska. Carson stayed behind, as did Ezra, both of them wanting to help Eoin in the search for the Shifters who’d hurt Carson’s wife.

Eoin didn’t question Zander’s abrupt announcement that they needed to return to Alaska but by his look, he was going to soon demand the whole story. He was trusting Rae—and Zander—but he’d want the truth. Rae hoped to be able to tell him while showing him the repaired sword.

The guy Zander knew who had a forge was Piotr. The plane landed at an isolated air strip north of Homer in the middle of the night, but Piotr was there, in Zander’s own truck, to pick them up.

Piotr hopped out of the cab and came at them with arms outstretched. “My friends!” he boomed. “It is good to see you again!”

He threw his arms around Rae first, lifting her in an exuberant hug, his smile as big as ever.

“You are keeping Zander from trouble, yes?” he asked Rae when he thumped her back to her feet. “You will love my wife, young Rae. She is so looking forward to meeting you.”

Rae hoped Piotr didn’t exaggerate. Any woman might be alarmed at her husband bringing home three large and loud Shifter males and a young woman with a broken sword.

Broderick and Mason were a little distrustful of Piotr at first but by the time they were halfway to Piotr’s house in Nikolaevsk, the brothers were joking and laughing with the man like old friends.

Piotr lived in a large house on a stretch of land a little outside the town. The night sky was a riot of stars when they arrived, swaths of white unfolding in majesty.

Piotr’s house went with him—the interior was filled with bright colors, deep-pile rugs, and soft furniture, everything made for comfort. A corner of the living room contained a cloth-draped niche covered with medieval-looking pictures of a mother and child done up in blacks, golds, and reds. Icons, Zander told Rae. They depicted the mother goddess of Piotr’s religion.