Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(49)

How could just a touch make her breathless? “Are you working on a smithing project now?”

“Aye. Zeb and Shay teach a hellhound fighting class, and some of their students need cahir blades.”

She frowned. “Why don’t cahirs buy knives from a store?”

“A human-made knife has a few limitations.” Gawain picked up a blade and held it to the light. A lighter metal made a fancy filigree within the dark steel. “A blade custom-made for a cahir has runes of silver forged into the steel, so they can wear the metal without irritation. The silver also makes it more effective against hellhounds.”

“Oh.”

“The sheaths are leather, but the straps are of the same silver we use for lifemating bands and are magicked to adjust when a cahir trawsfurs, since most cahirs want to wear their blades even in animal form.”

Come to think of it, Owen wore one—usually strapped to his arm, sometimes his leg. When he shifted, it was almost invisible on his foreleg. “I bet you make sure the sheath matches the male’s fur, don’t you?”

“You’re an observant lass.” He grinned. “The knife is also balanced for throwing.” He took the knife by the blade and threw it across the barn. With a thunk, it lodged in the target tacked to the wall. Right in the bulls-eye.

Startled at how swiftly and silently the knife had flown, she stared at Gawain. Had he even aimed?

“Is anyone here?” The shout came from outside.

“In the barn,” Gawain called.

A young male poked his head in. “Are you the blademage?”

“That’s me.”

The male trotted over and looked up at Gawain.

Quite a ways up.

Darcy blinked. Next to Gawain, the male looked awfully short, but was actually average in height. She’d usually seen the blademage around Zeb, Shay, and Owen, all cahirs with extra God-given height and strength. Gawain was only a couple of inches shorter than the huge cahirs—and easily as muscular.

“I’m Gawain.” The two males clasped forearms. “What can I do for you?”

“Grady.” Bouncing on his toes, Grady had a huge grin on his face. “Calum said we had our own blademage now, and you make lifemating bracelets. Can you make some?” His face was so full of hope that Darcy held her breath as well.

“I can. There’s nothing I enjoy more.” Gawain turned and ran his hand down Darcy’s arm. “Will you excuse me for a bit?”

“Sure. I’ll get started on the fan if it won’t disturb you.”

“That would be most appreciated.”

As Darcy took off the front of the exhaust fan, she positioned herself so she could watch what was going on.


Gawain loved this part of being a blademage.

Taking his time, he quizzed Grady about his littermates, Griffin and Grant, and their intended mate. As the male gushed with praise for his beloved, Gawain dug through the pile of moving boxes to find the dozen silver bracelets he’d made last month. He always kept some on hand since, once males found their lifemate, they grew extremely impatient—and making the bracelets wasn’t something Gawain would ever rush.

He selected three heavy bracelets for the female to give to her new mates and three delicate ones for the males to give to their female.

At this point, the bands were merely silver discs and silver wire—although he could always feel something of himself in his creations.

Most Daonain hated metal, especially iron, but a few loved the song of the metals. Iron—so stubborn—crying its harsh melody, as fire and pressure and carbon transformed it into steel. Silver sang with the high, sweet sound of the cold, swift winds off Mount Rainier. There was nothing like working metal.

With talent and skill, he created beauty. When he added his power, he could make magicked objects—cahir blades and the trawsfur-flexible metal bands. However, to transform a bracelet of silver discs into a true lifemating band?

That called for a goddess.

“Come with me, please.” Gawain guided Grady outside to the consecrated ritual area. Although not complete, the small space held the essentials.

The boundary had been demarcated by knee-high river stones. He’d diverted a segment of the creek so a tiny stream of water flowed through the stone circle. Earth and water.

After cleansing the sacred space with a pine branch broom, he lit a fire in the brazier and tossed on a mixture of cedar, lavender, and yarrow. Fire and air.

As the coals smoldered, a translucent sylph appeared over the brazier, its sinuous dance swirling the thin smoke into mesmerizing spirals.

Holding the lifemating bands in the fragrant smoke, Gawain opened his heart and mind and soul to the Mother of All. When a wave of love heralded her presence, he presented to her the names and images of the young mates. Unable to resist, he also shared how the young male was simply glowing with his love for his littermates and their chosen female.

The Mother’s pleased acknowledgment and warmth skimmed his palms as the discs were imbued with the Mother’s love. No matter how many years would pass, a lifemating band always carried a hint of the Goddess.

For a second, he lingered, unwilling to move. Although he’d been a blademage for decades, he’d never lost the sense of wonder that She would come to his call, that She took such joy in each new bond between males and their female.

When he opened his eyes, tears were running down Grady’s face. “I never knew… I felt Her, even more than when I trawsfur. It was as if She was here.”