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Brochan had turned the royal stables into a royal forge. First, he and Viola had fetched equipment and tools she required, as well as her most prized metals, collected from countless other realms. Fireiron. Bloodgold. Automaton parts. Anything to help him protect himself.
He would cherish whatever she designed for him, but he wasn’t worried about dying. Whether he died or not, he would find a way back to her. He’d finally won her. He would not give her up for any reason.
“Fluffy!” McCadden’s roar echoed through the forge. His brother stomped inside the blistering room, a pair of boots raised. “Your little monster peed in my shoes. Again!”
The pup rested at Viola’s feet, yawning as she hammered at a link.
Brochan stuck out his arm, stopping his brother in his tracks. “Genius is at work. There are to be no interruptions.”
“Are you kidding me? First she tells you how she’s going to redecorate your home. Now, she has you acting as her doorman.” Disgust all but dripped from McCadden. “Is there anything you won’t do for her?”
“No,” Brochan said simply. He derived more joy and satisfaction making his goddess-kitten happy than he’d ever thought possible.
“I have accepted your relationship,” his brother continued, growling now. “I’m at a point where I no longer wish to vomit every time I see you together. But I will not tolerate this!”
“And yet you will. I tolerated your tantrums for centuries,” Brochan reminded him. “So, you’ll learn to live with this.” Again and again, he’d wondered if he should tell his brother what he knew. That McCadden had chosen to push Brochan from his life in order to be with Viola. But again and again, he had refrained.
A mistake was made. McCadden had learned from it. Why rub his guilt in his face now? What purpose would it serve? Especially when Brochan had already forgiven him. If his brother had passed Viola’s test, Brochan would not have her now.
His gaze found her, as it always did, and he grinned. She’d anchored her mass of hair into a messy bun, sweat making stray strands stick to her cheeks. She wore a pink shirt with a high collar and long sleeves, a pair of gloves, leather pants tucked into steel-toed boots. A leather apron draped her chest, and a tool belt encircled her waist. Safety goggles were perched on her nose.
She’d never looked lovelier.
Contentment enveloped Brochan.
“What’s she even making?” McCadden demanded. “No. You know what? Never mind. I’d rather leave before she notices—”
Viola noticed. She lifted a finger, asking for a moment, and turned down the music. “Hello, son. Momma’s busy at the office right now. How about I read you a bedtime story tomorrow night instead?”
A growl rumbled from his brother. “Stop this. I mean it. It’s not funny anymore.”
“Wow. I give our relationship my all, and this is the thanks I get. Wow,” she repeated, clearly affronted. She looked to Brochan. “Kids today, amirite?”
McCadden worked his jaw and muttered, “I dodged a bullet, I really did. She’s a terror.”
“Yes. She is.” Brochan’s smile spread wider. “But she’s my terror.”
She blew him a kiss before returning to her task. His heart squeezed. She’d given him Nevaeh on Earth, and he wished to give her something in turn.
What if he could give her Nevaeh, period? Sent Ones’ spouses were able to slip past the veil between worlds as easily as Sent Ones themselves. Or at least try? They would find out his origins one way or the other. If the venture proved successful, the Forsaken would be unable to reach her. Threat negated.
McCadden shifted from one side to another, drawing his attention. “You asked me a question the other day,” the lad stated softly. “The answer is…I don’t know.”
Brochan didn’t need to rack his brain to recall the question: Did he wish to remain mortal? “When you decide, let me know.” He hoped his brother chose a life of immortality. If he couldn’t provide a wing root, perhaps McCadden would agree to transition into a vampire, as Viola once suggested. But, if McCadden wished to live and die, for whatever reason, Brochan would respect his choice. What else could he do?
“Brochan, the bracelet is ready,” Viola called, removing rubber gloves. “Sorry, I mean the manly armband. It’s like mine. Now you can behead people the same way I beheaded you. Easily! So, come on and try it out. Oh! And your ring. Impact causes a hook to shoot out. Boom.” She punched the air. “You just removed your opponent’s eye with a single punch. Really, your options are only limited by your imagination.”
He flashed to her, materializing at her side. She currently perched on a stool, bent over a table made of brick. Smiling up at him, she fastened thin links of metal from his elbow to his wrist. The words Property of Viola graced each piece.
