The mate bond would fetter her far tighter than Sean’s mate-claim or the claim Jared had tried to put on her. It was a bond of Andrea’s own making, and she knew she’d never escape it.

Instead of anger or fear, Andrea’s heart spread warmth through her. She wrapped her arms around Sean and pulled him down to her, burying herself in his heat, feeling joy.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The sword was calling to her.

Andrea lay still in the moonlight, listening, wondering whether she were dreaming. Sean’s arm was heavy around her, pinning her in his sleep.

The words weren’t English. They were liquid sounds, flowing like music. Andrea had never learned the language of Faerie, or the Celtic or Gaelic that Shifters from Ireland and Scotland knew. She wasn’t even certain that what she heard was a language at all.

The sword was downstairs still, yet she had no doubt that the whispers that snaked into her mind came from it. The sound was tinged with silver, though practical Andrea knew sound had no color. This one seemed to.

Andrea carefully slid out from under Sean’s arm, shivering as her skin met the cold air. Sean frowned in his sleep as she left the bed, but he didn’t wake.

Andrea moved softly down the stairs, knowing the house was empty. The rooms were dark, no lights to betray her to anyone walking by outside.

The sword was in the living room, lying across a table like a sentinel, an oblong cross in its plain sheath. The runes on the sheath and hilt glowed faintly in the moonlight.

The whispers increased as Andrea approached, the sounds more rapid. Andrea folded her arms across her chest, certain she didn’t want to touch it.

Bring it to me, the Fae man had said. He’d stood out there under the trees, tall and beautiful in his shimmering armor, his eyes dark gray, almost black. Bring me the Sword of the Guardian. It is the most important thing you will ever do.

The arrogant Fae had been surprised when Andrea had put her hands on her hips, cocked her head, and said, And why should I believe you?

For an instant, he’d shown his rage, fury that a mere half-Fae woman would disobey him. Then his look had softened, and he’d said, Because I gave life to you. Your mother was my only love, and you, Andrea Gray, are my daughter.

The shock of his words had dried her mouth, but Andrea shook her head. Weak card, Fae-man. Even if I did believe you, it wouldn’t make me give you the sword. My father was a complete bastard who deserted my mother because he didn’t care about anyone but himself.

He’d gazed at her with Fae-dark eyes, black in his pale face. I had to leave. The time between has been long. And now, you ...

You’ve been coming to me in my dreams, and now you claim to be my father. If you think I’ll fall on my knees and beg to obey you, you’re a complete fool.

To her surprise, the Fae had smiled. Ah, Andrea. You are so like your mother. He reached for her. Her death took the heart out of me, child. Perhaps you could put it back.

Don’t even think about touching me.

The Fae dropped his hand to his side. No. You must touch me. Touch my skin, and I will prove it to you. I will show you ...

Curious in spite of herself, Andrea had been reaching for him when Sean had barreled into her, and the Fae had blinked out.

Andrea had been angry at Sean for stopping her, but she understood, when she’d calmed, why Sean had done it. Fae were treacherous. They weren’t as strong in the human world as they once were, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t do plenty of damage if they managed to cross over. Just because this Fae knew Andrea’s name and said heart-wrenching things about her mother didn’t mean he told the truth. He could be anybody, could have forced knowledge out of her real father, and for whatever purpose the man wanted the sword, it couldn’t be good for Shifters.

The sword continued its rapid, musical whispers as she approached. The runes glowed and quivered, and Andrea’s sleep-blurred eyes saw a glow rise from the hilt in fine threads, the same as she’d envisioned when she’d healed Ely.

Andrea reached for the hilt. A strange reluctance to touch the sword stole over her, but she let her hand hover just above the metal. The threads of light reached for her, touched her palm, tingled.

She jumped, but this touch was different from the touch of the threads in her nightmares. Those threads tried to bind and suffocate her; these caressed her skin and continued their tingling dance. The feeling was warm, comforting.

Andrea moved her hand down the sword, and the threads followed. The sparks were tiny, barely discernable, and moonlight gleamed hard down the length of the sword.

Sean’s sword. Part of him and now trying to be part of her.

Andrea had to smile. His other sword had been part of her tonight too. Sean had truly claimed her, and she’d loved every second of it.

Bring it to me.

The Fae’s remembered command echoed in her head. Andrea pictured herself taking up the sword and carrying it outside into the moonlit clearing to hand it to the tall Fae who would be waiting.

Except there shouldn’t be a moonlit clearing, because it was raining outside. Droplets of rain pattered outside the window and had been this entire time, but Andrea hadn’t noticed them. As soon as she glanced at the window, whatever had passed for moonlight died, though the threads continued to seek her hand.

When she’d healed Ely, she’d cut herself on the blade. She studied the streak across her palm and noted that it had narrowed and dried to a very thin streak.

The sword had touched her blood, and her blood was on the sword.

Did that mean something? Or nothing at all?