Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 112287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
“Okay, okay, I love metallurgy. Even though I already learned most of it with Dad.” Zoe bounced up to her feet, but instead of coming over for food, she ran down the stairs from the kitchen that led to her father’s basement workshop.
This time, Slayer stayed put, snoozing in the morning light.
“Is Deacon down there?” Elena hadn’t heard any sign of Sara’s husband.
Pulling up a stool next to Elena, her plate of pancakes already doused with syrup, Sara shook her head. “Gone for a couple of days to hand deliver a custom order. You know he doesn’t trust even angelic couriers with that kind of thing.”
“I wouldn’t, either, if I was him.” Deacon’s weapons were works of art. She wondered if he had any idea that angelic warriors got flat-out tearful at the thought of his life span being a mortal one.
A single request and he’d be fast-tracked on his way to becoming a vampire. And because Deacon was so valued, angelkind would also authorize Sara’s Making, with Zoe given the choice once she reached the minimum age threshold.
But Deacon had no desire to live forever; neither did Sara.
Elena had learned to accept her friend’s choice as Sara had always supported hers. That didn’t mean it didn’t terrify her, the idea of living on for eons after her best friend was gone from this world; she knew this friendship was one of a kind. No one else would ever be Sara to her.
They’d become hunters together. Become women together.
Footsteps bounced up the stairs and over to them, until Zoe stood next to her, her happiness vibrant and unfettered. “Sorry your birthday present is late, Auntie Ellie,” she said with the sweetness of the child she’d once been, “but I wanted it to be just right.”
Bringing her hand around from behind her back, she showed Elena a small throwing blade cradled inside a leather sheath. “The sheath is a standard protective one since I know you have your own, but I made the knife,” she said in a rush.
Elena’s eyes went hot. “Zoe.” She took the blade with care. “You made this?” Zoe had grown up in Deacon’s workshop and was a talented apprentice, but this felt next-level. No toy or practice sword but a functional weapon.
“Yeah.” She rocked back and forth on her heels. “I gave my first dagger to Mom, but it was under the cone of secrecy—I wanted to surprise you with one, too.”
Elena slid the blade out of the sheath, then laid the metal of it against her palm as she examined the workmanship. No breaks, the lines clean and continuous, even a fine decorative carving along the handle that wasn’t indicative of Deacon’s way of doing things. Zoe, developing her own style.
“This is good enough to sell, you know that, right?” It wasn’t perfect by Deacon standards, but it blew most other makers out of the water.
And for being given in love? It was a treasure Elena would protect forever.
Zoe glowed as Sara said, “See, baby, I told you I wasn’t just saying that because I’m your mom. You also know your dad never says anything he doesn’t mean when it comes to his craft. And he says you’re the best apprentice he’s ever had—he gets grumpy every time you go back to campus.”
Zoe ran over into her mother’s arms, the two of them hugging as Sara laughed at being tickled by Zoe’s curls. Sara hadn’t inherited those curls from her own mother, but the dormant genes had come through loud and clear in her daughter, with stunning results.
Sara and Deacon’s daughter was a knockout.
As for Zoe’s temperament, she had pieces of both her calm and focused father as well as her intense and driven mother, but the rest was pure, unique Zoe.
“I love it.” Elena slid the knife not back into the sheath, but into one of the spare slots in her forearm brace. “Perfect fit.”
Zoe’s eyes widened. “You’re gonna carry it. Eee!” She jumped up and down, drawing Slayer over to her.
Crouching to pet and cuddle him with the tender affection of a young woman who knew her loyal friend was in the final twilight of his life, she said, “I can’t wait to tell Dad!”
When she looked up at Sara, Sara glanced at the wall clock. “He’ll be awake. But come right back down to eat after, before your food goes cold.”
“Mom, I’m not seven anymore,” Zoe said with a laugh, hugging Sara again.
“Listen to your mother,” Elena ordered. “You hate cold pancakes, so if you come back too late, we’ll have to listen to you moan the entire time.”
Grinning, Zoe shot them both a salute before running off to call her father—who also happened to be a craftsman Zoe respected beyond all others.
“My God, Sara,” Elena said when they were alone, “she’s better than most people I know who’ve set themselves up as full-time professionals. That includes immortals.”