The Falconer (The Falconer #1)

Chapter 1

1

Edinburgh, 1874

The ale here is shite, but the company’s worse.

I sink low in my seat, cap tugged down as I scan the tavern. It’s well past midnight, and the Rusted Anchor is filled to the brim. This is the Edinburgh gutters, where the lonely and the lost find their ilk. Predators wearing familiar skins walk among them, myself included.

But I’m the monster who hunts other monsters.

I drag my stare across the drunken sods huddled up to the bar, laughing too loud and drinking too deep. Any of them could be next. This dance with the fae started days ago, and no matter how quickly I move, I’m always one step behind. Four bodies in three nights with their throats ripped out, left discarded in alleys. I tracked the victims here to this filthy tavern.

I’m here to make sure there’s no fifth.

A soused bloke thumps down at my table, flashing rotten teeth.

“Evenin’,” he slurs, ale-sour breath wafting over me. “What’s a sweet lamb like you doing in a pisspot like this?”

Sweet lamb. What an imbecile.

Honestly, can’t a woman brood in peace?

Truth is, I’m well aware that I’m out of place here—my cap doesn’t entirely hide my ginger curls and my freckled face is a little too delicate. One fae called me adorable before I stabbed his eyes out. I look about as dangerous as a damn kitten. Which works to my advantage since even the fae underestimate tiny mortal women lurking about.

Right up until I kill them.

I turn away, ignoring the leering gent. I’ve no time for pathetic attempts at flattery. He’s not the reason I’m here.

A flash of gold catches in my periphery—and I almost smile.

There you are, you slippery little bastard.

Just walked in, glowing ever so faintly. His glamour flickers, a facade overlaying features recognisable as inhuman. Strong jaw, charming smile, white teeth—the illusion of a rake, a rogue, a scoundrel. Or so it would seem to any other woman in this cesspit.

Beauty and charm to hide the predator.

The fae surveys the crowd, a clever grin playing on his lips. Seeking out vulnerabilities. Weaknesses to exploit and manipulate. I know his tastes by now. He doesn’t visit the bloodhouses in the Fade, where willing humans offer themselves up to fae for feeding.

No, he likes them noncompliant, laid low, always targeting the saddest drunks. He enjoys killing women most—the ones desperate for a shred of affection or a quick tumble in the sheets to feel alive for a moment. Sometimes he beds them before he kills them. Easy prey.

His attention alights on a woman alone at a table, shoulders hunched like she’s trying to fold in on herself. Nursing her cup like it holds all the answers. My eyes narrow, watching the fae studying her. The poor thing doesn’t stand a chance.

Beneath the table my fingers curl around the hilt of my dagger. It would be so easy to end this now—one throw, straight through the bastard’s black heart.

But not here. Too many people. I need him outside.

“Ye come here often, darling?”

The soused idiot again.

I sigh, dragging my gaze away from the fae. Wouldn’t want him to notice how intently I’m staring. Get close enough, and he might recognise me or realise I can see right through his disguise. That I’m aware he’s no ordinary scoundrel looking for a quick drunken rut in an alleyway.

“Not interested,” I say, modulating my tone to match this part of town. My natural polished accent would betray my noble upbringing, draw too much attention.

“No? Just I ain’t seen you before, is all.”

I stifle a groan. This tosspot isn’t taking the hint. But he’s right—I spend my days in silks and finery. Aileana Kameron, the Marchioness of Douglas, is an aristocrat from a long line of nobility. And I’d rather this fool not realise I’m drinking beside him with fae-blessed blades hidden beneath my skirts, and I know eighteen ways to kill a fae with my pinky finger.

I need to get rid of him. Fast.

So I turn to the man and offer my best simpering smile. “Tell you what. I could use another pint. Be a love and fetch it for me?”

His grin spreads, showing more rot. But he lumbers to his feet, swaying. “Anything for a pretty face.”

Finally. As he toddles off to the bar, I return my attention to the fae. He’s on the prowl now, gliding through the crowd toward his chosen victim. I slide out of my chair and weave around patrons, smiling as if I’m changing tables. The din of drunken voices and off-key singing fades into the background.

Everything narrows to that golden shimmer as I shadow the fae across the room.

He perches on the stool beside the woman, leaning in close as only the boldest rogue might dare. I almost pity her.

She turns, eyes widening at the sight of her would-be seducer. Her fingers flutter to her throat as she takes in that striking face, and I see her melt under his influence. His voice is muted by the crowd, but the look he gives her is unmistakable. I can feel the pressure of his power licking the air, intended to seduce, beguile, tempt her closer. To lower her defences with clever words and false promises.

My fingers twitch with the urge to bury my blade in his spine—but I keep my distance.

The fae is focused on his prey, no doubt whispering pretty lies and spinning a web of deception and desire. They all have their methods—salting their falsehoods just enough to spark curiosity and overcome any lingering doubts their seductive power can’t smother. Twisting tales of comfort, protection, eternal devotion. I’ve heard them all before. Lies that must sound so sweet to lonely ears.

The woman sways into him, enraptured by every honeyed word dripping from his lips. I grit my teeth, tamping down the hot flare of anger in my chest. Even if she knew the danger she was in, he’s got the glamour poured on thick as treacle. Trusting she will replenish whatever he’s wasted when he feeds.

I have to admit, the fae is skilled. He knows just what to say to lure them in. Wears an illusion that doesn’t seem like the kind of man to leave bodies mutilated in his wake.

If only she knew how quickly flattery can turn to fangs at your throat. I learned that lesson young.

I shove the memories down, skin prickling as the fae’s glow intensifies. His glamour ripples, the disguise fraying as bloodlust leaks through the cracks in his facade. His intended victim misses the flash of greed in those too-bright eyes, too drunk on false affection to see past the illusion. But I do not. I know that ravenous look. Have seen it too many times before the screaming started.

A barmaid bumps into me, ale sloshing over us both. “Oh! Pardon, lass, didn’t see you there.”

I steady my footing and force a tight smile. “No harm done.”

I can’t draw any undue notice, not when I’m so close to ending this.

The woman rises on unsteady feet to follow the fae from the bar. I slip out into the night after them, their shapes fading into the fog. The cobblestones are slick and wet beneath my boots as I stalk my prey down the narrow alley, my heartbeat marking the seconds. The woman is sloshed on strong ale and sweet words, staggering against the monster’s side. One hand possessively around her waist, leading her along.

I slide a blade from my belt, the familiar weight a comfort in my palm. My pulse thrums with the thrill of the hunt; shadows embrace me in a lover’s caress. Hunting monsters is in my blood, after all. I was raised for this dance, sculpted into a hunter by my mother from childhood.

Up ahead, the fae urges the woman into a secluded close and out of sight, slipping into darkness with his prize. No hesitation. No fear of being seen—because he’s focused on the kill.

One hand tangles roughly in her hair as he kisses her. I roll my eyes in impatience. If I had known he liked to toy with his food, I would have stabbed him sooner. The woman gives a moan of pleasure.

Would you hurry the hell up? I’ve been at this for hours.

Then— finally — he tugs her head aside to expose the vulnerable line of her throat. Golden eyes gleam in the dark, fangs bared and ready to rend her flesh. So close. She’s seconds from death and doesn’t even know it.

I ghost nearer. The fae is so intent on its prey that he doesn’t sense me. My fingers flex around the dagger in anticipation, muscles wound tight.

My mother’s words whisper through my mind.

Never let them see you coming.

Not until the killing blow.

The words that have kept me alive this long. I obey them now, melting back into the hungry dark. Watching. Waiting.

The fae trails a finger down the woman’s throat, and she shivers, lost in his thrall. He leans in, tongue licking up the column of her neck.

“How delicious you are,” he purrs. “For you, I’ll make this quick.”

The woman’s lashes flutter shut. Golden eyes flash with hunger, and the fae lunges in for the kill—only to meet empty air as I yank the woman back. He snarls and turns—

And my blade sinks deep into his throat.

I twist the dagger before ripping it free. The fae gurgles and thrashes, clawing at the cobblestones as his glamour melts away. The human facade sloughs off like a shed skin, revealing his true face—all sharp cheekbones, luminous skin, and irises like burning gold coins.

In the end, they all show their true faces.

I turn to the woman cowering against the alley wall, palm clamped over her mouth in mute horror. Stepping over the fae’s twitching corpse, I approach her slowly and extend my clean hand.

“It’s all right,” I tell her gently. “Let me help you up.”

But she flinches back from my touch, terrified. I suppose I can’t blame her. To this woman, I must look a fright—this blood-drenched spectre materialising from the shadows wielding weapons and death. Still, no sense leaving her out here alone and confused. She needs calming. I should—

Then she opens her mouth and starts screaming. She screams and screams, a piercing wail sure to rouse every damn resident in Edinburgh. No one else will see the fae’s body—it’s invisible to humans now that its glamour has failed. But this woman watched him die and melt away.

“Well done,” a familiar dry voice says. “Though you should aim for the heart, not the throat. Less splatter.”