Chapter 6
6
The discordant screech of the orchestra fills my ears as I search the crowd, scanning the silks and smiles. Faces blur, indistinct. Around me, aristocrats whirl in the waltz, a kaleidoscope of fashion and frivolity. Oblivious to the predator lurking among them.
Nothing seems amiss, but my veins thrum. The fae is here. Somewhere close. But where?
I crane my neck, shuffling through the movements. Over Gavin’s shoulder, the blurred sea of dancers continues revolving in their mindless orbit. The same faces I’ve known since girlhood, peering at me with curiosity—waiting for prime gossip fodder. I try to ignore the prickle of their stares.
“Marchioness?” Gavin’s voice jolts me from my reverie. “Still with me?”
“Of course.” I paste a vacant smile on my face. “Sorry. My thoughts wandered.”
“No fainting spells yet?” He arches a brow. “Or have you finally mastered the art of breathing while trussed up in a corset?”
I roll my eyes. “Corsets aren’t that terrible. I told you, it’s the heat that might make me require resuscitation before the night is out.”
Even a Scottish winter couldn’t breach the stifling conditions of a full ballroom.
We turn again, and my half-focused gaze lands on an elderly matron swaying nearby on her partner’s arm. I almost don’t see the collision coming until it’s too late.
“Oof!” I careen into the lady nearest me.
The wide skirts of our dresses collide. We stagger together for one precarious moment before Gavin steadies me.
“Apologies,” I gasp, still reeling from that burst of fae power.
Shooting me a scalding look, the lady turns and rejoins the dance line.
The stares prickle across my skin. The circling wolves have scented blood, seeking any visible crack in my facade. My spine stiffens beneath the crushing weight of judgement from every side.
Show no weakness.
“Are you all right?” Gavin’s face is creased in concern.
I force a smile. “What did I tell you? The heat.”
Gavin takes my hand and smoothly leads me into a turn.
“Don’t crash into any more matrons, if you please. I’d rather not have us both ejected from polite society.”
“No promises,” I say.
The whispers rise just beneath the music’s din.
“ ...soused before the third set... ”
“ ...utter disgrace... ”
Gritting my teeth, my gaze darts sideways, still scanning the throng.
We turn again, and Gavin winces as I tread hard on his foot. “Good lord. At least try not to break my limbs in your distraction. Dance injuries won’t do much for your reputation.”
“Oops,” I say.
My attention slides past him to the double doors. Where are you?
I stretch my senses, probing through the crowd. The fae’s presence thrums just out of reach, a discordant note beneath the music. Not near enough for me to identify if it’s one I’m already tracking. But the power licking the air feels like a summons, drawing prey near. Which means it’s hunting in my territory. And death is the only suitable punishment.
Finally, the last notes warble and fade. As Gavin and I face each other, I school my features into politeness and dip into a flawless curtsey.
“I need a minute away from the crowds,” I tell him. “Make excuses to Catherine?”
Gavin heaves a sigh. “Very well. I’ll tell her you were ready to melt in that fine gown. But do return before she storms after you in a panic.”
I force a smile, though my veins thrum with urgency. “Soon,” I promise.
Violence sings through my veins, honing my focus to razor-sharpness as the crowd partitions around me. Their colours blur, receding until the hunt fills all my senses. As I slip from the stifling heat of the ballroom, only the anticipation thrumming inside me matters.
I pause in the corridor. The cloying scents of tobacco and perfume cling to my gown, turned sickly sweet by the heat pressing down from the chandeliers overhead. For a moment, I simply breathe, steadying myself. The noise of the orchestra and lively conversations fade behind me. I’m alone in the hushed corridor—yet I’m not. The awareness prickles across my skin, raising the fine hairs at my nape.
He’s close. Down the hall.
I slow my headlong rush, pacing forward on quiet feet. Awareness stretched taut for any sign of movement.
I trail my fingers along the patterned wallpaper, following that instinct. Each step takes me farther from the gilded warmth of the ball, my footfalls muted by the carpet runner. Up ahead, the hallway splits into two wings.
Pausing, I test the air. The fae’s power has faded, but intuition tugs me toward the bedchambers. The world recedes until nothing exists but me and my prey.
I pick up speed, ignoring the swishing of voluminous skirts that threaten to betray my presence. The rational part of my brain screams warning, some last frail thread of reason fighting to reassert itself through the bloodlust. Creeping into my host’s private quarters is unwise at best and scandalous at worst. If I’m discovered, no fortune or title will save my reputation.
But my duty hums in my veins.
I approach the first door, pressing my ear to the wooden surface. Silence. I ease it open—the chamber lies empty. I move on.
The next room is similarly unoccupied, as is the third. But as I reach for the fourth door, a low gasp reaches my ears. The ragged exhale of a life measured in seconds.
There you are.
I slip a hand under my petticoats and slide my dagger from the sheath at my thigh, the handle smooth beneath my grip—a fae weapon, lethal and ruthless. I curl my fingers around the hilt, steadying my nerve. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Careful now. Easy does it.
Holding my breath, I push the door open by inches.
The opulent bedchamber reminds me of a stage dressed and waiting for the next act. Ornate velvet drapes shut out any whisper of moonlight, leaving the expansive space illuminated by the lone candelabra near the hearth. Shadows pool in the corners and cling to the ceiling. The stale air reeks of copper and sweat—and fear. So much fear.
Even across the room, I can see the blood slicking the fae’s chin. His prey is still alive, stifling pained whimpers where he lies splayed on the counterpane. Lord Hepburn. The elderly man’s fingers clench and release at his sides, his waistcoat saturated deep red.
One misstep now and the fae will kill Lord Hepburn. I hold myself still, my senses heightened. Just a few more seconds to be sure of my throw...
A creak of hinges betrays my presence. The fae’s head whips toward me, those fathomless black eyes fixing on mine. My heart stammers an unsteady beat against my ribs. Recognition forces the air from my lungs in a painful rush.
Thalion.
One of the fae from three months ago.
Memories flash bright and visceral—the brush of his breath against my skin, the wet slide of his tongue along my throat. The piercing agony as his fangs tore deep to pierce my flesh. His voice crooning a melody as I bled over the cold ground on Calton Hill.
Thalion’s grin widens, eyes glinting with that all-too-familiar hunger. “So kind of you to join us. I hoped you’d sense me and I’d have the pleasure of seeing that pretty face again.” His gaze trails down my body, devouring every detail of the elaborate ballgown and corset-cinched figure. “I must say, this is a far more fetching ensemble than when last we met.” His tongue darts out, swiping a droplet of Lord Hepburn’s blood from his lip. “I’ll enjoy unwrapping you from all those skirts when we’re through here.”
Bile scalds my throat, sharp and sour. Old instincts rear up, screaming danger, fight or flight.
Run, they hiss. Run far and fast before he drags you back to that night. To the memory of being shattered beneath their fangs. Run.
“Step away from him,” I grit out.
My nails bite into my palms, desperate to still their trembling. He’ll scent the fear on me otherwise—and fear only makes his kind hungrier.
Thalion tilts his head, watching me. The nobleman whimpers behind him, a thready sound almost lost beneath the roaring in my ears.
“Such poor manners,” the fae chides. “I expected better etiquette from a lady of your noble standing. Especially a Falconer. Last time, you had the good sense to surrender.”
He runs his tongue along his teeth, a slow glide that turns my stomach. I tighten my sweat-slicked grip on the dagger. An anchor in a world tilted off its axis.
He slowly closes the distance between us. As far as he’s concerned, I’m caught. Already his. Craving gleams in his starless irises. This isn’t about the blood. It’s about me.
Breaking me.
“Take one more step, and this knife goes through your skull.” I force the words out past the sudden dizziness as he comes closer.
Thalion smirks, unconcerned by the threat. “Love, we both know if you had the nerve for that, you’d have done it already.”
His stare lingers on the low, square cut of my bodice before drifting to my hand, where Kiaran’s mark glows across my palm. Fury flashes through his features.
“I don’t enjoy seeing his claim on you, little bird,” he says, softly now. “Not when you still bear mine so beautifully.”
Little bird.
He’d purred those same words against my ear that night on the hill, gravel-rough and eager, his fingers biting into my hips hard enough to bruise as he forced me to kneel—
Panic floods my body. I press back against the panelled wall, my pulse spiking.
He wants to finish what he started the evening he left me mangled and bleeding in the dark. Wants to strip me down to nothing and consume anything that’s left. Wants to make a feast of my hollowed-out carcass. He’ll destroy me, and the seal imprisoning his worst brethren beneath Edinburgh’s streets will crack open.
If he touches me again, I’ll come undone. Shatter. I’m not sure there’s enough of me left to survive drowning in those memories. Not sure I could claw my way out of that abyss.
Just kill him. End this.
But it’s too late. The cornered animal part of my mind is already pinned back on the hill, trapped beneath hands and teeth. Their cruel laughter still scrapes inside my skull. The taste of their breath, of my own blood, coats my tongue.
I dig my nails into my palms again until the pain flares, bright and grounding. It drags me to the present, to the threat slinking closer, wearing the monster’s familiar face.
Remind this bastard why he should fear you.
I force my spine straight. “There’s only one way this ends. And it won’t be with me as a sacrifice to break open that seal. I hope your friends enjoy an eternity rotting under these streets.”
Thalion makes a low, considering noise in his throat. “What fire you have. I’d nearly forgotten what a delight you are to play with. Then again, perhaps I never truly appreciated it, given how quickly our time together ended. I was denied the chance to properly savour you. I intend to rectify that before I end your life.”
Revulsion twists my gut. I know exactly what kind of twisted enjoyment he means.
Thalion’s gaze sweeps over me. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, a slow glide my eyes track against my will. “Why don’t you be a good little Falconer and put that knife down?”
Quick as a viper, he seizes my wrist in a crushing grasp and wrenches the dagger away. It clatters to the floor as I hiss in pain.
In a blink, he presses in close, pinning me to the wall. With almost clinical precision, he shreds the glamour hiding my scars. The ones he helped carve into me mere months before.
“There now. Never hide these again. I want everyone to see my handiwork.” His thumbs dig into the marks where his fangs first sank deep. Bright pain blooms, stealing my breath. “I’ve missed you, little bird.”
Missed breaking me, he means.
Fear spikes through me, sharp as the knife lying useless at my feet. I claw at his grip, but he only chuckles and tightens his hold. I can’t breathe. Panic edges my vision in darkness. Makes me want to disappear. Pretend this isn’t happening. That I’m somewhere far away where he can’t reach me.
Thalion’s free hand tangles in my hair. His tongue drags up the column of my neck, savouring my taste, my terror. My pulse pounds erratically against his lips.
“Scream for me.” His exhale sears my skin. “Just like before.”
Rage blots out any other emotion. I slam my knee up between Thalion’s legs, satisfaction blooming as he grunts in surprised pain. His grip slackens. I wrench free and smash my elbow into his sternum.
I dive for the fallen knife.
Too slow. He hurls me sideways, and the floor rushes up to greet me. Pain explodes through my shoulder and hip as I crash down in a tangle of skirts. For a dizzy moment, all I can do is gasp raggedly, the room spinning around me.
Get up get up get up—
I scrabble upright, muscles shrieking in protest. He prowls closer, a smirk twisting his mouth. Relishing this.
Fingers fumbling behind my back, I grab the spare knife hidden in my skirts. My last line of defence.
Thalion barks a laugh when he spots the blade. “You’re shaking. How precious.”
Darkness creeps into the edges of my vision, narrowing the world to him and me and the blood pounding in my ears.
His mirth only sharpens as he bats the weapon out of my grasp. “Poor form. I was hoping for more sport from the last Falconer.”
The room tilts as his hands clamp around my throat again. Squeezing just shy of stealing my breath. Pinning me in place like an insect beneath glass.
“How shall we pass the time, little bird? I have so many delights in mind for you.”
I shut my eyes as if I could transport myself miles away. Somewhere he’ll never find me, never defile me, never crack me open and marvel at the fearful inner workings.
Teeth close on my earlobe, worrying the tender skin. I jerk in his grasp.
“Shall I wring more of those delicious whimpers from you? Or perhaps,” he muses, “I’ll recount how fetchingly your mother sobbed and begged as we took our time with her. She screamed your name at the end. Such love, to think of you in her last, gurgling moments.”
I claw at his grip. She died quick, he’s lying. She died quick, she died quick she died quick she—
Lord Hepburn gives a wet cough from the bed, and his dying rattle shatters the haze edging my mind.
For a moment, the pressure at my throat eases just enough.
Now. Now!
I slam my forehead into the fae’s nose. Cartilage crunches, and he reels away with a grunt. I crash to my knees, sucking in air that scorches my starved lungs, and lunge for my fallen knife.
My seeking fingers close on the familiar hilt of my weapon. In one smooth motion, I grab it and plunge it into Thalion’s chest.
He recoils with a choked snarl as I yank the dagger out. “You little bitch.”
But I’m past the fear now. There’s only anger singing through my veins. The fierce joy of a wolf with its jaws finally clamped around squirming, helpless prey. I gain my feet. I want him lucid. Want him to know exactly who is killing him.
I pull my arm back and drive the blade into his eye.
His scream cuts off as I clamp my hand over his mouth. “I warned you,” I whisper against his ear. “About the knife and your skull.”
And then I watch as he crumples to the bloodied carpet, twitching once before going still.
All the rage falls away until I’m trembling. He’s just another dead monster now. Nothing more.
I stumble, gasping. The gory weapon slips from my nerveless fingers. All the fury bleeds away, leaving me empty.
I’m still shaking amidst the wreckage.