The Falconer (The Falconer #1)

Chapter 11

11

The slick cobblestones shine beneath my boots as Kiaran and I walk through the shadowed wynds. Rain hisses down around us in the grey night. Kiaran walks several paces ahead, the dark fall of his hair obscuring his sharp features. He wears the shadows like a second skin.

I quicken my steps to match his longer strides, gritting my teeth against the chill. “You know, for someone with legs as long as yours, you could try slowing down once in a while,” I call out over the rain. “To spare my fragile human limbs the torment of chasing after you.”

His voice drifts back, smooth and unruffled. “I could. But where would be the motivation for you to hasten your pace?”

I shove wet hair off my forehead with a grunt. “Has anyone told you lately that you’re an infuriating bastard?”

“You. Frequently.”

“As long as you’re aware.”

We descend into the dark underbelly of the Old Town. Edinburgh’s rotting bones. Few respectable folk wander here after midnight—its monsters are fae and human. No lamps flicker in half-hearted welcome in Cowgate. The stench of stale spirits hangs thick in the air, undercut by the sweetness of decay.

“Keep up, Kameron,” Kiaran calls back to me.

I tear my gaze from the rat scurrying across the muck and quicken my steps again.

The hidden entrance to the Fade trembles as we approach, reality bending and blurring like watercolours beneath a steady stream. When it settles, a set of gates towers before us, woven of moonlight given form.

Gone are the wynds and alleys of Edinburgh’s Old Town. In their place sprawls a city crafted from dreams and starlight—shining spires and smooth, pristine streets untouched by the filth of the world we’d left. Warm light spills from ornate lamps lining the avenues, occupied by sleek metal carriages that blur past in the blink of an eye.

I spot fae riders on shimmering steeds forged of magic rather than flesh and bone. The horses flash by, manes and tails streaming like liquid silver.

Kiaran carved out the Fade for fae survivors when the Courts fell centuries ago, and the monarchs vanished. He tucked their kingdom between the cracks and shadows of the mortal plane, cloaking it behind veils of illusion. Most humans wander right by without ever seeing through its deceptions.

It’s at once lovely and strange—and perilous. Danger lurks here under the gilded beauty, waiting to strike.

Cu? si?th prowl the gates, their fur shifting through hypnotic colours—blue, violet, crimson. Their gazes track me, a warning. These are no tame creatures to toy with. The hounds serve only Kiaran, and they serve him well.

One of the nearest pricks its ears, baring its fangs in a silent snarl as we pass through unhindered. Its hot breath steams in the frigid air.

“Hello, sweet baby,” I croon to the beast, because I’ve never had much in the way of good sense or an instinct for self-preservation. “You’re such a good dog, aren’t you? Guarding the gates for your terrifying, dour master? Yes, you are. The very best boy.”

Kiaran cuts me a withering look. “They’re not pets, Kameron.”

“Of course they’re not pets. They’re babies,” I say. “That one has such impressively large fangs. I’ve decided he’s my favourite. I’m going to call him Fergus.”

“No.”

“Alastair, then. Is he licking blood off his paws? Did my precious baby have to kill someone today?”

“Kameron.” Kiaran sounds like he’s about ready to let the hounds eat me. “Keep walking.”

His palm presses against my lower back, steering me toward the circle of bloodhouses. Laughter and haunting strains of music drift to us on the chill night breeze. Light spills from the windows of the elegant buildings, pooling on the gleaming cobblestones. The air feels weighted by the heady fragrance of night-blooming flowers.

“After you,” Kiaran murmurs, gesturing to the carved double doors. The flickering firelight bleeds crimson and gold across his stern features but does nothing to soften them.

I dig in my heels. “You never said we were going to a bloodhouse.”

Amusement pulls at his mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little pleasure house.”

My cheeks flush. I lift my chin and narrow my eyes.

“I want to be certain of your intentions before I walk into a den of fae debauchery. In case you’ve forgotten, I have four knives left.”

Kiaran’s gaze traces down my body, slow and assessing. Heat uncurls low in my stomach.

“Do try to save the knives for later. Wouldn’t want you to lose another.” His voice caresses me as he leans closer and murmurs, “Now be a good lass and get inside.”

I grit my teeth and push through the doors. The sounds crashing over me are overwhelming—laughter, snatches of conversation, haunting music. Candlelight bathes everything in molten gold, blurring edges into shadow. My lungs fill with the scent of perfume and skin. It stirs something restless in me.

Here, humans willingly offer their blood and energy to the fae in exchange for favours. But I’m not fooled into thinking such bargains come free of risk—nowhere in the Fade is truly safe.

One of the male fae gives me an assessing look. Then he notices the mark on my palm and quickly glances away—a reminder of the claim etched into my skin.

Kiaran’s voice slides over my senses like silk. “They know not to bother you.”

His power whispers over my consciousness, both promise and warning. I suppress a shiver.

“Well, brilliant,” I snap. “Because I’m out of patience tonight.”

My gaze snags on an alcove across the way. A woman arches in ecstasy against a male fae, head tipped back beneath his lingering kiss. He pushes a hand under her skirts as his fangs pierce her throat.

Kiaran’s grip tightens on my elbow, steering me firmly toward the stairs before I linger too long. But my thoughts keep drifting, imagining his hands moving over willing bodies, mapping every curve by candlelight. Those lips and fangs dragging moans of blissful pain from vulnerable throats as he feeds.

On the third-floor landing, Kiaran opens a door and gestures me inside. I brace for lavish scenes of sensual excess—bare limbs on display. Hot skin and tangled sheets.

I blink in surprise at the chamber. It’s cluttered but cosy, the shelves crammed with books and strange artefacts. Old tomes litter the floor. Weapons adorn the walls above the hearth, winking in the fire’s glow.

I hesitate on the threshold, taking it all in. This private sanctum is an odd contrast with the debauchery below.

“Are these your rooms? You live above a bloodhouse?”

Kiaran glances at me as he strips off his rain-soaked coat, giving me an enticing glimpse of lean muscle beneath the damp linen. I quickly drop my gaze.

“I don’t live here,” he says. “But I stay when business requires it.”

“When you need to feed?”

“Are you asking about my proclivities, Kameron?”

“Maybe. Are you avoiding the subject?”

“Careful.” The temperature plummets until every exhale mists the air between us. “Consider how far you want to push.”

Shadows congeal in the corners of the room, creeping across the floor toward my boots. I feel the immense pressure of Kiaran’s power building, pushing at the boundaries of control. Seeking a release. For an instant, I glimpse the wild thing prowling behind his eyes, ravenous and wanting—

Then he blinks and turns away to hang his coat on a peg. I sag against the wall, my knees watery. I hadn’t even realised I was holding my breath.

“The seers who own the bloodhouse invited me to keep rooms here.” Kiaran says. His tone holds no inflection. “The fae behave better knowing I’m close by.”

I nod, willing to let it go for now. My eyes roam the space again. “Well, it’s not what I pictured. I imagined more...”

“Mummified heads and corpses?” Kiaran says drily. “Cages and racks to chain the unwilling? A throne of skulls, perhaps?”

“Something like that. And the obligatory wall of fiendish torture devices.” I trail my fingers over the antique leather-bound tomes cramming the shelves, tilting my head to read the titles. “Though in my imagination, the throne was made from the bones of underlings who disappointed you.”

“I had to move the garish bone throne and the racks of torture devices to my summer estate,” he says. “They took up too much space once I expanded the weapons collection.”

I wander over to the imposing display of blades arranged above the mantlepiece. My imagination supplies vivid images of the vicious violence they had dealt in brutal hands over the centuries.

“If you do decide to bring back the throne, know that I intend to commandeer it for my amusement,” I say, trailing my fingers along the lethal knife edges, careful not to cut myself. “But tonight, I’ll just have to make do admiring this lovely array of armaments instead. Which is your personal favourite for eviscerating enemies?”

Kiaran steps up behind me, and I feel the warmth radiating from him. He reaches around to tap one of the larger swords.

“This saw countless battles.” His voice resonates through me, scattering coherent thought.

“Used for gutting your foes?”

His breath grazes my ear. “Too many to count.”

Before I can think better of it, I turn in the scant space still separating us. We’re so close I can see the subtle striations of silver and violet in his eyes. He smells of rain and the sea, wild and intoxicating.

Being alone here with him feels reckless. Dangerous. Every inch of my skin is alive and aware of his nearness. The mark on my palm tingles like a brand.

Kiaran turns away. I can’t seem to tear my gaze from the enticing play of firelight across the broad expanse of his shoulders, outlining every muscular ridge and valley beneath the thin, wet linen. The elegant knotwork of his glowing tattoos shimmers below the material.

“Why did you bring me here?” My words come out hushed. “You said you had something for me.”

“Wait here. Don’t touch anything.”

Kiaran disappears through a doorway into what must be his private chambers.

“Leaving me alone with all these fascinating weapons is just begging for trouble,” I call after him. “Who knows what damage I could cause unattended?”

“Try to behave.” He pauses. “And if you do cut yourself, avoid bleeding on anything irreplaceable. The rug was expensive.” I snort. “So kind of you to be concerned with my wellbeing.”

I lean against the wall, listening to soft sounds drifting from the other room as I wait—the slide of a drawer, the clink of glass. My traitorous imagination supplies images of lean muscle and bare skin gleaming golden in the firelight as he peels off his rain-soaked shirt.

Stop it , I tell myself.

I force my attention toward the window overlooking the Fade before my wayward thoughts wander further down that dangerous path.

“I didn’t know seers owned the bloodhouses,” I say to fill the silence.

“They oversee all of them. It’s part of the protection agreement for their safety.”

I watch a fae lead a young woman along under the gas lamps. She presses herself closer to his side with a besotted smile. More than willing to offer whatever he desires. The fae trails his knuckles down her cheek and throat in a proprietary caress before they disappear inside the bloodhouse.

“If your kind can sustain yourselves off each other, why even bother with humans?” I ask.

After a contemplative pause Kiaran responds: “Younger fae need to feed more frequently from an outside source. Some acquire a taste for the unique vitality of human energy.”

I watch a carriage streak down the glowing avenue below.

“And which is it for you?” I ask. “Seers or other fae?”

The silence from the other room turns suffocating. I picture Kiaran standing motionless amidst the shadows, something dangerous stirring in those ancient eyes at my impertinent prying.

“That’s twice tonight you’ve asked about the intimate details of my feeding habits.” His voice is edged with warning.

Heat floods my cheeks. “It occurred to me that after a year acquainted with you I know nothing about them.”

Kiaran reappears in the doorway opposite me. The look he gives me should have turned me to ash on the spot.

“I’m older,” he says at last. “More powerful. I don’t have to feed as often.” A pause. “I have other places to indulge when I need to. Does that satisfy this new fixation of yours?”

I force myself to hold his stare without flinching. “It does.”

Kiaran closes the distance between us and holds out a carved box. “Here. This is what I wanted to give you.”

Our fingers touch as I take it, sending sparks dancing across my skin. The patterns etched into the polished wood resemble vines and leaves. I lift the lid with trembling hands to find two slender daggers inside. Kiaran’s exquisite craftsmanship is unmistakable—I recognise the metal that ripples like moonlight given form. Utterly lethal and beautiful.

“You made these overnight for me?”

“For your corset. In case of emergencies,” he says. “Try not to lose them.”

“Thank you,” I murmur.

Before I can second-guess myself, I rise on my toes and brush a kiss over his cheek. Just a whispered touch of my lips. His breath catches almost imperceptibly at the contact. For the span of a heartbeat, our gazes lock. The mark on my palm scorches.

Then I withdraw, heat flooding my cheeks. Touching him was a foolish impulse. He must think me mad—or worse, dangerously overstepping boundaries.

But his expression remains inscrutable as ever. “I’ll walk you out,” is all he says.