The Falconer (The Falconer #1)

Chapter 14

14

Three months ago

The cold bites through my clothes as I make my way up Calton Hill. Frost coats the grass beneath my boots, glittering like shards of glass in the moonlight.

I spent months avoiding the seal, refusing to give my offering, but that only led to pounding headaches, dizziness, and weakness that left me barely able to stand. The ancient magic bonding me doesn’t care that I’m exhausted by its sacrifice. It marked me, and it will keep taking and taking until there’s nothing left of me.

My mother’s warning rings in my ears. You’ll feel the pull when it’s time. Don’t ignore it, or you’ll regret it.

I draw my blade, glaring at the intricate pattern of runes etched into the metal. “I hate you,” I hiss at the seal as I cut open my palm.

Crimson splashes down, sizzling where it strikes the seal. Steam curls upward, wispy shapes twisting for a moment before fading. I squeeze my palm again, fresh pain blooming.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Each offering takes me closer to the edge, just another involuntary blood sacrifice given under magical duress. I stare at the metal, now glistening wet and red in the moonlight. Anger and bitterness roil inside me, tightening my chest.

This is my life. This is my duty.

And I don’t have a choice.

Snarling in frustration, I wrap a strip of linen around my gashed palm, staunching the worst of the bleeding. The wound will knit itself closed soon enough.

The offering seems to ease some of the sickness at once. The pounding ache behind my eyes recedes for the first time in over a week, leaving me almost clear-headed—a reprieve purchased with pain.

Soon, I’ll return to the townhouse I once shared with my mother. The shadowed rooms where her absence haunts my every step, my footsteps on the creaking floorboards echoing in the space she left behind. The home that feels like a tomb now that I’m alone.

As I start down the fog-shrouded path back from Calton Hill, the fine hairs on my nape prick in a warning.

I spot two figures waiting at the base of the trail below, swathed in mist and shadow. Watching me with ravenous eyes that flash in the moonlight.

Fae.

My unease spikes. How did they get so close without my sensing them? I’ve grown careless after months of respite, too distracted by grief and frustration.

The ground rushes up to meet me as unseen power knocks my feet from under me. The impact drives the air from my chest in a pained grunt. I lay stunned for a heartbeat, my limbs sluggish and unresponsive. Dark spots swarm my vision. I dig my fingernails into the frigid earth and gravel, clawing to my hands and knees.

A lyrical male voice slithers into my mind and wraps around my splintered thoughts. It breathes into my consciousness, beckoning me into the dark. Compelling me.

“There you are, lovely one.”

I shudder, fighting the compulsion, but my traitorous limbs lock in place despite my efforts. I crash back down onto the frozen ground with a choked cry. Unable to move.

“Bring her to me.”

The command echoes through my mind in an unrelenting refrain. Bring her. Bring her. Bring her.

I am immobilised, filled with dread by my captor. Closer now, each footfall rings out a death knell. I can’t scream, can’t even whimper.

The first fangs descend in a claiming. A violation. My memories fracture—the wet tearing of flesh, mocking laughter in my ears. Strike after merciless strike until I’m lost beneath the deluge. Then cold metal parts my ribs, and white-hot agony blossoms.

Darkness tunnels my vision. I cling stubbornly to ragged shreds of consciousness, but I feel myself slipping.

Just before the dark claims me, an anguished scream rends the night. Another follows. Sounds of a vicious struggle reach me through the fog blanketing my mind. Then, a familiar chill settles over me. The lethal caress of power against my skin could only belong to one fae.

I manage a breathless moan. “Christ. Not you.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” comes the dry reply.

Kiaran’s touch is gentle as his palm frames my cheek, a sharp contrast to the violence just inflicted on me.

“You’re not going to die on me, are you Kameron?” The barest edge to his voice betrays his tension.

“Not sure,” I mumble, struggling to cling to awareness. I focus on Kiaran’s voice, letting it anchor me. “Tired.”

Kiaran’s hold tightens, keeping me tethered to consciousness through the pain threatening to drag me under. “Kameron. Look at me.”

His command repeats along the fragmented edges of my mind, steady and unrelenting.

Look at me.

Shuddering, I force my eyes open. His face blurs above me, so beautiful it seems unreal. Too perfect.

“Keep looking at me.”

“Are you bossing me about while I’m dying?” I breathe.

“Yes,” he says, somewhat sharply. “Keep arguing with me, understand? Eyes on me.”

Kiaran lifts me into his arms, jostling the dagger buried deep just below my heart. White-hot agony lances through my ribs, wrenching a ragged cry from my throat. My vision spots with black once more.

“What did I say about closing those eyes, Kameron?”

My limbs start to go numb.

“Arrogant bastard,” I mutter.

“Good. Keep insulting me.”

“Very well,” I murmur. “Just give me a minute to...rest...”

It’s cold when my awareness returns. Kiaran is speaking. I cling to the lyrical cadence of his voice, letting it guide me back from the hungry dark.

Aileana Kameron, open your damn eyes.

His sharp command hits like a stone on my chest. The night starts to fray at the edges of my vision, darkness spreading to blot out the blur of his face above me.

I’m lowered onto familiar sheets—my bedchamber. The frantic flutter of wings reaches my ears. Derrick’s panicked voice follows: “Bloody hell. What did you let happen to her out there?” His tiny palms smooth matted hair back from my brow.

Kiaran doesn’t answer, focused on my wounds. “Breathe, Kameron. There’s my good lass. Just keep breathing for me.” His lips graze my ear as he issues a soft command. “Listen closely now. I can save you, but you have to accept my mark.”

Mark? What mark? I can’t think through the bloody haze clouding my mind.

“Absolutely not,” Derrick snarls. “You’re not going to use this as an opportunity to put your mark on her, you fucking cretin.”

“If you want her to live, stop talking,” Kiaran snaps at the pixie. “Kameron? Come on, sweet lass. Say yes. I can’t give it to you unless you accept.”

My lips part, and I manage two slurred words past the blood filling my mouth. “I accept.”

Kiaran presses his palm to mine. Fresh pain blooms beneath his touch there, radiating outward until every ravaged cell ignites. Power unfurls inside me—a wildfire rushing through my veins, spreading to knit torn flesh and splintered bone. It pushes back the cold trying to take root in my bones. Almost whole again.

I arch off the bed with a ragged gasp as the mark searing itself into my skin thrums with ancient magic. Changing me. Remaking me. Saving me.

Before I surrender to exhaustion, the symbol on my palm flares, and my chest expands with breath.

*

When I wake, morning light filters through my curtains. Kiaran stands at my window, limned in the soft dawn glow. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing forearms patterned with his glowing tattoos. His expression is pensive as he gazes down at the awakening city below.

My attention falls on the shimmering mark on my palm. Another mystical tether binding me tighter to duty.

A bitter laugh escapes me, drawing Kiaran’s attention. When his eyes meet mine across the room, I slowly roll onto my back with a quiet groan and stare at the ceiling. “I wanted to stop, you know.”

“Being a Falconer?” he asks, carefully neutral.

“Bleeding for the seal, after...” I trail off, throat tightening around the words.

After losing my mother. After being left alone with no one.

My fingers find the neat rows of healed puncture wounds tracking my arms, counting each one. So many scars now marring my skin.

“As it turns out, if I don’t give blood regularly, my body starts shutting down. That’s how I got ambushed last night.” Bitterness creeps into my voice. “Too weak to properly defend myself. Now, I find myself with another mystical tether I don’t understand. So tell me, what does that make me now? Your servant?”

Kiaran’s expression remains unreadable as ever. “If obedient servitude was my aim, you would be the very last creature I would choose to mark. You’re reckless. Chaotic. Belligerent.” His gaze sweeps over me in frank assessment. “Far too disobedient to ever make a proper servant.”

I release an exasperated breath, wincing at the flare of pain from my tender ribs. “Good lord. Did you save my life just to insult me afterwards?”

The corner of Kiaran’s mouth twitches. It’s the closest I’ve ever seen to a real smile grace his face. He steps closer and catches my hand before I can hide the marked palm from view. His fingers curl around mine, warm and steady. Heat seeps into my skin everywhere we touch, chasing away the lingering chill clinging to my bones.

“This mark means nothing more than you want it to mean.” His thumb brushes over my palm, and I feel that feather-light touch sweeping over every inch of my body. “This will conceal you from the fae, even when you’re vulnerable. No one else will be able to sense your location anywhere in this city.”

I trace my fingers over the shimmering symbol, committing the graceful loops to memory. “Except you.”

“Except me.”

I decide not to consider what that makes us. How that changes us. He says I’m not a servant, but there’s nowhere I can run where he won’t find me.

For now, I focus on what I can do. Who I can slaughter.

“You killed some of them last night. But others got away.” My jaw tightens with remembered rage. “How many?”

Kiaran hesitates before answering. “Three escaped.”

Anger flares hot and bright inside me. “Do you know their names?”

“Kam—”

“Their names,” I snap. “Now.”

“Thalion. Sorcha. Arion.”

I repeat the three names in my mind, searing them into memory. Into my heart. “I want descriptions. I want to know everything about them.” Steel creeps into my voice. “Because I’m going to end them. You have my word on that. Do I have yours? When it’s time, you’ll let me?”

Kiaran’s expression is unreadable. “You have my word,” he says.