Chapter 18
18
We climb the mist-shrouded rise of Calton Hill. My boots crunch and slide on the gravel path winding up the apex overlooking Edinburgh. The soaring Gothic spires of the Old Town loom below us, backdropped by the foreboding silhouette of the castle fortress. To the north sprawls the tidy Georgian order of the New Town, pale sandstone glowing golden beneath the gas lamps lining each elegant street.
The air thrums with power, raising the fine hairs at my nape. The seal carved into the massive boulder whirs with anticipation, its intricate arrangement of arcane symbols and mirrored script designed to bleed my bloodline dry. Elaborate mechanical gears surround a spinning cube at its centre, etched with precision—a clockwork prison built to drain the life from my veins.
Kiaran hangs back, the wind stirring his dark hair as he watches me walk the last few steps. The shield springs up around me in a flash of power, casting everything in molten gold. The ancient magic tastes my presence—recognises its master has come to sacrifice.
“Ready?” Kiaran asks.
I slant him a withering look. “Oh yes, perfectly thrilled for this delightful outing. Do put it on my headstone when I die—‘Here lies the last Falconer, bled dry by duty.’”
“A bit dramatic, even for you,” he says.
“Apologies. I’m fresh out of humour today.”
With a grimace, I strip off my gloves and brace for the sting of the blade. No amount of steeling my nerves prepares me for that first savage bite of metal. I dig my teeth into my lip and slash a deep gouge down my forearm. Blood wells up in its wake, spilling hot and wet down my wrist. I extend my arm over the seal, watching my offering strike the metal surface.
The sacrifice brings the device to life—gears grind and catch as the spinning cube consumes each crimson drop with greedy fervour. But the ancient magic roiling beneath still snarls with hunger.
Demanding more. Always more.
“Not enough,” Kiaran says, so softly I almost miss it over the screeching gears.
My answering laugh scrapes bitter up my throat. “Of course. Far be it from me to deny this monstrosity its due.” I rake my nails over the gash, splitting my flesh wider, reckless of the savage sting. Blood slicks hot over my fingers and spatters the gears below. “Shall I tap an artery instead, or will a pint suffice for now?”
Kiaran’s face remains an impassive mask, betraying nothing, but I know him well enough to notice the barest tightening along his sharp jawline. It’s the closest thing to a flinch I’ll get from him.
I carve another deep slice down my already mangled forearm, heedless of the mess I’m making. Crimson spatters strike the seal once more. I’m only a vessel, containing the last vital fluids this place demands. This duty takes everything—my choices, my body, my life.
I’m so focused on my task that I almost miss Kiaran’s minute tell. His hand squeezes into a fist.
“Kameron,” he says quietly.
My answering laugh holds no humour. It comes out half-wild and jagged as the wounds crisscrossing my skin. “No, it’s not finished. Maybe it wants my kidney too?”
I dig the dagger in deeper, vicious, lost to the pain and the hot spill of blood. My vision swims, blurring at the edges. I sway on my feet, black static crawling in. Some distant part of my reeling mind recognises I’m going to bleed out and collapse if this continues.
Finally, the seal’s gold energy simmers down with a sullen hiss. My pulse throbs loud in my ears, my chest heaving with each laboured breath. I’m lightheaded. Unsteady. But it’s done for now.
I stagger to a nearby boulder and slump against the rough surface, letting it hold me up. My skirts hang heavy, sodden with rust-dark stains. Evidence of the price this duty demands.
“Well?” I rasp when I can suck air into my lungs. “Was that enough, or should I slash the other arm? Anything else you need while I’m still conscious, MacKay?”
He approaches me, face an inscrutable mask as he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and makes a rough attempt at dabbing my wounds.
I flinch with a hiss. “Careful, I’m not baggage.”
That earns me the barest flicker of amusement as Kiaran gentles his touch. “Apologies. I’ll swaddle your wounds in silk next time.”
“I’ll settle for a light touch rather than skinning me raw.”
Kiaran finishes tending to me in silence. Only once he’s wrapped the makeshift bandage around my forearm does he step away. Without his steadying presence beside me, the world tips. I brace my good hand against the boulder, fighting to stay upright through sheer spite alone.
He turns back and notes my unsteady posture with those assessing eyes. Something he quickly smothers flickers through his gaze. Concern, perhaps. Or guilt. “Can you walk ?”
“Of course.” I force my spine straight and blink hard against the black threatening my vision.
Kiaran goes very still, studying me. Reading the truth in ways I can’t hide from him. Then he moves to my side, slow enough to give me time to object. When I don’t protest, his palm rests on the small of my back. An anchor. An offer.
“Not a word,” he says.
I’m wise enough by now not to waste what little energy I have left on pride. The state I’m in, I’d likely fall into a ditch before making it ten steps down this hill alone.
So I swallow my words and lean into him, just enough to take some of the burden off my trembling limbs. We make the descent slowly, his arm steady around my waist. The wind whipping up from the city pierces right through my cloak, but Kiaran is a line of heat all down my side. I resist the urge to huddle closer.
We’re near my townhouse’s discreet servants’ entrance when something collides with my chest in a blur of gilt wings and snapping fangs.
I blink, my vision doubling.
“Derrick?” My voice comes out a ruined rasp. I give my head a shake, trying to clear the dizziness. “What are you doing out here?”
“The better question is why he’s manhandling your barely conscious carcass home at this hour.” Derrick’s luminous eyes rake over me, brow creasing.
Kiaran’s answering sigh stirs my hair. “Must we endure this squalling every damn time?”
Derrick crosses his arms, wings blurring as he hovers at eye level. “Yes, it’s tradition. I must remind you what a detestable blight you are on this earth before I can rest easy.” His expression softens into fond concern when he turns back to me. “Tea, darling? A hot brick for your feet?”
“No, thank you,” I say, opening the door and stepping inside. “I’m going to bed.”
“You’re not going up with her,” Derrick snaps at Kiaran. “And don’t think I didn’t smell you all over the house this morning.”
I want to crawl inside the nearest crevice. “That’s quite enough. Return to your pilfered trove of rubbish, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With a final dramatic sniff, Derrick makes a rude gesture at Kiaran and vanishes upstairs in a blur.
Kiaran guides me to my room without comment. My quiet bedchamber envelopes us as he braces the door shut at our backs. I make it as far as the window seat before collapsing in an inelegant, exhausted heap. My bandaged arm gives a vicious throb as I wrestle one-handed with the buttons of my sodden cloak. My frozen fingers are clumsy.
Kiaran crosses to me in two strides. “Here. Let me.”
He makes quick work of the remaining buttons, peeling the drenched garment from my shoulders. I’m too drained to muster more than a cursory grumble as cold air prickles over my exposed skin.
Fresh blood has already soaked through the linen. I glance down to find him staring at the ragged wound marring my arm, etched deep by the unforgiving blade. A muscle tenses along his sharp jaw. Those striking eyes lift to clash with mine, something dark stirring in their depths. Hunger carved into the elegant lines of his face.
“I’ve never seen your fangs,” I breathe.
Violet eyes flare silver-bright. “Was that an invitation or a request?”
“Observation. You looked hungry just now. Am I tempting you?”
He goes very still. For a suspended moment, we study one another in charged silence, balanced on a knife’s edge. His gaze holds mine, stripping me bare by slow inches. Searching. Finding.
“Too often,” he says at last.
Heat spears through me, melting some of the ice crystallising my veins. Has he thought of pinning me to the bed? Parting my thighs and tasting me there until I gasped his name? Until I shattered apart beneath his tongue?
His attention drops to my mouth, pupils blown wide with desire. “Ask me again when it’s an invitation. And I’ll show you everything.”
I can scarcely draw breath around the sudden weight pressed tight over my chest. I’m on the edge of a cliff I could so easily plunge over, never to surface again.
Kiaran looks away first, composure settling over him once more. He turns his attention to my injured arm with clinical focus, as if nothing charged passed between us. “You should be more careful. This wound is deep enough to scar even with your fast healing.”
“Just one more for the collection.”
His gaze traces the web of slender scars below my bandages. Evidence of fangs. Of violence.
“Do they still hurt?” He brushes his thumb over a line on my wrist, chasing sparks across my sensitised skin. “The scars?”
“Sometimes.” I hesitate. “When it rains. Or if I’m tired. Or...” I trail off, nerves rising.
“Or?” He prompts gently.
I bite the inside of my cheek. But the raw words spill out, regardless. “When I’m with you.”
“Why with me?” Direct but gentle. Probing at my cracks.
“You’re a reminder, I suppose. Of everything that happened. Of how I ended up like this.” I extend my palm, the mark there flaring with his proximity. “I still don’t understand what this really means, or what price I have to pay for it.”
“I think you’ve paid more than enough, Kameron,” he says, attention falling on my scars. “I told you, it means whatever you want it to mean. Nothing more, nothing less.”
My cheeks burn, but I force the question out. “And what does it mean to you ? You called me yours.”
His gaze holds mine. “It means if anyone ever hurts you again, I’ll tear this city apart brick by brick until I destroy them.”
A stark promise. No hesitation. No compromise.
Just ruthless intent sworn in blood.