Chapter 24
24
The rain continues its steady drizzle as I stare at the river where I ended Arion, trying to ignore my fresh wounds. The silence presses down on me, broken only by the raindrops hitting the water’s surface.
“Back home?” Kiaran asks.
I release a long breath, watching it fog in the chilly night air. Home means empty rooms and bloodstained sheets. The memories lurking in the dark corners of my mind, ready to drag me under the second I let my guard down. Right now, I need to feel alive. To taste something sweeter than copper on my tongue.
“No,” I say. “I want a drink. Maybe two. Something nicely aged that predates my birth by at least a century.” I tip my head to peer up at him through the wet strands of hair plastered to my forehead. “Join me at a tavern?”
He arches an eyebrow. “You want me to drink with you?”
“Well, I could rescind the invitation. Pretend I never said it and leave you to glower at the river.”
“I wouldn’t dream of letting you wander the wynds unescorted at this hour, especially when you keep trying to pick fights with fae out of boredom.” Kiaran gives me a half-smile and steps forward. “You look like a bedraggled corpse,” he murmurs, setting his hands on my shoulders.
I feel the prickle of a glamour begin to cover me.
“You’re so kind,” I say, closing my eyes. “So flattering. When I’ve just invited you for libations and company. Is this how you compliment all the ladies?”
His palms graze either side of my throat, phantom touches designed not to startle. “Are you asking me to compliment you?”
“Of course not. I’m not convinced you know how.”
Power builds between us, a mounting charge in the scant space left. Heat licks my nape wherever he touches. My shoulders. The rigid line of my spine. Settling at my hips in a possessive hold that sparks a delicious tension within me.
My pulse kicks faster. “The dress? Something that wouldn’t stand out in a tavern, please.”
His hands tighten on my waist before smoothing up my sides, skimming the curves of my breasts. I jerk in surprise, but he continues up to my neck.
Power flows from him into me, leaving warmth in its wake. “Kameron?”
“No.”
Kiaran’s hands are in my hair now, the glamour sweeping through the tendrils. “No?”
“Whatever you’re about to say is going to ruin the moment. Quick, tell me something flattering.”
Amusement flickers over his features. “Flattery doesn’t come naturally when one spends their days disembowelling enemies.”
“That explains your charmless grunts,” I say with a dramatic sigh. “I suppose we can’t all be effortlessly witty and delightful.”
“On the contrary, I find disembowelling enemies very delightful.”
I roll my eyes as he steps back. “Careful, any more of that charm, and you’ll have me swooning.”
We walk to the tavern in silence. I keep my gaze fixed ahead, chin lifted. The very picture of poise, despite my sopping skirts threatening to tangle my frozen legs with each step.
The village rises up around us, rain turning to snow as we climb, quaint houses slumbering beneath the soft white blanket. Smoke curls from the chimneys in fragrant wisps. The cobbled lanes stand empty. Well past midnight here, and all the decent folk are in bed.
I turn down an alley scarcely wide enough for two. A battered wooden sign depicting a prancing pony creaks overhead, indicating the establishment tucked between two cottages. Light spills from the windows, accompanied by raucous laughter. Not a reputable establishment by any stretch, but it will suffice for our purposes.
I shoulder open the weathered door, releasing a burst of warmth and commotion into the night. The scent of roasted meat and stale ale envelops me. The tavern is alive tonight. Raucous and raw, filled to bursting with drink and discord. The sharp bite of tobacco smoke coats my tongue. I weave between the crowded tables toward the shadowed back corner.
“So tell me,” I say as I settle onto the rough bench. Around me, the floorboards thump, and tables rattle as a group of locals stomp and twirl through a graceless jig. “Did my mother ever drag you out for a wild night on the town? A post-slaughter nightcap? I can’t picture her in a place like this.”
Both of us are a right mess under our glamours, liberally splattered with gore from tonight’s violent escapades. I can practically envision the disapproving scowls of my long-dead ancestors at the appalling picture we make—a sorry excuse for a refined gentlewoman covered in viscera and keeping company with a dangerous magic-wielding fae assassin at this disreputable hour. My mother is probably rolling over in her grave as we speak.
“No,” he says. “Your mother wasn’t one for social ventures with me.”
“No late-night confidences over a shared bottle then? Pity.”
Beneath the glamour, his beauty remains unchanged. All sharp angles and shadows. Endless eyes fractured with violet. They find mine now, direct as a physical touch.
“So, who are you masquerading as tonight?” I ask, lifting two fingers to the barmaid across the room. “Rogue? Scoundrel? Dashing rapscallion?”
“Exceedingly dull merchant, I’m afraid.”
I snort. “Somehow, I doubt anyone would look at you and think ‘dull’, glamour or not.”
“You’d be surprised. I can be quite forgettable when I choose to be.”
A barmaid arrives to plunk two glasses of whisky on our table. Her gaze lingers on Kiaran, skimming the lean lines of his body with blatant appreciation. When her attention finally turns to me, I offer a sharp imitation of a smile. The effect makes the poor woman blanch. She scurries away without another word.
“Well, she didn’t swoon at your feet or beg you to tup her senseless over the bar, so I suppose that’s a victory,” I say to Kiaran. I lift my glass in a mocking salute. “Dare I enquire what illusion you saddled me with this evening?”
“Dark hair. No visible injuries or bloodstains. Nothing that will send anyone screaming. Did any of those cu? si?th scratch you?”
Scratch is a generous term. I’m fairly certain the bastard in Gavin’s study took a chunk out of my back. Ragged punctures mar my shoulder and torso. Even with a Falconer’s healing, the signs will persist for days. The ache deep in my marrow promises to linger much longer.
“I’m sure I’ll discover all the colourful new ways I’m broken come morning. Tonight, I’d rather enjoy drinks and conversation. Or I can converse while you brood at me—your choice.”
I take a deliberate sip of whisky, savouring the smooth burn down my throat. No need to dwell on wounds and bruises. Not tonight.
Kiaran leans back, watching me. “Conversation. Fine, let’s discuss what the hell you were thinking, running for Arion like that. You’re lucky to be walking away.”
“Good Lord, I said conversation, not a post-mortem of my decisions. And as you can see—” I spread my arms wide “—I’m still breathing.”
“He had control over your mind and his hand around your fucking throat.”
Beneath the table, my nails bite crescents into my palms. “And clearly, the damage didn’t hinder my ability to kill him. One could view his nearly severed head as cause for congratulations. I took no fatal blows, and now I have one less threat. I get to retire him from my kill wall.”
Kiaran’s gaze snaps to me. “Your what?”
“My kill wall. It’s where I track the rogues.” I swirl my glass, watching amber liquid slosh along the sides. “Tell me about who he was before. Beyond a fae who turned traitor when your kingdoms fell. Before exile and coup attempts. Who was Arion?”
Kiaran looks away, jaw tight. The flickering lantern light deepens the hollows beneath his cheekbones, casting his face in sharp relief. He takes a slow sip of whisky.
Finally, he says, “The fae who tried to kill you that night were all high powers in the Seelie and Unseelie Courts. The same as the fae underground.”
I drum my fingers against the table. “So why aren’t they trapped with the others? Why aren’t you, for that matter?”
“The seal requires their physical presence at the site to take effect. Arion and the others were elsewhere that day. So was I.”
I mull this new information over. “So you all escaped incarceration by pure dumb luck?”
“Essentially.”
I’m quiet for a moment, listening to the lively music and drunken voices raised in merriment. Kiaran seems content to let the conversation lapse into silence. Probably hoping I’ll forget my questions in favour of enjoying stolen moments of peace. But ignorance makes me vulnerable.
“What about you, then?” I catch his gaze again, refusing to retreat. “Who were you before?”
“You’re inquisitive tonight.”
“You’re answering questions for once. I’m taking advantage.” I flash him an unrepentant grin. “Surely you can spare a morsel about your past.”
I reach across the table to snag his barely touched tumbler of whisky, holding that violet gaze with mine as I lift it to my lips.
“Fine, I’ll try guessing.” I drop my tone low and husky, pleased at his instinctive sharp inhalation as I drink. “Dangerous assassin? No...not glorious enough.” I consider him through the haze of smoke wreathing the chaotic room. “Part of the royal guard?” My regard traces the corded muscle of his forearms left bare below rolled-up sleeves.
“But maybe more than that. After all, you’re the one keeping the Fade intact. Held off an entire pack of cu? si?th with an order. Commanded me to my knees with your voice, just like Arion did.” I pin him once more with my stare. “Not an ordinary guard, then. So, exactly how powerful are you? Academic interest.”
His eyes glint with humour. “Academic, is it?”
“Mmhmm. I’m chronicling important historical details about my lethal companion. For posterity, you see. Indulge me.”
Kiaran’s eyes begin to glow. I feel his power thrumming between us, raising the fine hairs at my nape. The molecules in the air seem to vibrate, the pressure so intense that I feel my lungs squeeze.
Around us, the lively banter and raucous laughter suddenly cuts off. A hush falls over the crowded room as every villager turns toward the door and begins filing outside. The queue forms without jostling or protest, emptying the tavern until only Kiaran and I remain.
I glance at the abandoned tables and half-finished drinks. “Does that work on everyone? Or just hapless mortals?”
“Depends how hard I push.”
“Well, we need the bartender back here. What if I want another drink?”
Kiaran rises from his chair with feline grace and prowls toward me. A weapon unsheathed.
“MacKay?”
I tell myself not to pull away as I meet that burning stare. “I’ve answered your questions, and now you’ll answer mine,” he says.
Before I can respond, his hands close around my waist and he lifts me onto the table. He steps between my knees, forcing them wider to accommodate him. My pulse kicks faster as our bodies are nearly flush.
“You’re injured.” His voice drops to a murmur. “Bleeding.” His hand trails up my leg, making me shiver. “You could barely stand upright after we finished with the hounds.”
His hands quest higher, finding the weapon secured to my thigh. He plucks it from the sheath, turning the blade between deft fingers. “That’s one blade on you.” His hand moves to my other leg, expression shuttering when he finds no other sheath. “Just the one. One weapon.”
“I had two, but the other blade you made me broke in the belly of a fae hound. You ought to make them stronger. Oh, and I had the emergency corset blades, of course. I didn’t even have to use those on Arion.”
He ignores that, his hands resting on my thighs, scorching even through the concealing skirts. He leans in until I feel his breath ghosting over my lips. Until I’m breathing him in, pine and smoke and something wild.
“You went after a fae commander with one dagger and a couple of emergency weapons between you and death. That’s all you left between this city and that seal breaking wide open. What the fuck you were thinking?”
Something snaps inside me, feral and raw. Before I can think better of it, I reach down and take his wrist, guiding his hand up my waist to the jagged puncture wounds left behind months ago.
“He bit me here.” I move his hand again, skimming my ribs where the silk conceals another of Arion’s marks. “And here. You remember that one, don’t you? That one was deep.”
I force his hand higher, tracing each invisible scar. “Here and here. He stopped feeding at that point. I think he just enjoyed watching me bleed. Would you like to touch me more, or will that suffice for my reasoning?”
Kiaran jerks away as if scalded.
“If I didn’t have a blade, I would have gone for his throat with my bare hands,” I continue. “I would have clawed the skin from his bones. Because if I ever ended up like I was—” My voice cracks around the edges. I have to pause and steady myself before continuing. “I wasn’t sure there’s a single part of me that wouldn’t break. So yes, I went for him with one dagger left. And I’d do it again.”
In the settling quiet, I notice the intimacy in our posture. The warmth of his thigh pressed along mine. Against my will, heat coils low and insistent in my core. I resist the urge to shift beneath that piercing stare. To lean forward and press my lips to his. I refuse to acknowledge this sudden awareness tingling across my skin. Like the phantom brush of fingers seeking vulnerable flesh.
Mine , the cadence of my heart whispers.
I clench my jaw until my teeth ache. “You made me fall to my knees tonight, and Arion was also able to command me. Are you two the only ones who can?”
“No,” he says, very softly.
“Then I want you to train me. I won’t be at anyone’s mercy, not yours or theirs.”
Kiaran nods curtly. He steps back, the physical separation allowing me to suck in a ragged breath at last. My ribs expand against the corset.
I slide off the table. “Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. A promise between us, always.
“Kameron.”
“Tomorrow,” I say again. I’m uncertain what foolish words might spill free if I stay. Unsure what I really want from him in this moment.
But Kiaran seems to read the answer etched behind my eyes. And for once, he takes pity rather than forcing me to voice the dangerous longing aloud.
“Goodnight, Kameron.”