Chapter 25
25
“You know,” Derrick says from his perch on my windowsill, “I think I have something of a headache. I didn’t think fae got them.”
He glows in the morning light that filters through my bedchamber window. The little menace keeps eyeing the blades I’ve left on the table to sharpen. If I don’t keep an eye on him, he’ll steal the weapons, and I’ll find them tucked away in random places around the house later.
I set aside one of the daggers and pick up the short sword, setting up the whetstone. “That’s what happens when you eat things that don’t belong to you.”
I pause to massage my temples again, grimacing. The fever racking my body ensures I feel like death warmed up. It took all my effort just to dress myself and have Derrick glamour me well enough to hide the worst of the injuries from the servants. Much more of this, and they’ll start digging a plot in the garden, convinced their eccentric mistress has one foot in the grave.
“But your friend offered it!” Derrick whines. “She didn’t say the exact words ‘Derrick, please eat all of my honey,’ but I think it was strongly implied by the fact that she has a kitchen.”
“Just because people possess things doesn’t automatically entitle you to help yourself. That’s called stealing.”
Derrick draws himself up, offended. “Stealing? I was a guest. A companion providing a valuable service through magical protections and emotional support in your hours of need.”
“You mean when you’re not ransacking my pantry or threatening to make decorative displays out of body parts.”
“Exactly.”
I shake my head and go back to sharpening my weapons. Arguing fae logic with him never gets anywhere. “Regardless, you were not offered the honey. No more unauthorised food raids. And speaking of your so-called services, my newest scar collection says you weren’t much use last night in my hour of greatest need.”
Derrick gives me an arch look. “Yes, well, perhaps if you didn’t keep such boorish company, I might’ve been of greater assistance.”
Casually as anything, I ask, “And how fared your encounter with Kiaran while acting as my official ‘trouble warning system’?”
Derrick glares, mouth pursing. “Could you possibly form a cordial working relationship with someone who isn’t such an overbearing arse?”
“What did he do?”
“Ordered me to go home!” Derrick flies into a melodramatic reenactment, windmilling his arms. “There I was, getting ready to zip about collecting trophies—”
“You mean bodies for your morbid decorative purposes?”
“Of course! But does he care about me documenting my victory? Noooo.” Derrick blows out an exasperated breath. “Anyway, I was preparing for that, ready to help, and Kiaran uses that voice on me. That bloody voice he loves wielding to make fae do whatever he wants.” His lip curls. “What a smug, arrogant bastard.”
Before I can respond, someone taps at the bedchamber door.
“Come in,” I call.
Dona enters, eyes downcast. She dips in a brief curtsey, hovering just inside the doorway as if waiting to be addressed. Her whole demeanour looks tense and formal this morning, her face pinched.
I study her. Usually, Dona offers me at least a shy smile in greeting. “Is everything all right?”
Derrick abandons his perch and darts over to hover beside her shoulder. “We are busy! There are weapons to sharpen!”
If Dona could hear him screeching in her ear we’d probably never get another peep out of her for the next five years.
Dona gives a jerky nod, still avoiding eye contact. “Of course. I apologise for the interruption, my lady. But a gentleman is asking for you in the sitting room.” She pauses before adding in a rushed mumble, “He requested your presence directly.”
I’m immediately on alert. “Blond and surly, or tall, dark and broody?”
Dona blinks rapidly. “The, er, broody one, Milady.”
Bloody hell. Speak of the handsome devil himself.
Derrick’s mouth drops open. “You mean to tell me that overbearing arsehole actually deigned to come to the front door this time? Like a civilised person? Will wonders never cease?”
Honestly, I’m just as surprised as he is. I brace myself for what promises to be another unpleasant conversation about last night’s solo assassination mission on a homicidal fae warlord.
My smile feels strained when I glance her way. “I don’t suppose you can tell what kind of mood he’s in?”
Is he simmering with quiet, deadly rage? If so, perhaps I should hide.
Dona blinks those wide blue eyes of hers at me. Then she takes a step toward the door and fidgets.
“Um. Well.” She sounds unsure. “He’s...I’m not certain I can describe it exactly.” She hesitates, a blush climbing her cheeks. “He cuts a rather striking figure. Very intense stare.”
“Yes, I’m aware,” I sigh. Kiaran MacKay has weaponised that stare. “Well, I shouldn’t keep him waiting. Thank you, Dona.”
Dona curtsies and hurries off.
I stand, bracing myself against a brief wave of lightheadedness.
Derrick keeps pace, buzzing around my head as we navigate the hallway. “So what do you think he wants? To yell at you?”
“Almost certainly.” Among other things.
“Hmm.” Derrick taps his chin. “Want me to poke his eyes or bite him somewhere sensitive? Might improve his mood.”
“I appreciate that, but let’s try for diplomacy before eye-gouging.”
“Well, the second he starts scolding, my earlier offer to gnaw body parts stands.” With a dramatic flutter of wings, Derrick abandons me to my fate.
Yes, thank you ever so much for the solidarity, pixie. Nothing like facing a possibly enraged ancient fae alone.
I walk into the sitting room, expecting a fight. Instead, I see Kiaran is doing his best impression of a gentleman caller. No visible weapons, but with him that means nothing. Every graceful line of that powerful body was honed and sharpened into a living weapon centuries ago.
“You came in the front door,” I say by way of greeting. “If you’re not careful, I might think you intend to start acting civilised.”
“And disappoint you?” Kiaran turns, violet eyes finding mine across the distance. “Never.”
I sink down onto the settee. If he notices how gingerly I settle myself or the barely audible hiss that escapes me when my ribs pinch in protest, he doesn’t comment. Small mercies.
“I wasn’t expecting you until tonight,” I say. “So to what do I owe the pleasure this early?” I ask. “Somehow, I doubt you walked these streets in daylight hours just for my company.”
I don’t miss the way his eyes narrow. My shoulders unlock a fraction in response. We understand this dance between us. No lies, just cutting remarks. If it’s to be a war between us this morning, let these be my weapons.
“I felt weakness through the mark. I wanted to verify you weren’t at death’s door before I dealt with other matters today.” His stare pins me in place. I fight not to squirm beneath that ruthless dissection, all my vulnerabilities exposed. “Are you ill?”
Straight to the point, then. No dancing around it this time. Very well.
“If you must know, I have a minor bout of fever.” My chin lifts as if to dare him to comment. “An unfortunate side effect of nearly drowning in a freezing river last night. Perhaps you recall the incident?”
Kiaran steps nearer, close enough to feel the chill that clings to him sinking into my bones. That wintry scent never fails to make me shiver. I force myself not to retreat, even when the cold seeping from him leaves frost limning the table in front of me. Ice spreading steadily across the polished wood.
“You look ready to faint,” he says flatly.
My answering smile doesn’t reach my eyes. “Keep going. You might stumble your way into a compliment at this rate.” I scan his face. Still shuttered. Unreadable. My jaw tightens. “Is that all you wanted?”
“My questions first. Why are you ill? You should be healed by now.” The words emerge clipped and cool. As cutting as winter wind biting exposed skin. Seeing me injured has left him in a mood.
I resist the urge to press a hand to my aching side. No need to show more weakness than he’s already witnessed. “Just slower than you to recover. I’ll be better by tomorrow.” I keep my tone carefully neutral.
“It shouldn’t be this slow. Why aren’t you healing?” he asks. Too calm. A storm waiting to break. “I don’t like it.”
“If this is your version of bedside manner, you may want to work on your approach. Your servant is fine. Just ignore the mark’s dramatics.”
Kiaran goes very still. “Don’t lie to me.”
Each word falls like a stone.
I dig my nails into my palm until pain blossoms, hot and bright, giving me a focal point among the riot of sensations threatening to overwhelm me. I want to grab him. Shake him. Kiss him. Anything to crack that polite facade wide open.
“Would you go through this much trouble if I weren’t the last living Falconer?” I tip my head as if considering him. “Your kind stands to benefit if I die. So I wonder what motivates this diligent monitoring of my continued survival.”
He doesn’t answer. In two swift strides, he eliminates the space separating us, close enough that I can see the blaze of violet fire in his eyes.
When he speaks, his voice is lethally soft. “On your knees.”
Just three simple words, but they’re impossible to resist. I slide off the settee, and my knees collide with the carpet. I glare up at Kiaran, vision tinged red around the edges. His power forces obedience even as my mind snarls and thrashes against his hold.
“My motivations with you are my own.” Kiaran’s voice remains steady, almost conversational. “And I already told you once, you would make an abysmal servant. Even on your knees, under my control, I’m waiting for you to slice open my throat.”
His thumb sweeps my lower lip in a touch too delicate for what we are. What we’ve done together. So at odds with the unyielding compulsion commanding my body. I want to lean into him. I want to bite until I draw blood.
“But I’ll speak honestly,” he continues. “Every time you come close to dying, I feel the others stirring under the city. Ready to wake up. More fae will try to exert their will on you like Arion did. So I need you to use what happened three months ago,” he says. “Break my hold.”
Rage heats my blood. Darkness bleeds across my vision. The violating hands and teeth that carved into my skin flash through my mind and rip me open.
I am not this person.
I am steel and stone. I am immovable.
With a snarl, I wrench his will from me and grasp the blade at my thigh. I surge to my feet, but Kiaran moves quicker, smacking the knife from my hand. It goes spinning across the carpet. I shove hard against his chest. Caught off guard, Kiaran steps backwards with a grunt.
My hands fist in his shirt, slamming Kiaran back against the closest wall. I lean in until our noses nearly brush, until I can feel his breath hot against my lips.
“That,” I grit out, “should not have been so easy for me to do. Use more power.” My forearm shoves up under his chin. “And then we keep at this until you kneel for me. I want you on your knees, Kiaran MacKay. At my command.”
The words dangle between us, weighted. I’m balanced on the crux of fury and something far more dangerous—a hair’s breadth from ruin. From taking and being taken. From unleashing all this twisted wanting that’s been simmering beneath my skin.
Violet eyes narrow. Turning glacial. Kiaran grips my wrist and tugs, pulling me off balance. I stumble against his chest, our hips colliding. I try twisting away, but his hands close over my shoulders, steadying me. Preventing escape. His fingers flex against my back, a silent warning—he can snap my neck or crack my spine before I manage a single step. And yet, the touch remains deceptively tender.
“You had better not be enjoying this,” I say, breathless. His nearness scorches.
He leans in. “If I ever have you at my command for enjoyment,” Kiaran murmurs in my ear, “it’ll be because you want it. Now get back on your knees.”
Power pulses behind those softly spoken words. Sinks into my marrow, my bones bending under the weight of his will. Obey . I struggle against it even as my body betrays me. On my knees before him in the space between one heartbeat and the next, a ragged gasp my only sign of defiance.
“You have to do more than resist,” Kiaran says. “Shatter my hold.”
He continues baiting me, pushing me, testing whether I will bare teeth or lie down and die.
I refuse to be the one who surrenders.
With every ounce of fury, I hurl forward, weight balanced on my back leg. I throw a vicious right hook, knuckles connecting with Kiaran’s jaw. His face snaps sideways with the force. For one moment, surprise flits across his stoic features.
Before he can recover, I dive for my fallen blade.
Kiaran’s grip closes on my ankle, jerking me back a mere hand span from my prize. We crash together onto the floor. My fingers lock around the hilt of my dagger, and I roll on top of him, knees pinning Kiaran’s hips as I press the edge against his throat.
We freeze against each other. I feel his chest rise and fall, our hearts chasing the same frenetic rhythm. Nothing exists beyond this room, this moment. Eyes locked, bodies pressed too close. I ignore the heat coiling bright and undeniable between my thighs. Sparks skitter across every point our bodies meet. Still, the dagger rests at his throat—my silent threat and his acquiescence.
“I’m at your command,” he says, very softly. “So, what will you do with me now?”
His defiance meets my challenge. Daring me to draw his blood or to try to take what was never mine to claim.
I don’t look away. I will not blink first.
Kiaran shifts. My breath fractures at that subtle motion, at the hard press of his aroused cock between my thighs. I could keep him right here like this, with his body’s clear betrayal revealing how much he wants this, wants me.
But in these precious seconds, before doubt and sanity crash over us both, I have Kiaran MacKay at my mercy.
Slowly, experimentally, I roll my hips against him. The barest friction, but it sparks like wildfire across every nerve. I hear the hitch in his inhale and seal the small victory in my memories to be savoured in quiet moments.
Kiaran’s hands slide up to grip my hips. But just when I think he might stop me, he pulls me down harder as he surges up to meet me halfway. My eyes fall closed as pleasure spears through me.
“Eyes open.” A rough command laced with power, forcing me to look at him.
A reminder that he is allowing me this stolen moment of control when he could end it anytime he wishes. But he wants me here like this, poised above him with my blade and my body, want pulsing between us.
“My command, if I recall,” I whisper. I roll my hips again in retaliation, relishing his shuddered exhale, the way his eyes darken.
“That’s what the knife is for,” he replies, angling his neck to bare his throat. “Make me bleed if I’ve displeased you.”
I let my blade be my threat, let it scrape just enough to draw blood. A hint of who holds power right now.
He grabs my hips in answer, grinding me against him. I bite my lip against a moan. I’ve never felt more victorious than in this moment, with this fae baring himself to my blade, my body, waiting on my command. My dagger rests gently against his throat, forcing his submission as I ride Kiaran hard and fast. All other thoughts bleed away beneath pleasure.
“Don’t speak,” I order roughly when his lips part, refusing to hear whatever might shatter this.
“Not a word,” he agrees, fingers digging into my hips.
Any semblance of reason has fled, and I can’t bring myself to care. I grip the dagger—a reminder of what we are to each other, even as we’re poised on the cusp of something more. Kiaran’s hands urge me on. His eyes never leave mine, luminous violet darkened by want and hunger.
For me.
I have a hundred dark fantasies of what I could do to him, what I could take and what could be given between us. I picture grasping my blade and tearing our garments away until no barriers exist. Raking my nails over the muscled expanse of his chest, tracing every tattoo on his body with my hands and tongue. Him wearing my mark the way I wear his. I imagine what it would feel like to have him inside me, what sounds I could rip from his stoic facade. From his stern mouth.
To be skin to skin with this male, without armour.
But just as I speak to command him, the world takes a sickening tilt. Darkness encroaches on my vision. The dagger slips from my nerveless fingers. Strength bleeding out in the spaces between one heartbeat and the next.
And I’m falling.
Kiaran catches me. “Kameron? What’s wrong?”
His hands brush over my ribs and hips before moving to my back. I hiss out a pained noise when his questing fingers find the bloody gashes there, the wounds torn open once more in our struggle. Blood, hot and wet, slides down my spine.
“Where are you injured?”
I shake my head, trying to force the world into focus. “Just a cu? si?th scratch. On my back.”
Kiaran swears under his breath. “Let me see it. Now.”
I allow Kiaran to guide me to the settee, the cushions dipping as he settles behind me. I perch sideways, steeling myself as I present the mess of blood and fabric covering my back to him.
“I need to unbutton your dress,” Kiaran murmurs.
Remember what he is. And what you are to him—a duty. An obligation and nothing more.
I wet dry lips, pulse racing faster. “Do what you must.”
My heart hammers against my ribs as the first button slips free, then another. Kiaran carefully parts the fabric, baring my skin by increments. Even the brush of his knuckles makes me want to arch into his touch. To feel those talented hands traverse the dips and ridges of my spine, tracing each scar bisecting the constellation of freckles there.
“Don’t ever hide wounds like this again,” Kiaran says sharply.
“Noted for next time,” I say. “I’m guessing it’s bad.”
By way of answer, Kiaran reaches around me, holding something aloft pinched between his fingers. A twisted black barb, glistening with my blood.
My brows draw together, staring at the strange object. “What in the blazes is that?”
“A cu? si?th’s claws have small venomous barbs. Designed to paralyse prey and prevent escape. That’s what’s making you ill.”
I jerk in surprise, fresh pain radiating from the wound I’d thought minor. “Why the bloody hell didn’t you warn me?”
“I did tell you not to engage any hounds from the Fade, and I asked if you were hurt.” His fingers trail down my shoulder, raising gooseflesh in their wake. “You have some innate immunity, thanks to your Falconer lineage. Just enough to prevent paralysis and death, at least temporarily.” His touch withdraws. “It’s poisoning you. Killing you. I’ll have to remove any barbs remaining under your skin.”
A violent shudder wracks my frame. “You mean to cut them out right now?”
“I need to gather a few supplies first. I’ll return this evening.”
I realise then how close we’re sitting, my back nearly flush with his chest. Our faces are inches apart. Those damned distracting eyes could persuade saints to sin. His fingers flex at his sides, and I wonder if he’s fighting the same restless urge to pick up where we left off, with my blade to his throat and him beneath me.
Perhaps I’m cowardly to look away in that moment. But I do, and my gaze falls on the door—
Just in time to see Gavin fill the doorway.