The Falconer (The Falconer #1)

Chapter 26

26

The moment Gavin appears in the doorway, I know this situation is about to go from awkward to disastrous.

His stare sweeps the space, taking in details. Me on the settee. Kiaran braced behind me, hands still spanning my waist. I can almost visualise the conclusions clicking into place in his mind, painting a damning picture. Nothing about this looks innocent.

“You,” Kiaran says, his voice gone arctic. “The seer from last night.”

“ Fuck .” Gavin says, soft as a sigh.

I summon a tight smile that feels like a grimace twisting my lips. “Kiaran MacKay, allow me to introduce Lord Gavin Kilmartin, a friend of mine.”

I subtly emphasise friend , praying Kiaran picks up on the unspoken message. Judging by the dangerous glint kindling in his expression, I suspect diplomacy will prove futile. Kiaran looks moments from introducing Gavin to his own intestines.

Kiaran’s gaze remains fixed on Gavin. A viper coiled to strike. “Friend,” he repeats, as if the word offends him. As if the possibility of Gavin belonging to me in any capacity is unacceptable.

“Do all your friends enter your home without permission?”

I don’t miss the way Kiaran’s eyes narrow, silvery threads beginning to creep through the violet. That particular glint promises someone in this room is about to be eviscerated.

Bloody hell. What did I ever do to deserve this day?

Gavin finally looks away from Kiaran to pin me in place. His jaw tightens. “I came here seeking an explanation about last night’s violent debacle. But now I find myself drowning beneath a deluge of further questions, accusations, and other strong statements I’m trying hard not to voice at high volume.” His stare drops to my back, words sharpening. “For example, is your dress undone?”

I force my spine straighter. I can cling to the last fraying threads of my poise a while longer.

“Button me up,” I mutter to Kiaran. Before Gavin glimpses my injuries and has an apoplexy.

Behind me, Kiaran shifts closer, the sudden proximity igniting my every nerve ending. My breath stutters as his deft fingers begin refastening buttons with swift efficiency. The brush of his knuckles sparks flames beneath my skin despite the clinical detachment of his ministrations.

As he works, his head dips down. Warm lips graze the shell of my ear, his breath gusting over my skin in a heated caress that elicits a violent shudder.

“Lover?”

The softly spoken question catches me off guard. I’m not certain I heard him correctly over the rush of blood behind my ears.

I swallow hard. “Does it matter?”

When he responds, his voice has dropped into a lethal softness that raises the fine hairs along my nape. “Yes.”

Yes . A single word, a confession weighted with implication. I can’t see him, but he’s gone tense. I imagine his walls descending, expression smoothing to something cold and remote.

“Wait just a damned moment.” Gavin’s voice slices through the tension thrumming in the air. “Did you say Kiaran MacKay? As in, the de facto king of the Fade?”

I release an exasperated sigh. Of course, out of everything unfolding this morning, that meaningless title is the detail Gavin’s mind snags on.

“Why do you get a fancy reputation when I’m hunting the rogues out here?” I say to Kiaran.

He sighs. “I suspect my reputation among seers is mostly fear-based.” His hands continue moving down my back, fastening buttons. “I could snap his neck in an instant if I wanted.”

“You’re not helping,” I hiss.

Gavin nods. “I agree wholeheartedly. I value keeping my neck intact, so if we could avoid snapping, crunching, or other violent removals, I would be most appreciative.”

Kiaran ignores him. I feel his lips at my ear once more, voice silken. “That shirt you let me borrow the other night. Tell me it wasn’t his.”

I can’t help but take advantage of the opportunity to get a rise out of him. “Worried he’s been in my bed often enough to leave clothing behind?”

“Should I be?” he asks, very softly.

I suppress a shiver at the undercurrent of menace lacing that mild enquiry. Message received.

Gavin is still watching us from the doorway. “I hope your whispering over there isn’t a negotiation of which of my body parts you plan on removing. Because I assure you, I’m rather attached to all of them.”

Kiaran lifts a shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “Make no mistake”—his hands smooth down my sides, a pointed caress—“I would relish the chance if sufficiently provoked.”

Honestly, he possesses all the diplomacy and discretion of a blade to the kidney.

With heroic effort, I force a polite smile before addressing Gavin. “You’ll have to forgive Kiaran. Interpersonal skills decay quickly when one spends their days enthusiastically disembowelling enemies.”

Gavin grimaces. “Well, that’s a sterling character reference if ever I’ve heard one. Truly inspirational stuff.” He crosses his arms, stare darting between us. “Now, could you kindly tell me what the devil I should do about the massive hound corpse bleeding out on my priceless antique study carpets as we speak?”

Damn. I’d nearly forgotten about the inconvenient bloody cu? si?th carcass we left cooling in his study last night, along with the demolished furniture and gouges carved into the walls that accompanied our violent encounter. This day continues to find new and creative ways to try me.

I turn toward Kiaran, steeling myself. “Return to Kilmartin House to dispose of the corpse. And try not to threaten anyone along the way.” Under my breath, I add, “At least not more than you already have today.”

Kiaran’s eyes meet mine, dark and intent. In a voice meant for me alone, he murmurs, “You only give commands like that when you’re on top of me. Right now, you’re asking. So say please.”

I nearly shiver, heat licking up my neck. Sinful images flash unbidden through my mind—of me astride him, knife at his throat, the hard press of him between my thighs...

Focus. Now is not the time.

I force steadiness into my voice. “Would you please deal with the remains at Kilmartin House? And please bring back any medicinal supplies you’ll need to treat my injuries.” I drop my voice lower. “I would be most appreciative.”

A low sound rumbles deep in Kiaran’s chest, almost a purr. It vibrates through every point our bodies still touch. “One day, I’ll have you say that word under different circumstances.” He pulls back. “But fine. I’ll return tonight.”

Then he’s prowling toward the door, pausing only to level a chilling, dismissive glance at Gavin along the way. A silent promise of future retribution.

“Excuse me a moment.” I hurry after Kiaran before Gavin can respond, catching up to him halfway down the hall.

He pauses but doesn’t turn, presenting only the uncompromising line of his back.

“Tonight. Are we going to discuss what happened on the floor earlier?” I say.

Silence. He remains motionless as a statue, shutting me out.

Frustration wars with yearning. I step closer, anger sharpening my tongue. “Or will we pretend it was merely a fever dream? Yet another incident best forgotten between us?”

At last, Kiaran turns just enough to spear me with his gaze. His expression is closed, eyes shuttered. So detached, I could almost believe I had imagined that dangerous flare of heat in his eyes earlier, when I had him pinned and breathless beneath me on the study floor. The unguarded way he watched me then like I’m the one temptation he can’t quite resist. The sole weakness threatening to crack his composure wide open.

Make me bleed if I’ve displeased you.

I fold my arms across my chest, ignoring another wave of lightheadedness. My skin is feverish and clammy—but whether from the virulent effects of the cu? si?th venom coursing through my veins or his nearness, I can’t say for certain. Defences are fracturing. Lines blurring.

“Not a word between us, remember?” Throwing my own words back at me. A verbal parry and riposte.

My lips flatten. He plans to use that as armour, then.

He reaches out, fingertips brushing over my cheek. Just the barest contact, but it scorches.

“You wear my mark, but I have no claim to you,” he says quietly. Firmly. As if convincing himself as much as me. Then he turns away, leaving me off-balance and aching in more ways than one.

The hallway feels cavernous, emptied of air. I stand motionless in the echoing space he left behind.

I take a steadying breath and smooth my expression into careful indifference before stepping into the drawing room. The sight that greets me elicits a muffled groan. Shattered porcelain, torn books, and splintered wooden debris litter the floor alongside the mangled remains of furniture and statuary. Scraps of upholstery complete the disastrous tableau of destruction. Clearly, my sparring session with Kiaran got wildly out of hand.

Sure enough, Gavin rounds on me the instant I cross the threshold, eyes flashing. “Please tell me you didn’t let the king of the fucking Fade feed on you,” he demands without preamble.

Ever the diplomat, this one.

“No. Now stop assuming the worst of me.” I sink onto the settee, my pulse kicking faster as the room swoops around me.

Gavin rakes an agitated hand through his tousled blond hair. “Well, pardon me, but I come here to find the place utterly demolished and you half-unclothed with the top predator of all the predators. What precisely was I meant to think?”

I level him with an icy stare. “For starters, perhaps that I can handle my own affairs. Despite what the gossiping harpies claim, I’m not some feral madwoman incapable of rational thought.” Although maintaining a veneer of sanity is proving more difficult by the second as the venom burns through my veins. “And it would help if you didn’t barge in unannounced. Honestly, I’m a woman who lives alone. You can’t just swan in here uninvited.”

“Your butler was absent and the door was wide open.” Gavin resumes pacing, shoes crunching over broken porcelain. “Why was Kiaran MacKay in your home? And don’t tell me it was a social call.”

“Because he helps me hunt rogue fae, as you witnessed last night.” I lean my head against the cushion. Ugh, this fever is sapping my strength fast. “I’ve seen fae all my life. My ancestors were blessed by the Seelie queen to kill fae who hunt in human territory and rein in humans who do the same. She called us her Falconers.”

He glanced at me in interest. “Do you get a falcon? An aviary filled with birds of prey?”

I close my eyes briefly. “Don’t be obtuse. It’s a title, not an occupation.” I crack an eye open to glare at him. “Honestly, this isn’t complicated. My mother trained me to fight from the moment I could walk. To protect people from the monsters they don’t think are real.”

He drags both hands down his face. “Christ. So even your mother was caught up in this mess?”

I restrain the undignified urge to throw something at him. “Yes, well, pardon me for keeping your pathetic hide safe from the fae. It was terribly inconsiderate of me not to provide a full accounting of my affairs straight away.” I flash him a humourless smile. “Now tell me, how much grovelling will it take to avoid your wrath over the disaster I made of your study last night?”

Gavin tilts his head as if considering. “In recompense for near-death experiences, trauma, eardrum damage, wanton destruction of property, and emotional suffering...”

“Oh, come now, it couldn’t have been that horrific.”

He arches an eyebrow. “I now have an intricate knowledge of fae anatomy I never wanted, thanks to the giant carcass soaking into the carpet.”

“Fine, you’ve made your point. I promise an apology once I’m no longer at death’s door. Now, was there anything else? Or may I finally be allowed to rest in the privacy of my own home?”

Gavin’s smile fades, replaced by that serious, assessing look I’m coming to dread. The one that says he’s fitting pieces together in his mind, drawing too close to truths best left buried. “Just tell me straight—this arrangement with MacKay, is it business or pleasure?”

I force my tone to remain level through sheer stubbornness. “Business. Nothing more.”

Gavin opens his mouth to press the issue, but footsteps in the hallway stay his questions. I glance toward the door as Catherine breezes inside.

“Aileana, is Gavin in here—” She stops short, blinking at the disaster in my drawing room. “Good lord, it looks like you hosted a brawl. Are those Meissen vases in pieces on the floor?”

I plaster on a bright smile, waving a dismissive hand. “Just a new game. Throwing priceless antiques to see who can catch them most dramatically. Quite thrilling.”

Catherine fixes me with a glare that suggests she finds me deranged. “Is that so? It seems rather as if you and Gavin got foxed and destroyed the place for sport.” Her shrewd gaze takes in my dishevelled hair and the unnatural flush burning my cheeks. I probably resemble grim death at this point. Her frown deepens. “Truly, you look dreadful. Is that why you abandoned me at the ball last night? Should I send for a doctor?”

“No need, just a headache. I’m sure I’ll be fine after a restorative nap.”

Gavin rises to his feet at his sister’s questioning look. “Catherine, go and wait in the carriage. I need a quick word with the marchioness before we leave.”

Catherine assesses us, clearly sensing whatever is left unspoken. But she dips her chin in acquiescence. “Try not to destroy anything else while I’m gone,” she calls over her shoulder on the way out.

The instant the door shuts behind her, Gavin rounds on me. “You need a doctor—”

I shake my head, instantly regretting it when the room spins. “Won’t help. Cu? si?th venom...” I’m forced to pause for a ragged breath, spots swarming my vision. “Just need rest...”

I’m fading fast, my body devoting every last drop of energy toward fighting the venom burning through my veins.

Gavin crouches down before me, face creased with concern. He lays the back of one hand against my forehead, frowning at the clamminess of my skin.

“I should stay with you.”

“No,” I gasp out. “Go home...I’ll send word tomorrow.”

Once the fever breaks and I no longer resemble something freshly disinterred from its grave.

Gavin looks torn. “Promise you’ll contact me straight away if you worsen?”

“I promise.” I manage a thin, reassuring smile. “Not that easy to kill, remember?”

He nods and turns to go, shoes crunching over broken porcelain. But he pauses in the doorway, expression solemn.

“Take care of yourself, Marchioness. I mean it.”

Then I’m alone once more. The instant he’s gone, every remaining ounce of strength bleeds from my bones. I slump sideways until I’m sprawled in an ungainly heap across the settee cushions. Shadows crawl in at the edges of my vision, beckoning me into the cool darkness.

Sometime later, I become vaguely aware of small hands patting my cheek, trying to rouse me from restless slumber.

“Wake up!” Derrick’s voice filters through the feverish haze clouding my mind. More patting, this time on the tip of my nose. “You can’t lie here all night. What if that broody bastard returns and finds you passed out in an undignified heap on the settee?”

I open one eye to glower at the anxious pixie hovering by my head. My tongue feels thick and clumsy in my mouth.

“Unless you have a miracle cure for cu? si?th poison, go away and let me die in peace,” I mumble.

Derrick’s luminescent wings flutter in agitation, shedding pinpricks of golden light across my face.

“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” he scolds. “You aren’t going to die. Probably.” At my answering groan, he hastily amends, “But you can’t stay down here. At least go up to your bed.”

The thought of trying to stand, let alone climb all those stairs to my bedroom, makes me want to weep. But Derrick has a point. I can’t risk one of the servants finding me passed out down here.

With a faint noise of pain, I shove myself upright, head spinning from even that small motion. Derrick grabs fistfuls of my hair to stabilise himself. The room sways around us.

“Steady now,” Derrick encourages, maintaining his perch on my head. “That’s it, get up.”

Clinging to any nearby piece of furniture, I drag myself from the drawing room and lurch down the hallway toward the stairs. Cold sweat plasters my hair to my forehead. Simply putting one foot in front of the other makes the world tilt.

Somehow, I make it up the stairs through sheer stubbornness. I lean against the wall halfway up, swallowing the bile burning my throat.

“Just a bit farther,” Derrick urges. He flutters ahead and pushes open the door to my bedchamber. “You’re nearly there.”

I stumble the last few steps inside and make it precisely two paces before pitching face-first onto the mattress.