The Falconer (The Falconer #1)

Chapter 27

27

The fangs pierce deep, and I gasp awake. My hands claw at the bed linens tangled around my legs as I fight back to wakefulness.

Strong hands seize my shoulders before I can lash out. I blink up into the familiar face hovering over me—sharp cheekbones, eyes glowing faintly in the room’s darkness.

Kiaran.

“What are you doing here?” The words scrape painfully past my throat.

“You invited me, remember?”

His gaze sweeps over me, cataloguing each laboured breath and lingering tremor wracking my body. Assessing me for damage like it’s still three months ago and I’ve been torn apart.

“I believe the invitation said visit for wound treatment, not physical restraint .”

Kiaran releases his hold. “You were thrashing in your sleep. Would you prefer giving yourself a concussion against the headboard?”

I look away first, conceding this round between us. My eyes catch on the lamp beside the bed. I reach out and turn the small knob protruding from its base. The twin gas jets hiss as they ignite, washing the room in warm golden light. I glance back at him, and even in the softened glow I can see the fresh blood staining his fingertips. The wounds on my back have torn open once more.

I take in his appearance, the damp shirt plastered to his chest. Water droplets glisten in his dark hair. It’s taking considerable effort not to squirm beneath that piercing stare. He looks not quite himself. The warm lamplight softens the hard planes of his face. He’s almost touchable like this.

As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, his expression smooths back to impassivity. Shutters descending again, hiding anything unguarded I might have glimpsed in his eyes.

I tear my gaze away, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and gripping the carved bedpost. I stand, waiting out the worst of the spinning.

“What are you doing?” Kiaran asks sharply.

“Testing a theory that the floor might feel more solid beneath my feet.” I force the words out through gritted teeth.

There. Not so bad. I can stand on my own two—

“You can barely remain upright. Get back in bed.”

—feet.

I scowl over at him. “You’re rather demanding for a guest at this hour.”

His eyes flash. I watch the rapid calculations flickering there, deciding on the precise amount of force it will take to physically haul me back into bed.

I level a warning finger in his direction. “Don’t even think about it.”

His gaze narrows. I see the intent way his gaze tracks my unsteady swaying. “Don’t be stubborn. You’re unwell. You look moments away from pitching over sideways.”

Unwell — such a polite term for the fever burning me up from the inside out. I force my spine straighter through sheer obstinance.

“I’m perfectly capable of remaining vertical for more than a minute without toppling over.”

Kiaran’s eyes glint, catching my tells. A predator recognises weakened prey moments from collapse. “Is that so? Then, by all means, stop clinging to the furniture and demonstrate this miraculous recovery.”

Challenge issued. Gauntlet thrown.

I brace myself and take one slow step forward on quaking legs. Then another. I make it three paces before the treacherous floor slides sideways.

Strong hands catch my hips from behind, braced against a solid chest to stop my graceless descent. Kiaran’s breath stirs my hair when he speaks. “You were saying?”

Even through my nightdress, his hands scorch my sensitised skin. I swallow hard, my pulse kicking faster. “Minor miscalculation. My balance is somewhat compromised at present.”

He smells of the forest after a rainstorm. Petrichor and moss. Beneath it, something wild I can’t name. Untamed. I dig my nails into my palms to quell the sudden urge to turn my face into his neck.

“Back in bed,” he says. I feel the command resonate through his chest. “You need rest.”

I tip my chin up, meeting that hypnotic stare. “Here I thought it was better to ask than demand?”

“And since when do you respond well to asking?”

His hands flex on my hips, face inches from mine. Near enough to see every shade of violet and silver comprising his irises. Inhumanly beautiful. The kind of eyes that could persuade saints and sinners to throw themselves into an abyss.

“Your eyes glow.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “Do you know they glow? Like some unholy creature of the night. No wonder hapless women swoon at your feet. You walk about with seductive fae eyes. They should be illegal.”

Kiaran’s mouth curves. “I appreciate you bringing this crucial matter to my attention. I’ll be sure to dim them in the future when not attempting to seduce you.”

I try half-heartedly to push him away as sinful images flash through my feverish brain. I’m not in control of myself. What if I start pawing at him like some mindless idiot? The humiliation would end me.

“You can’t stand this close right now. I’m barely sane as it is. Liable to do something foolish.”

Like tracing the sharp line of his jaw with my lips. Learning what sounds I can pull from that stern mouth.

Hunger flares in his gaze, lighting those eyes from within. He brushes his lips over my cheek, and I shiver, igniting everywhere we touch. “Something foolish, like wanting to fuck me senseless?”

Jesus . My mouth falls open.

Kiaran uses my moment of shocked silence to slide one arm behind my knees and the other around my back. Lifts me easily against his chest.

“Put me down,” I protest. I haven’t even recovered from his language and now he’s touching me.

Kiaran adjusts his grip, carrying me the short distance to the bed. “Enough gallivanting.” He settles me on the counterpane and tucks it around me before I can squirm away. The bastard actually smiles at me—only the barest uptick at one corner of his mouth, but it scorches down to my bones. “Now, are you going to stay put? Or must I bind you to the headboard?”

I swallow hard as my imagination provides several vivid suggestions for how such an arrangement could prove mutually enjoyable.

“You’re overbearing,” I tell him. “Dictatorial. Arrogant—”

“And?”

“Always bossing me about,” I snarl.

He braces his hands on either side of my head and leans over me, dark hair spilling forward. “Are you certain you dislike that?” His voice drops to a lethal purr. “I think you secretly enjoy it.”

The air goes heavy, weighted. I want to unravel his hidden parts and strip away the facade. To trace the fault lines fracturing his surface and learn their shape. Their depth.

“Stop fussing. Let me remove the barbs from your back before you pass out again,” he says softly.

The moment falls away as he withdraws. Kiaran retrieves his bag from the floor and removes several small glass bottles and a needle and thread. The tools of his grim trade this evening. Cold practicality to counterbalance the heat still simmering between us.

I drag my scattered focus back. Right. Barbs. Embedded in my back .

I eye the needle and scissors Kiaran retrieved. “What precisely are you planning to do with those?”

He levels an impatient look my way. “Are you going to let me work, or do you plan on arguing the entire time?” Before I can respond, he presses a glass bottle into my palm. The contents slosh, iridescent liquid swirling with strange dark flecks suspended within. “Drink this.”

I peer at the cloudy tendrils drifting through the viscous serum. Surely he’s not serious? I lift the bottle beneath my nose and recoil. “Good god, it smells like corpse rot. What on earth is in this?”

“I knew a human woman once. She was stubborn, like you. Refused to drink the paltry contents of that bottle, like you...” He pauses for dramatic effect. “And she died a horrible, painful death because she wouldn’t take my advice.”

“There was no woman. You’re making that up.”

“There will be if you don’t drink that damned tonic.”

I snort. “You’ll forgive me if I hesitate before consuming unidentified substances handed to me by a fae.”

Tension thrums beneath his skin, a current waiting to break free. “I won’t hurt you, Kameron.”

What a lie. We hurt each other in ways seen and unseen. Bruises blooming on flesh and bone. Other wounds carved deeper, etched into places beyond the reach of any cure. And yet we remain locked in this ceaseless orbit, circling ever nearer, that indefinable something drawing us back into the other’s gravity.

But I swallow the bitter words, lift the vial in a mocking salute and down the contents.

I instantly regret it.

It scorches a molten trail down my throat and ignites in my stomach. I convulse against the sheets with a ragged cry. This is what brimstone and hellfire must feel like.

When the worst recedes, I’m left limp and gasping on the tangled bedding. “What did you give me?” I manage. “I’m dying.”

“Stop being dramatic. You’re not dying. It’s a mild sedative to make the next part less traumatic.”

“Your bedside manner is abysmal,” I snap.

“Drink your tonic next time without argument, and I’ll be gentler.” Kiaran places a hand on my shoulder. “Roll onto your stomach. I need to undo your dress to access the gashes.”

“Oh yes, naturally. Do help yourself to disrobing me.” I close my eyes, too exhausted to assist. “Just slice the blasted thing off.” Let him cut away every bit of clothing for all I care. I’m tired and irritated.

The slide of metal whispers behind me. Then, chilly air washes over my fevered back as Kiaran strips away the stained night dress. I shiver in relief, my overheated skin drinking in the chill.

Gooseflesh prickles my skin. I’m abruptly, viscerally aware of my near nudity. Of Kiaran’s eyes, tracing the curves and dips of my exposed back. Cataloguing every freckle and scar marring me.

The mattress shifts under his weight. I feel the heat of his body near mine as he settles onto the bed beside me. The soft clink of glass bottles accompanying the rustle of his clothes. He smooths something cool and medicinal-smelling over the claw marks. The numbing salve dulls the angry throb to a bearable ache. I sag into the linens with relief.

“Better?” he asks.

“Mm. All previous complaints about your bedside manner are officially rescinded.” I sound drunk. I feel drunk. Drunk on him.

The mattress is soft beneath me, and Kiaran’s hands are gentle against my ruined skin. Just this once, I let myself indulge in weakness. Take comfort in the gentle ministrations that ask nothing in return. There are no lies or pretences here.

His fingertips trace aimless patterns along my shoulder blades and my sides. Lingering over each ridge and hollow. I recognise the clinical detachment driving those movements—cataloguing injuries, assessing what hurts and what’s newly mended. But even those perfunctory touches send sparks arcing across my sensitised nerves.

I’ve never felt so aware of my fragility before. How the simplest touch might unravel me.

Cold metal replaces gentle hands—the bite of forceps carefully probing torn flesh. I hiss with pain as they dig and twist. Fishing for those deadly barbs lurking beneath muscle and sinew. Waiting to sink their virulent hooks in the moment my defences fail.

Kiaran’s voice remains steady above me, an anchor in the dark. “Talk to me. Keep your focus here.”

Here. Not lost to writhing spectres and grasping hands from the twisted labyrinths of memory. To bloodied teeth and molten eyes that haunt the spaces behind mine.

“Talk about what?”

Silence settles between us, broken only by my uneven breaths. When he finally responds, the question catches me off guard.

“What did you dream of earlier?”

I stiffen. Even floating untethered from my body as I am, the mere thought drags me close to fraying edges. To dark depths that threaten to pull me under if I drift too near.

“I thought we weren’t doing personal, MacKay.”

The forceps go still between my shoulder blades. “Kameron.” My name on his lips lands soft as a breath. “I’m currently picking barbs from your half-naked body. It’s already personal.”

He isn’t wrong. Lying exposed and vulnerable beneath his hands has already stripped away my usual armour. But the words lodge in my throat. Ghosts are best left to restless nights, not examined in the light.

Sensing my hesitation, Kiaran asks, “The same one every time?”

I release a slow breath. Give the barest nod against the pillow.

With Kiaran, I don’t have to pretend to be fine. The jagged pieces inside me make sense to him in a way others can’t comprehend.

When he speaks again, his voice is soft. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The offer startles me. We’ve grown adept at silently tending physical wounds. But we dance carefully around the scarred and fragile places locked away inside. Too afraid of what might shatter.

But the sedative steals the sharpened edges of my usual wariness.

“Three months ago,” I say, “I don’t remember you putting me back together.”

He leans over me and begins the delicate process of sewing up my injuries. I watch him from under my eyelashes. He frowns in concentration while he sews. Finally, he says, “There was so much damage. Even with my mark’s help, it took a lot of power to mend you. I’m not a healer, but I did my best on the scars.”

So much damage. Damage that still hasn’t healed.

My eyes sting. “Thank you.”

He lifts his lips slightly in acknowledgement as he sutures my wounds closed. In the drifting space between wakefulness and restless dreams, I study Kiaran through half-lidded eyes. I trace the severe lines of his profile bent over his grim work. The way his jaw tics whenever the needle pulls a muffled hiss from me.

He glances up, catching me staring. “Will you be critiquing my stitching techniques tonight as well?”

“Just compiling mental notes for later.” I offer him a faint, sleepy smile.

I watch his head bow again. He moves with a quiet economy and grace, even while performing this grisly task. Not for the first time, I find myself studying the ruthless symmetry of his face and wondering how someone so lethally beautiful can even exist. He remains an elegant study in contrasts—wildness tempered by iron control, shadows kissing pale skin. Impossible eyes holding inhuman depths.

Both striking and strange.

My fingers itch with the sudden inexplicable urge to map his contours. To trace his brows and the hollow beneath his sharp cheekbone. To discover if that mouth yields beneath my questing fingertips. Warm or cool to the touch?

His head cants, eyes lingering on my flushed cheeks before drifting lower to catch on my lips.

“Something on your mind?” he asks softly.

“Just thinking that if you don’t stop being kind to me, I’ll start believing you benevolent. Any chance you want to go about Edinburgh saving hapless humans with me more regularly?”

Kiaran’s laugh is sharp and abrupt. “I’m not benevolent. Any good I’ve done has been purely incidental while upholding my vow.”

I blink up at him. “Which vow? The one to the Falconers?”

I glimpse something raw twisting his features.

“I killed humans every day. Until I spoke a vow.” His tone holds an undercurrent of steel now. Warning me I’m treading unsafe ground.

I stare at him in surprise. A fae’s vow is binding. To break one results in unimaginable torment, the magic slowly leeching away their life force as punishment. What desperation could drive him to accept such a vow?

“Why would you do that?”

“You don’t want to ask me about my past,” he says, voice low. “Some things are best left buried.”

This vow, whatever it was, meant everything to him. I see it in the set of his jaw, the stark lines of his features, and I recognise it for what it is: grief. I’ve lived it, breathed it. Let it carve me into something sharp and cold and unrecognisable. Because the alternative is to let it consume you. But it’s still there—always there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for the faintest crack in armour. And I just pried his open. The monster in me recognises the one in him. Reaches out, hungering.

I’m almost certain I know the answer.

My eyelids finally flutter closed. I try to open them, but I can’t. My mind has already started clouding. I fight sleep one last time. I need to ask him. “You fell in love with a Falconer once, didn’t you?”

Kiaran goes still. The silence stretches between us. I hold my breath, balanced on a knife’s edge, wondering if I’ve stepped wrong, revealing my own foolish longing in the asking.

But he resumes his task. “I didn’t love her,” he says softly, “because I wasn’t capable of it. Now go to sleep. I’ll guard your dreams.”