Chapter 32
32
I’m shrugging into my coat, mind already focused on checking the seal, when power brushes my senses. Kiaran. Of course, he would show up now when I’m in no mood for his questionable company. I pause with my hand on the door, debating slipping out the window to avoid him. But the insistent tug of power calls me back.
“I know you’re lurking out there, MacKay.” I keep my voice bored. “Slink right back into whatever hole you crawled from.”
The doorknob jiggles as he tests the lock. I hear a muffled curse on the other side. My lips quirk despite myself. Serves him right.
“Open the door, Kameron.” Even through the heavy wood, that accent makes my traitorous pulse leap. I swear, he perfected that musical cadence just to beguile hapless humans.
I snort under my breath. “I’m not inclined toward hospitality tonight. Go practise your glower on someone else.”
Silence ticks by. I can picture him out there, expression shuttered as he weighs his options. Kiaran’s never been one to take orders.
“That silence had better be you leaving,” I say.
“I’m considering the most efficient way of removing this door from its hinges.”
Only Kiaran could make that sound reasonable. My first instinct is to scoff, but this is a fae who delights in tormenting me. He would happily kick in my door and ruin the nice mahogany panels. I sigh and slide back the lock before I have to replace it, opening the door.
Kiaran fills the space, more than six feet of lean muscle and predatory focus. Rainwater drips from his shirt, running over inked skin. He looks like sin given form just to torment me. To remind me of everything we almost shared in the sitting room.
Until he broke his vow.
I have to tip my head back to meet his penetrating stare. “To what do I owe the dubious pleasure?”
His gaze sweeps over me in assessment. Cataloguing details, as always. He would make an excellent thief. Come to think of it, how does he occupy his endless days when he’s not irritating me?
“Are you going to invite me in?” His voice washes over me. “Or shall I drip on your carpet all night?”
Frankly, he can stay in the draughty hall until hell freezes over.
I lean on the doorframe, barring his path. “Drip away. The worn spots in my runner could use some watering.” I examine my nails. “I might even fetch a knife and start practising my aim on stationary targets. Kidneys make good points of focus. Lungs, too, if I’m feeling ambitious.”
Irritation flickers, there and gone. He braces one arm above my head, muscles cording beneath rain-slicked skin decorated with those mysterious tattoos. They almost seem to shift and change, ancient magic given form.
“We need to talk.”
“Oh, so that’s why you’re here? You didn’t just feel like threatening me at midnight. Silly me.” I make a show of looking thoughtful. “Now, what should we discuss first? Your betrayal last night when you broke a vow? The magical bond I agreed to while half dead? Or maybe the cosy history with my mortal enemy that you failed to mention? So many lively topics to cover. However will we choose?”
A low sound rumbles from him. Warning. “Invite me in.”
Challenge flares hot in my veins, that old familiar recklessness. “Make me.”
Almost faster than I can track, Kiaran seizes my waist and spins me so my back is pressed to the solid wall of his chest. His thigh slips between mine and my pulse skitters.
Warm breath ghosts over my ear. “Keep pushing me tonight, and I’ll rescind my offer to talk and put you on your knees, Kameron. Unless that’s precisely what you’re angling for?”
Heat ignites low and insistent in my core at the images his words conjure.
I keep my tone bored. “While I applaud your attempts at distraction, threats won’t improve my mood or your chances of entering anytime soon.”
I don’t see his hand move, but my wrists are abruptly pinioned behind my back in a hard grip. He tsks reproachfully in my ear as his free hand trails up my waist, tracing over my ribs with deliberate pressure. I bite my lip to stifle a moan.
“If this is your idea of productive conversation, you’re sorely mistaken.” I put as much ice in my tone as I can muster.
He makes a noncommittal sound, focused on teasing his fingertips along my body. “You’ve spent months wearing my mark. My magic in your blood and in your skin,” he breathes. “I came here to talk, but touching you feels necessary.”
Memories surface of us in the study—his hands gripping my hips as I straddled his lap. Everything we both wanted in those unguarded moments.
My breath catches when his palm grazes my breast, thumb brushing my nipple through the fabric. Sweet Saint Bridget, I need to put a stop to this, or I’ll never get answers out of him.
“Answers first,” I say. “I’m not going to be distracted by your sudden habit of proprietary touching.”
“Then let me in like a civilised hostess.” His answer vibrates against my skin. “I promise to behave.”
Liar. But I swallow back my sharper retorts.
“Kiaran MacKay, light of my life, would you care to come inside?” The words drip sarcasm.
He responds by grazing his teeth up the column of my throat. “There’s a good lass.”
Kiaran releases my captive hands and brushes past into my bedchamber. I close my eyes and count to five so I don’t do something reckless, like throw a book at his head.
He stands with his back to me, assessing my collection of texts and weapons.
I brace my hands on my hips. “Well? I’d like an explanation, or you can depart in one of two ways. My preference is head-first out the window.”
At my biting tone, he goes still. Ever so slowly, he turns to pin me beneath that stare. Beautiful and dangerous and utterly impossible.
When Kiaran finally speaks, his resonant voice strokes down my spine like a lover’s caress. “Let’s discuss what happened with Sorcha.”
Just her name sends resentment swirling through my veins.
“Oh, excellent. Yes, let’s begin by discussing why my enemy is on first name terms with you. Relationships between my allies and sworn nemeses are vital information. What exactly is your history with her? Old friend? Old lover?”
Kiaran stays silent, tracking me. The hard rise and fall of his chest matches my own agitated pace. I can feel his banked temper rising to meet mine.
“Tell me or get out,” I snap.
Kiaran drags both hands through his hair. “Our lives are tied together. If Sorcha dies, I die.”
The blunt admission knocks me back. “Why would you ever do something so foolish? Do you just randomly bind yourself to women?” I pause, then rush to add, “Actually, don’t answer that. I’d rather not know the extent of your romantic entanglements.”
He turns away. Tension bleeds from every line of him. “Hers is a vow, not a bond. I’ve made many foolish choices in my long life, and she’s one of them.”
I dig my nails into both palms until I feel grounded in the bright sting.
“Foolish choices,” I echo, beginning to pace. Feet wearing a path in the plush carpet. “Is that what you call breaking promises these days, Kadamach ?”
His expression shutters. “Don’t call me that.”
But I’m reckless in my pain. Grasping for any blow that might pierce his impenetrable armour. “Why not? It’s your name, isn’t it? Kadamach .”
One moment, I’m hurling that name. The next, Kiaran blurs across the space between us. His hands seize my face almost tenderly between them. But his eyes pin me in place, their beauty turned lethal.
“Let me tell you about the fae who answered to that name.”
His voice resonates through every bone. Meant to seduce or destroy. Perhaps both.
I shudder out a breath. He could kill me in less time than it takes to draw air into starved lungs. I’d let myself forget, again, what sort of creature wears this pleasing shape.
Kiaran’s head dips until his lips brush my throat, a promise and a threat entwined. “Kadamach lived for violence,” he murmurs against my skin. “He would have ripped every thought from your mind and revelled in your agony.” His words pour liquid fire into my veins. “He would have torn you open and kissed you while you screamed.”
He braces me with one arm around my waist, our bodies pressed flush. We share breath and frantic heartbeats in the scant space.
“Names have power, Kameron.” His lips press to my pulse. “I’d advise against using that one unless you’d like to see what it was once capable of.”
Tension crackles between us. My nails bite crescents into both palms again.
“And my mark?” I ask when I trust my voice not to shake. “Sorcha called it a bond. You could have informed me that putting a servant mark on me would bond me to you.”
A muscle in his jaw feathers. I watch emotions war across his expression. Reluctance. Resignation. “It’s not a mark of servitude,” he says quietly. “I gave you the mark of my consort.”
Shock steals my breath. Then everything slots into place.
My skin has glittered since we’ve been close like this, since we’ve touched, every near-miss of intimacy. When hands and mouths began wandering to places best left unexplored between us.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I’ve spent months criticising you for collaring me.”
“Because you agreed to the mark for survival , not as a consort,” he says. “So I let it mean nothing. I let you think what you wanted.”
This mark means nothing more than you want it to mean.
Now, it reshapes us, everything we are. Everything we’ve been since he pressed his palm to mine and let this symbol burn its place in my bones.
I swallow. “Can you remove it? If I asked you to?”
Kiaran searches my face. “We can break the bond while it’s still half-formed. While it can still mean nothing.”
The unspoken question is sharp in the air. Do you want me to?
A thousand logical reasons why I should say yes crowd my thoughts. Protect my heart. Preserve my sanity. Regain control.
Instead, I whisper, “What if I wanted it to mean something? What would make it permanent?”
Say it out loud. Make it real.
His eyes meet mine. “You’re clever. I think you know.”
I step closer. “Show me your fangs.” The bold words fall unbidden from my lips. A reckless demand. “If I’m to keep wearing your mark, I want to see everything you are. All of it. Otherwise, you should walk away right now and don’t look back. We go back to nothing.”
For the space of two heartbeats, he searches my face. Looking for doubt or hesitation. Finding only certainty.
Kiaran exhales softly. Bends his head to nuzzle the delicate skin of my throat. Sparks race across me everywhere he doesn’t touch and everywhere he does.
“Invitation or not at all, Kameron,” he reminds me.
“You’re making demands now?”
“I always make demands.” His voice resonates through me. That accent should come with a warning. “Ask me. Nicely.”
I wet my suddenly dry lips. “Kiaran, would you show me your fangs. Please?” The last word escapes on a shaky exhale.
Slowly, gently, he strokes his hands down my sides, steadying me. “Good. Now tell me where you want them. We’ll go slow.”
The concession makes me wonder if he can sense my anxiety, the visceral fear of teeth. My hand goes to the thick scars on my neck, remnants from another vicious bite. From the attack that still haunts my dreams.
I extend my wrist in silent offering, pulse fluttering wildly beneath delicate skin. “Just here. To start.”
Kiaran’s fingers encircle my arm gently. “Breathe, sweet lass.”
He brushes his lips over my racing pulse. I watch as his mouth opens and two tapered fangs slide free. The silver in his eyes swirls outwards, overtaking the violet like liquid metal. He’s barely inches from my scars, but I force myself not to recoil.
With exquisite care, Kiaran grazes the lethal points along the blue tracery of veins on my inner wrist. It’s the barest whisper of sensation but enough to send the room spinning around me. I’m three months back—teeth on my body, tearing apart my flesh.
Teeth right there , biting down.
“Kameron.” Kiaran’s voice pulls me back. He crushes me close, surrounding me with his scent of pine and rain. “ Kameron . Breathe in my scent. Focus on the moment.”
I turn my face into his neck, breathing him in until the anxious tangle in my chest unwinds.
“Mmm. Why do you always smell so good?” I mumble.
“The consort mark affects our senses when we’re close,” he says, stroking a hand down my back. “Draws us closer.”
I can’t help but nuzzle him again, letting that scent soothe my jagged edges. “What do I smell like to you?”
I hear a breath leave him. “Mine,” he says quietly.
The pleasant fog still clinging to my thoughts starts to lift. “I’ll go back to being mad at you in a moment,” I mutter into his shirt. “Just as soon as I stop touching you. Don’t think sweet words will make me forgive you so easily.”
A low sound rumbles through his chest, almost laughter. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I let myself huddle closer, calming fully under his hands and voice. Then, “I’m sorry. For using that name when you didn’t want me to.”
“I know.” Simple acknowledgement. Forgiveness offered.
We stay locked together for a few more stolen moments until my breathing evens out. But before I can pull away and gather the remains of my composure, the floorboards tremble under us. The chandelier sways overhead, and I grasp Kiaran’s shoulders to catch my balance.
“That’s the second earthquake today,” I say quietly. “I was just going to inspect the seal when you arrived.”
Kiaran releases his hold. “I’ll come with you.”