Chapter 35
35
The cold finds me first. It slithers under blankets and sheets, creeping over my skin, raising gooseflesh. As awareness returns, I blink up at an unfamiliar ceiling swathed in shadows: this is not my bed. Not my room.
The pieces slowly come back together. Kiaran’s forge in the Fade. Moonlight spills through arched windows, and I can see my breath misting before me. The forge has become a tomb of ice.
With a sigh, I abandon the safety of silken sheets and furs, and swing my legs off the bed. My feet land on chilled stone. The frigid air steals the remaining heat from my body despite my linen shirt and trousers. I wrap my arms around myself and make my way down the dim corridor toward the main room, drawn by the soft susurration of turning pages.
Kiaran sits near the tall windows with an ancient book in his hands. Moonlight splits his face into light and shadow. Like something from that hazy space between dreaming and waking. Power rolls off him in waves, prickling my skin, setting my nerves on edge. He looks every inch a lethal fae—endless and terrible and achingly beautiful.
“Don’t tell me you’re brooding again,” I say, keeping my voice light despite the unease curling in my chest. “Reading a riveting book on innovative torture methods? Ten ways to remove a spleen? How to win friends and eviscerate enemies?”
Kiaran lifts his gaze from the weathered pages. His eyes are more silver than violet now, like moonlight on dark water. Beautiful and remote. They sweep over me in silent assessment.
“As ever, your wit astounds,” he says finally. No inflexion at all.
The shadows carve his face into an austere mask, all sharp lines and hollows—clearly a rough night, even by our standards. I can almost see the restless energy churning beneath his calm veneer.
“Well, it’s rather hard to be witty through chattering teeth,” I say. “Was turning your forge into the ninth circle of hell really necessary? If you were aiming for picturesque winter wonderland, you missed the mark. But if you wanted an arctic wasteland—” I gesture at the frigid air “—you’ve certainly achieved optimal brooding atmosphere. I’d applaud if my hands weren’t currently numb and useless appendages.”
Kiaran closes the massive book with an audible snap. He sets it aside on a nearby table and rises to his full imposing height. I resist the urge to take an instinctive step back, refusing to show weakness. Frost begins to creep along the floor, chasing his footsteps. His power thrums through the air, skimming my skin, sinking into my bones.
“Why are you out of bed?” he asks, voice edged with tension.
I practically hear the rest of his question: Why are you out of bed plaguing me?
As if it isn’t obvious.
I arch a brow. “I thought I’d take a stroll through your lovely ice cavern and see if I could scrounge up some extra blankets before my toes fall off. Frostbite and hypothermia is such an unpleasant way to die.”
His expression remains shuttered. “Bad dreams again?”
I flinch before I can stop myself, blood and teeth flashing through my mind. Of course, he knows—these chambers carry sound. He’s heard every thrash and cry from my twisted dreams, memories made nightmare.
And he brought it up to distract me from whatever has him in a foul mood.
Typical.
I dig my nails into both palms and lift my chin. “Nothing I can’t handle. But I noticed your fangs are out. Care to explain the arctic conditions and your slipping control?”
His expression hardens further, mouth compressing into a stern line. Icy tendrils creep along the walls. Shadows flutter at the edges of my vision. Hunger sharpens his power like a starving wolf revealing its claws.
“I’m not in the mood for prying,” Kiaran says. “Go back to bed.”
I take a deliberate step closer instead. “You know I’m incapable of not prying. Not when it impacts my comfort. When did you last feed? And it had better not be sometime around the fall of the Roman Empire.”
Kiaran turns away to face the window overlooking the silent, snow-draped garden. “I’ve dealt with worse.”
His response is clipped, as cutting as the winter wind howling outside. He’s on the knife edge of control in a way I’ve never seen, restraint shredding beneath that feral hunger.
“You may have dealt with worse, but you’re not fine,” I say. “I can feel your power biting at my skin. If you collapse while reinforcing the seal, you could damage it further. While an army of rampaging fae does lend itself to your unique talents, I happen to be rather fond of Edinburgh in its current unravaged state.”
“Are you commanding me to visit a bloodhouse?” His voice drops to a dangerous purr that skims down my spine. “Find a fae donor? Is that what you want—for me to sink my teeth into another?” He grips my chin. “Having my half-bonded consort near me right now is testing my control.”
I force myself to stay rooted in place. Despite our work together, he’s still fae—wildness given form. Right now, that ferality has turned ruthless, and he’s baiting me. Trying to provoke a reaction.
“Then try feeding from me again,” I say.
Kiaran searches my face, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Invitation, Kameron? ”
I nod. “Invitation.”
The air shifts, tension coiling tighter. His hands find my waist, thumbs grazing my hip bones through my clothes. Soothing me. Gentling me. This creature who can rip flesh from bone is being so careful. Yet blood beads a fang that has pierced his lip. His restraint continues to fray, tinder ready to catch at the first spark.
He needs this, he’s ravenous. Starved, with that gnawing emptiness carved into the elegant lines of his face.
“Where can I bite without rousing trauma?” His resonant voice is soft now, intimate.
Heat rises to my cheeks despite the cold. “Femoral artery,” I say before I can stop myself. “They never fed from me there.”
His fingers dig into my hips. “Be sure.”
I understand, then, the danger posed by his unchecked hunger, how easily it might turn violent. His will is jagged glass.
Be sure, it says. Be sure you can do this.
But the thought of him feeding from another is impossible. Intolerable.
“Take what you need from me,” I whisper.
Violet eyes flare hotter, bright and terrible. Kiaran guides me back until my legs meet the chair. I sink into the cushions as he lowers himself to his knees before me, palms skimming my calves, my thighs, unwinding the anxious knot in my stomach with those deadly, gentle hands.
I focus on his touch, his care, steadying my nerves.
I swallow hard, pulse already kicking faster. “You don’t have to—”
“I’m treating you as my consort, mo chridhe ,” he says softly.
I go still at the endearment. It lingers between us, changing what we are. This moment.
My consort. My heart.
I relax, focusing on his caressing ministrations up my thighs. The lamplight plays over his face as he studies my every reaction. This ancient, powerful fae kneeling before me. Gentle despite the lethal strength coiled in every inch of his frame.
He traces over my hips, light through the fabric. I let my head fall back as he reaches for the fastenings of my trousers, flicking them open. Cold air prickles as Kiaran parts the fabric.
Our gazes lock, a question passing between us. I offer the barest nod, pulse drumming wildly beneath my skin. He pushes the trousers down my legs with agonising slowness. Still so careful with me.
Then he eases my thighs open with reverent hands. I fight back a blush at my lower half being entirely naked, exposed to his heated stare.
I hear his harsh exhalation.
“When you wear my mark, you’re mine,” he rasps. “No one sees you like this but me.”
My eyes fall closed at the declaration, anticipation making me shiver. The mark on my palm flares hotter, resonating with his claim. I’m beyond words now, lost to everything but sensation. Let him take what he needs.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice rough.
I force my eyes open. The raw need etched into his elegant features leaves me dizzy, transfixed. I watch as he bends to brush his lips against the skin of my inner thigh. Even that light contact elicits a quiet gasp, pleasure arcing through me.
Kiaran’s lips traverse higher, reaching the hollow where my pulse flutters. I tense, anticipating the sting of his fangs. But instead of piercing flesh, he soothes the tender spot with a lingering open-mouthed kiss. The heat of his tongue over makes me shudder, nails biting into the upholstery.
“Keep watching me,” he murmurs against my sensitised skin. “I want to hear your breath catch when I kiss you here.” Holding my gaze, Kiaran drags the sharp points of his fangs along my inner thigh and ends the movement in a soft kiss. Just enough to raise pleasant goosebumps in their wake. When my breath snags on a moan, he whispers, “Just like that.”
Those lethal teeth finally pierce my flesh. Dark, intoxicating pleasure unfurls under my skin everywhere we connect. The hard pull of his mouth and the flick of his tongue at my inner thigh blurs the lines between pain and ecstasy until I’m drunk on the sensations.
Mine , his power seems to whisper across my skin everywhere we touch. Always mine .
Kiaran takes only what I offer, never pushing past gentle suction. I let the spikes of pain-pleasure suffuse through my veins, turning my limbs languid. Beneath his hands stroking my waist and hips, I learn the topography of bliss. His touch remains controlled, avoiding where I ache for more. The restraint only winds me tighter.
“Please,” I gasp out.
I don’t know what I’m begging for—his tongue on me, his cock inside me, just more, more, more. I only know if he stops, I might shatter beyond repair.
Kiaran nuzzles my thigh, mouth grazing sensitive flesh in the barest caress. “Say it again, mo chridhe . I love that word from your lips. I love it more when I’m on my knees.”
“Please,” I say again, the word cracking.
“That’s it.” His voice resonates through my bones. “Come for me, sweet lass.”
His fangs pierce my flesh again in the same instant his power crashes over my senses. The deliberate pulse steals my breath—wrapping me in scorching pleasure, heightening every sensation until I’m arching off the chair on a sharp cry, shattering completely. My vision whites out. My lungs burn, starved for air.
I rake my nails across the nape of his neck. More. Take more. Give me everything. Touch me the way you’ve always wanted to in the dark when I wasn’t watching.
But he only kisses the marks before withdrawing.
I stare at him, still breathing hard. Lethal and lovely, marked by my blood. On the cusp of asking for everything he’s willing to give me. To complete the consort bond.
Kiaran draws his thumb over my bottom lip. “Don’t overthink this. Not tonight.”
He lifts me easily into his arms. I let him carry me back through the silent corridors to the nest of furs without resistance or questions, the words dying on my tongue. I expect him to leave me there, but instead, Kiaran slides beneath the covers and pulls me against him. When I feel the hard press of his cock against my backside, I can’t stop my instinctive squirm. The heated aftershocks still shiver through me, and I want—I need—
He groans, the sound ripping from his chest. “Be still.”
Despite the desperation thrumming through my blood, urging me to reckless action, I make myself go pliant and unmoving. We lie there, side by side, heartbeat to heartbeat, waiting for the madness to pass.
I clear my throat, frustrated need making my voice tremble. “Can’t we—”
“No,” Kiaran says sharply. Then I hear him whispering something under his breath, too low for me to catch.
Curiosity gets the better of me. “Are you counting?”
“Yes,” he grits out.
I press my lips together, holding back a smile. At least I’m not the only one being tortured. “In how many languages?”
“Five now.”
I wait until his soft chanting fades back into silence before speaking again. “When you fed from me, it didn’t hurt. Not like...” I trail off, unable to give voice to the memories.
Kiaran’s arm tightens around me. “It hurt before because they wanted it to. What we just did was freely given.” His breath stirs my hair as he continues softly. “Go to sleep, mo chridhe .”
Despite the frustration still thrumming through my veins, I let my eyes fall closed, lulled by his steadying presence at my back and the hand gently stroking my arm. The sound of my name on his lips follows me down into sleep.