17. Kier Motherfucking Darro
Kier Motherfucking Darro
Ryn
“You need an appointment! You can’t just—” a fae woman with sleek white hair and a sharp nose circles her ornately carved desk to block my way, but before she can get her deceptively powerful arms around me, I shoulder-check her.
My fingers tingle with concentrated magic as I shock her on contact, growling out a late warning.
“I think you’ll find that I can, actually.” Her body slides to the floor in a heap, and I step over it before pushing open the dark, heavy wooden double doors that lead to Kier’s personal quarters.
It’s definitely outside calling hours, but when I woke up to an empty bed and overheard Seth talking to his friends about my situation, I knew I couldn’t wait.
They weren’t actually planning anything from the sounds of it, but I doubt it would be long until Seth came up with some half-cocked idea to solve my problems. I’ll be damned straight to hell and back if my stupidly loyal boyfriend does anything to get his obnoxiously fine ass locked up. For me? Absolutely not.
My hands tingle with excess magic and adrenaline as I walk briskly down the medieval Gothic-style corridor.
It’s almost laughable how on the nose this place looks for a tall, dark, and spooky villain type.
Almost, because while it is incredibly cliché, I’d be lying through my teeth if I didn’t concede how beautiful it is.
“Do you make it a habit of incapacitating the help when you visit other people’s homes, or is it just me who gets that pleasure?”
I stop in my tracks and whip my head around, zeroing in on a small alcove with a window seat, where Kier is sitting with his back leaning against the wall.
There’s a book in his hand and a blade at his hip, but overall, this is the most casual I’ve ever seen him.
His long hair shines in the light of the elegant sconces decorating the walls, and his skin glows a warm hazelnut.
A rich maroon shirt hangs open at the chest and is only half tucked into his black, fitted pants.
He’s fully clothed, but for him, he’s practically indecent.
I blink and meet his eyes, a flush staining my cheeks when I realize he’s smirking at my obvious perusal.
There’s no point in explaining that it’s the informality that's caught me off guard, and not his looks—he’d probably just use it against me. I clear my throat and straighten my spine, “Do you make it a habit to backstab your partners?”
He laughs. The motherfucker laughs. It’s deep and weirdly musical, and while I’m sure it’s a sound that would have some women swooning, it unnerves me. The hair on the back of my neck tickles as it stands on end, and goosebumps break out over my flesh.
“Yes, actually,” Kier leans forward with a smirk and places his book down on the window seat next to him.
“If the occasion calls for it.” He tilts his head at me questioningly, and his eyes sparkle as he hums, “But I must admit, I’m stumped.
How is it that I’ve backstabbed you, precisely? Please, do be specific.”
I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him, allowing magic to seep into the tips of my fingers in case I need to defend myself with little notice. “The stones. The ones you tasked me to figure out.”
Kier raises one elegant brow and rolls his hand expectantly, and I hesitate. Why the fuck is he acting so blasé?
“Oh, drop the act already. I know she's working with a royal, and it’s fucking shadow dust, Darro! That’s why they work—which I’m sure you know, since Saskia could only get it one way. From you.”
Before I can even blink, he’s up, and his heavy hand wraps around my throat. Pain explodes against the back of my head as he shoves me against the stone wall, and I grab frantically at the hand cutting off my air supply.
“You lie.” All trace of amusement is gone from Kier’s ethereal face; the sharp contours of his features menacing with quiet rage.
He glowers at me as my vision gets spotty.
The minor shocks I’m sending out through my fingers are doing absolutely nothing to him.
His brow furrows at something he sees in my eyes—some inner deception detection finally registering my innocence.
All at once, he releases me, and I crumple to the floor, knees groaning as I clutch at my aching throat and choke in ragged breaths of air.
For once, Kier’s quiet, and I rasp out a weak-sounding laugh.
Because whether he’s quietly seething or momentarily stunned speechless, it means he honestly didn’t know.
I should be concerned about what this means for me, because if he's not involved, someone else is still out there peddling shadow dust to my demented sister.
But right now, as I sit in a pile of tangled limbs on the Unseelie prince’s floor, I can’t help but laugh at this serendipitous turn of events.
Kier Darro didn’t stab me in the back, but I just pulled a knife out of his—and from the look on his face, he has no idea who put it there, or worse—he knows exactly who put it there, and can't believe it.
I watch cautiously as he paces back toward me and glances down with contemplative disdain. “How certain are you?” His voice is low and calculating, and he swipes the tip of his tongue across the inside of his cheek as he waits for my response.
I wince as I stand, my knees cracking and throat straining with my answer, “Absolutely certain. My boyfriend is a psychopomp, remember? He used his shadows in their vicinity, and they lit up like a fucking Yule log.”
Kier's eyebrows rise and fall as he purses his lips in a gesture that says, well that solves that, without actually saying anything. It’s weird seeing so much genuine expression from him.
Normally, Unseelie Court members—especially the more important ones—are very careful about showing any outward emotions in front of, well, anyone.
I’m not sure if he’s leaving his expressions unguarded to trick me into a false sense of camaraderie, or if he just doesn’t see me as a threat.
Or if, for some implausible reason, he actually considers me more friend than foe.
I can’t pick which of those options bothers me more.
“Fine. I need you and your boy toy to keep this quiet. I’ll deal with the leak in my court and get back to you with instructions for the stones.” Keir rubs his temple absentmindedly as I blink.
“You expect me to just sit on my ass and do nothing about this? It’s my sister.
My project at risk!” My fingers clench into fists at my sides, and Kier drops his hands to peer at me with narrowed eyes.
Any sane person would cower at the venom in his gaze, but I’ve always hugged the line between sanity and batshit crazy, so I glare back at him.
Something flickers in his countenance, and I can swear for the briefest moment one corner of his lip twitches.
But before I can even process what’s happening, he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the wall.
His expression turns bored, and my brows knit together at the sudden change in his demeanor.
Nothing good can come from the mask he just slipped on.
“I expect you to do precisely what you’re told. I know it’s something of a novelty for you—taking orders from the ruler of the Court you’ve denounced.” He leans forward at the waist, and I grit my teeth at his honeyed tone.
My stomach sinks—I don’t know what he’s about to hold over my head—but I know whatever it is, he thinks it’s enough to warrant this sudden confidence.
“I think you’ll find, court-bonded loyalty or not, that it’s fairly impossible to resist my command in this.
You see, I have a very vested interest in soul stone production, for obvious reasons.
Namely, not wanting anyone else to have access to them.
You’ve just told me that the key to stopping this whole sordid affair lies within the boundaries of my own court.
I really couldn’t care less about your little Frankenstein project now.
” Kier leans his head back against the wall and rolls his eyes skyward.
A haughty smirk spreads across his lips as my heart sinks further in my chest, right around where my stomach should have been—if it hadn't dropped as well.
“You’ve already signed contracts to back the Lazarus project; you can’t just pull funding—” my voice cracks.
Kier tuts condescendingly, “How decidedly Seelie of you, to not read the fine print of a contract.” He swallows, and I watch his throat bob, hatred burning like acid in my gut. He tilts his chin back down and makes eye contact with me, but his eyes aren’t sparkling with the smugness I’d expected.
They’re dull, tired. He sighs, and I’m right back to being confused, because what the fuck is he doing?
Is he actually unmasking in front of me, or is this all part of the game?
I know one thing for sure now—he’s right about my self-imposed distance from the Unseelie Court affecting my ability to navigate this world.
“Can’t I at least help? Somehow?” I loathe how close to begging I am.
He holds my gaze until I squirm under the heavy scrutiny.
His expression is bland when he eventually shakes his head, “You’re not Unseelie anymore, Ryn.
” His words, for once, aren't covered in barbs, but for some reason they still cut.
Maybe because the thought of being incapable in any way pisses me the fuck off.
“So, that’s it. I just go home and leave you to deal with it alone. What if whoever is trying to fuck you over gets to you before you can stop this?”
Amused eyes widen, and he blinks, “Are you…are you concerned about me? How precious.”
I balk and make an unintelligible noise in the back of my throat as he lets out a genuine laugh that has me pulling up short once again.
“Charming—that palpable disgust. Your company has been oddly refreshing, Tarynn.” Kier’s smile tapers off as he straightens and reaches for his book in a clear dismissal.
“Wish I could say the same.” I cross my arms over my chest, hip jutting out as I watch Darro prepare to leave through narrowed eyes. “I may not be concerned about you, per se, but all the same…better the devil I know. Watch your back.”
He glances over at me, his dark eyes sparkling with determination and something else I can’t even begin to recognize, and then nods once before walking away.
Behind me, a soft groan fills the corridor, and I spin around and wince as the receptionist stirs.
That’s my cue to leave. With one last glance over my shoulder, I gingerly sidestep the disgruntled fae woman and disappear into the shadows—which I’ve quickly come to associate with safety, thanks to Seth.
I stop in my tracks at that thought, goosebumps breaking out over my arms. That’s fucking terrifying.
I’ve always taken pride in relying only on myself to feel safe and content, so when did that change? And how didn’t I notice?
My mind wanders back to that call Seth was on before I left, and my stomach sours. As much as I don’t want to be mad at him for what he did for his friends, I can’t help the selfish part of me that hates the risk he took. And if he’d do that for them, what would he do for me—how much would he risk?
My heart lurches in my chest, and I swallow thickly against a wave of panic.
Maybe—maybe this was a bad idea. I mean, we’ve only known each other for—what?
A month? We’ve dated for less than a week, and I’m turning into one of those clingy chicks who needs someone else.
Fuck. My pulse thunders as I blink away tears and laugh bitterly.
Maybe Keir is wrong—maybe there’s a part of me that is still Unseelie because the realization of how deeply Seth has infiltrated my heart? It suddenly makes me want to run.