Page 29

The next morning, I dress swiftly and stride into the antechamber, my footsteps echoing against the obsidian floor. Kiaran and Sorcha break off their heated, low-voiced discussion at my approach, gazes snapping to me—one silver-violet and inscrutable, the other emerald and filled with cruel mirth.

Sorcha looks ready for a royal gala in a crimson brocade gown with a plunging neckline, the fabric clinging to her lithe form.

Her ebony hair is swept up, showcasing the pale column of her throat and the elaborate ruby necklace dripping across her collarbones.

The gems wink and glitter in the chamber’s muted light, each worth more than some small kingdoms.

“Are we battling an ancient evil or attending a ball?” I ask, an eyebrow arched. “I must have missed the dress requirements for ‘confronting malevolent entities’.”

She smiles with satisfaction. “I go into war dressed for the outcome, little Falconer. Appearances matter.”

“Clearly.” My gaze darts to the ostentatious confection on her neck. “Careful. If the Morrigan doesn’t end you, that eyesore might strangle you first.”

Sorcha laughs. “Someone’s in a mood. You must be well rested.” Her attention cuts to Kiaran. “Unlike Kadamach here, who looks ready to rip out your jugular.”

I glance at Kiaran.

Nothing could have prepared me for the stark, savage hunger etched into every line of him.

The silver has nearly swallowed the violet in his eyes, leaving only the thinnest ring of colour.

His posture is coiled tight, a lion tensed to spring, and I see the flash of elongated canines peeking behind his parted lips.

I should have realised how close my consort was to the tenuous edge of his control, but I’d been too distracted to notice his unravelling.

Fragmented memories surface: his lean body rising from our rumpled sheets just before dawn, his murmured words lulling me under once more.

The ghost of a kiss on my bare shoulder, followed by the barest scrape of teeth.

Me stirring. Him jerking back with a low curse, slipping from the bed. “Sleep,” he’d urged, voice raw.

Now, Kiaran meets my stare for a moment before glancing away. Retreating into himself, a door slamming shut between us.

Sorcha’s mocking croon fills the yawning silence.

“Oh, you noble, self-flagellating fool.” She inspects her nails with affected boredom.

“Kadamach’s hunger is a force of nature.

If the Morrigan doesn’t eviscerate you, he certainly will.

” A cruel smile curves her lips. “Like his first little human Falconer.”

A muscle tics in Kiaran’s jaw, betraying the violence beneath his skin. “Do you think you could go one minute without speaking?” he says, words clipped. Leashed.

“I’m being honest,” Sorcha says. “You still blame me for that chit’s death, but all it took was locking her alone with you. Your base nature did the rest.”

A snarl rips from Kiaran’s throat as he bares lengthened fangs, coiled to strike. I lunge between them, fingers curling around his tensed forearm.

“Enough.” To him, I add more gently, “I’m sorry. I should never have involved her in this insanity.”

He shakes his head once, a sharp jerk. “I regret agreeing. But here we are.”

Sorcha barks a laugh. “I thought we were all friends.”

“Loathed adversaries, more like,” I mutter.

“Semantics.” She lifts her wrist, the dark whorls of Kiaran’s vow stark against her pale skin.

Nausea burns the back of my throat at the sight.

“Kadamach is mine the moment we retrieve that book,” she purrs.

“So don’t fret. There’s no risk of my blade in your heart.

” A razor smile. “That’s better than friendship, wouldn’t you say? ”

Kiaran’s growl vibrates through me where we touch. “Portal,” he bites out. “Before I strangle you with that hideous necklace myself.”

“So impatient,” Sorcha says. “I simply need to find the proper place in your dreary little tower to let my blood. The most potent of keys.” With a whisper of skirts, she turns in a crimson whirl and starts for the hall.

Kiaran makes to follow, but I catch his sleeve.

“Wait.” I wet my lips. “I’m sending for Aithinne. She’s coming with us.”

His brows snap together. “We didn’t agree—”

“Because you didn’t let me tell you my plan.” I lift my chin.

If possible, his expression grows even stonier. He glances over his shoulder to where Sorcha has paused to watch our exchange. Amused. Almost indulgent. He seizes my elbow and hauls me none-too-gently to the far side of the chamber, putting space between us and her keen ears.

His fingers flex on my arm, digging in. “I’m barely clinging to my sanity by a thread,” he hisses. “If I snap that leash, if I hurt you—” A convulsive swallow. “Aithinne would choose me. She always will. You already promised me you’d make the right decision.”

“And I will.” Liar. “We’re going to need her, MacKay. The Morrigan makes Sorcha look like a child playing at a tea party. Aithinne is the only one powerful enough to help us face her.”

“ My concern is Aithinne stopping you from doing what needs to be done.”

I want to shake him, scream at him.

“She’s coming,” I say firmly. “And she and I will decide together, if it comes to that. But I’m not excluding her.” Kiaran pauses. For an endless heartbeat, I think he’ll refuse.

Then his head dips. A nod.

I blow out a breath. Close my eyes and reach for my volatile well of magic. I need it to seek. To find.

I imagine the curling wisp of power, a shimmering lavender thread winding out from me. Questing, searching. There. I feel it snag on a familiar aura, ancient and vast as the sea.

Aithinne.

Her voice is a whisper against my mind, edged in amusement. “About time. On our way.”

Then her presence is gone, the connection snapped. I sway on my feet, temples throbbing. Maybe using even that small trickle of magic was unwise.

In the distance, the shriek of long-neglected hinges pierces the strange buzzing in my ears.

I crack open my eyes to find Kiaran’s shadows opening the doors.

With an ancient groan, the chamber’s massive double doors part, spilling light into the hall.

And through them tumbles a tiny winged creature, all burnished amber and gold.

Derrick makes a show of flitting around me, tiny face scrunched in appraisal.

“Alive? Check. In one piece?” He zooms down to my boots, then up.

“Check. Not bleeding or broken?” A circuit around my head, lifting strands of my hair.

“Check and check.” Satisfied with his assessment, he shoots a glare at Kiaran.

“I must say, MacKay, I’m impressed. I was certain I’d be forced to relieve you of a few fingers. ”

Kiaran, once more at my side, merely looks bored. “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t have those pretty little wings mounted on my wall first.”

Derrick puffs up with indignation, a scathing retort building behind his teeth.

“Children, do behave,” a voice chides. “Let’s not escalate to pruning body parts yet. At least not without inviting me.”

Aithinne saunters into the chamber like a conquering queen. No one would look at her and guess at the power thrumming just below the surface. How she could likely reduce this entire tower to rubble with a thought.

She comes to a halt before us, running an assessing eye over our little quartet. Her gaze lingers on Kiaran, one brow arching as she takes in the tense line of his shoulders, the hunger not entirely concealed.

“Brother mine,” she sighs. “You look like death warmed up.”

Kiaran’s jaw clenches. “Sister,” he greets. Flat. Inflectionless.

“What, no rapturous welcome?” Aithinne spreads her arms. “No words of gratitude that I dragged myself to this dreary fortress? And after your atrocious behaviour these last months. For shame. And I even wore my very best coat.”

“Don’t strain yourself with concern,” he says. “I didn’t ask you to come.”

“Ignore him,” I tell Aithinne. “On his best days, MacKay expresses emotions on a spectrum from ‘glower’ to ‘impending disembowelment’, and it’s not a good day.”

Her black eyes cut to me, warming. “Lucky he has you to translate.” To Kiaran, she adds, “I came because our Falconer asked. Because even though you’re a stubborn arse, I still care. More fool me, clearly.”

Kiaran’s growl is subvocal, more felt than heard. I lay a gentling hand on his chest, his heart hammering under my palm.

In my periphery, I see Derrick rubbing his tiny hands in glee. “Oh, this is delicious,” he cackles. “Nothing makes my black little heart sing like a dysfunctional family reunion. Perhaps we should all partake, really get the blood flowing.”

From behind us, Sorcha scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“As much as I enjoy this spectacle, can we hurry and face our impending doom while I still have all my wits intact?” Derrick’s wings fan against my hair. “Please remind me again why we’re working with the despicable twat who stabbed our girl in the heart?”

“Sorcha is our only hope to find the Book,” I explain. “Her blood holds the key. Unfortunately.”

“Ah, yes. How could I forget?” Derrick flutters down to meet my gaze, his usually mischievous eyes now serious. “Just never turn your back on her, love. Unless you want a blade planted firmly in it.”

Sorcha laughs, cold and bright as cut glass. “Oh, there’s no need for such base subterfuge. If I put my blade in her, it’ll be from the front. So I can watch the life drain out of her. Again.” She smiles, slow and cruel. “Now, if we’re quite finished, I’d like to get on with this suicide mission.”

Derrick starts to fly down the hall, but I stop him. “I need you to stay at camp.”

“But then I won’t get to kill anything,” he whines.

“I’d take you with me if I could, but I can’t leave my friends vulnerable while the realm is crumbling around us.” Derrick sighs. “Fine. Just be careful, will you? Don’t do anything foolish.”

He flies out of the tower, and I turn to follow Sorcha.