Page 34

The forest looms before us, a twisted labyrinth of shadow and secrets. The silhouettes of skeletal branches are stark against the full moon bathing everything in an ethereal silver glow. The air carries a biting chill that seeps through my damp clothes.

I raise an eyebrow at Kiaran. “Shall we stumble into the murder woods and hope the ancient death goddess takes a wrong turn somewhere?”

He shoots me a quelling look. “ The murder woods , as you so charmingly put it, are the lesser evil at present.”

I let out an aggrieved sigh.

We continue, our footfalls nearly silent on the carpet of decaying leaves.

Kiaran moves ahead of me. Even with his magic bound, even worn down to the basest elements of his being, he is a weapon honed to devastating sharpness.

I may have the power of the Cailleach thrumming through my veins, but Kiaran MacKay will always be the most dangerous creature I know.

We emerge into a small clearing dappled in pools of moonlight. In the distance, an owl releases a haunting cry.

“We’ll rest here for the night,” Kiaran says.

“Let the record reflect that these accommodations are beneath my standards. I expect a significant increase in thread count and a marked decrease in things likely to eat my face for our next bout of fleeing for our lives.”

“My apologies,” he drawls. “In the future, I’ll be sure to consult you before selecting our places of refuge. Shall I find us a posh Scottish townhouse next time? Champagne and a string quartet at six, Marchioness?”

Despite myself, amusement flickers in my chest. “Oh, good. The Unseelie King has a sense of humour buried under all that ‘I will eviscerate my enemies’ bluster. I was beginning to fear it had withered away from neglect.”

“I didn’t hear you voicing any complaints about bluster when I fucked you on my throne.”

Good lord. Heat crawls up my neck at the memory. I clear my throat. Now is hardly the time.

Shrugging out of his coat, he tosses it to me. “Here, bread in the inner pocket. Eat before you keel over.”

Fishing out the bread, I find it wrapped in leaves to protect against the damp. I can’t remember the last time I ate—it was long before wading into the Morrigan’s lair.

I sink onto Kiaran’s coat, the fabric insulating me from the cold ground. With a slight flex of power, I light a fire between us. Golden light flickers over the stark angles of his face. He looks more tired than usual. Starker.

Tearing into the bread, I mumble around a mouthful, “A king and a quartermaster rolled into one lovely, broody package. Will wonders never cease?”

Kiaran pins me with a flat stare as he settles himself on the opposite side of the blaze.

“Someone has to keep you from wasting away to nothing,” he mutters.

His gaze flicks over me. “You’re hurt. And don’t bother lying about it.

You do that shifty thing with your eyes when you’re about to try to deceive me. ”

Popping the last bite of bread into my mouth, I brush my hands off on my legs and flash him a cheeky grin.

“I didn’t know the quartermaster also served as a field medic.

What other hidden talents are you concealing?

Juggling? Lute playing? A passion for needlepoint?

” I stretch my arms overhead, my muscles tense after encountering the Morrigan.

“The cuts are shallow, already knitting closed. My healing isn’t bound within this charming little slice of hell. ”

“Believe me, mo chridhe ,” Kiaran says, his voice a low rumble that I can feel all the way to my toes, “I’m acutely aware of your every hurt.”

I swallow hard. Once. Twice. It does little to dislodge the sudden lump of emotion lodged in my throat.

“I think you’ve grown far too comfortable issuing orders and commands as the undisputed ruler of the Unseelie Court.

And as a born-and-bred Scotswoman, I’ve never been fond of bowing and scraping to the monarchy.

Call it a failing of my heritage. So perhaps, just for tonight, you could be demoted to a simple ‘sir’. Given your present limitations.”

One dark brow arches. “I’ll consider it if you ask very, very nicely.”

Still holding Kiaran’s stare, I slide my hands to the fastenings of my coat. Work them open one by one until it gapes enough to bare a tantalising strip of skin along my collarbone.

“Like this . . . sir ?” I breathe, the last word an unmistakable challenge.

Kiaran’s irises flare silver. I’ve seen that look before, usually right before he does something devastating with his mouth. “Take. The coat. Off.”

“Hmm, that sounded like an edict handed down by a king rather than a polite request from a temporary subordinate,” I muse, trailing a finger over the skin of my decolletage in the way I know drives him mad.

“I thought we agreed that you’d been demoted for the evening?

Relieved of all tyrannical privileges until further notice? ”

“ Now, Kameron .”

My fingers move to obey that uncompromising tone. I let the heavy garment slip off my shoulders to pool around my hips. “What now, sir ?”

He looks at me like he wants to consume me. Devour me. “Burn it.”

I blink at him once. Twice. Certain I’ve misheard. “Beg pardon?”

“Burn. The damn. Coat.” Each word is gritted out between clenched teeth.

“I know you’ve anointed yourself the supreme ruler of all you survey, but immolating my clothes is a bridge too far.”

“Wear mine instead. It will mask your scent. I can smell your blood, and it’s—” He scrubs a hand over his face, features drawing taut. Then, so softly, I nearly miss it—Please.”

Oh. Oh .

My heart lurches against my ribs. Please . A mark of how close to the edge he is. How deep he’s dug his claws in to keep from shattering.

“Of course.”

Slowly, I cast the tattered garment into the fire. Watch as the hungry flames lick over the fabric.

Kiaran’s coat is still warm from his body heat when I shrug into it. I have to roll the sleeves up several times to free my hands. “On a scale of court jester to street urchin,” I ask, aiming for levity, “how absurd do I look right now? Be honest.”

“Fishing for compliments?”

“Establishing a baseline. For science.”

“Kameron. You’re—” His face gentles, something raw and unguarded stealing across his features. “You’re lovely.”

A sweet, fierce ache blooms behind my ribs. At the wonder suffusing his gaze as it caresses me. As if I’m every dark, secret longing he’s ever had.

And just like that, I can’t stand the distance between us for another second.

“Come here,” I say, pushing to my feet and stepping toward him.

Kiaran’s head snaps up. “Don’t.”

I freeze, hardly daring to breathe. I study him. Catalogue the visible tremor in his fingers. He’s subsisting on the memory of sustenance and little else.

My attention snags on the ugly stain marring his shirt sleeve, and it takes a beat for understanding to knife through my exhausted fog. But once it does, I inhale sharply.

Blood. A gash bisects Kiaran’s bicep, crimson saturating the tattered fabric.

I tear a long strip off the hem of my shirt. Extend a tentative hand, the makeshift bandage dangling from my fingers. “Let me tend that.”

“It’s nothing. And stop shredding your clothes like some feral waif.”

“I wouldn’t be forced to if a high-handed someone hadn’t ordered me to incinerate my coat,” I say, glaring at him.

“You’re not accustomed to mortal limitations.

Your regenerative abilities are bound here, like the rest of your magic.

And frankly, if you attempt to strong-arm me into submission, I’d wager the nonexistent contents of my purse that I could put you flat on your arse in a trice. Now let me see it.”

His eyes blaze quicksilver. Between one blink and the next, he’s looming over me.

“I’ll say this once,” he grits out, voice edging into a growl, “be very certain you want to get this close to me right now. Because if you touch me, I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to stop myself from taking you. Right here, in the dirt.”

He towers over me, all coiled lethality barely constrained. My lips part, but no sound comes out.

“You don’t know what you do to me when you’re like this.

” Tension thrums through him. Kiaran raises a hand and traces the pad of his thumb along my cheekbone.

Down, until it rests above my hammering pulse.

Pressing in hard enough to steal my breath.

To make sure I feel it. “When you’re stubborn and ferocious and ready to brawl.

You’re moody, belligerent, impolite, a complete lunatic, and I want you with every fucking breath. Do you understand?”

I can only nod. The words tangle somewhere in my throat.

His eyes flick to my parted lips. I nearly flinch from the force of his wanting. Ravenous.

“Let me help you,” I manage. “I’ll go slow.”

A loaded beat. Then, a single, sharp nod as he settles back against the tree.

I sink down beside him, extending my hand palm up. Waiting for his permission.

“Is this all right?” I keep my tone pitched low and soothing.

Another nod.

Gingerly, I peel away the blood-soaked fabric of his shirtsleeve to inspect the gash. The flesh is already knitting together. Even with his magic bound, Kiaran’s healing outstrips any mortal.

I use the scrap to wrap his injury. “Did you know this is an authentic human experience?” I say as I work, ignoring the way Kiaran has gone still.

“Not many fae can boast about the novelty of slowly bleeding out.” I sit back on my heels to survey my handiwork.

Let my gaze linger on the flex of muscle beneath his skin.

The play of firelight over the stark angles of his face.

“I suppose there’s a certain charm to this for an immortal king. ”

“Only you could find compulsory vulnerability charming.”

He’s beautiful like this. His eyes are heavy-lidded and glinting, lips parted as if he’s scenting me on every breath.

“I want you,” I whisper, swallowing before my voice catches. “So much it feels like dying. May I move closer?”

Kiaran is still, his expression inscrutable. For a small eternity, there is only the crackle of the fire. The wind sighing through the trees. The dull roar of my pulse in my ears.

Then, a single dip of his chin. “In my lap, Kameron.”

I go willingly, straddling his hips.

His hands settle on my thighs, proprietary. He squeezes once, hard enough to leave finger-shaped imprints. The dull flash of pain acts as a focus. A warning and a promise entwined.

Slowly, so slowly, I lean in until our mouths are a hair’s breadth apart. The air crackles between us. “All right?”

He exhales. “Yes.”

I graze my lips over his. “All right?”

His hand smooths up my back, counting the notches of my vertebrae. “Don’t stop yet.”

The breath leaves me in a rush at his dark command. At the unspoken plea threading beneath, begging me to shatter him open.

Emboldened, I slide my hand down to curl my fingers into the hem of his shirt.

Kiaran goes rigid. A new tension radiating through him. His hand shoots out, seizing my wrist.

“I can’t,” he grits out. “Not that. Not now.”

“Shh, all right. It’s all right,” I quickly soothe. “Do you have any idea what a precious gift that is? How honoured I am that you allow yourself to be vulnerable with me?” I lift up, brushing my mouth over his forehead. The tip of his nose. Gentling him with touch. “Is this enough?”

“No.” He wraps his arms around me until we’re pressed together, breath to breath. Heartbeat to heartbeat. “It’ll never be enough.”

He kisses me. At first, it’s barely a kiss at all, just the rasp of lips clinging.

Once, twice. His breath shudders against my cheek on an exhale.

His hands flex on my hips, but he lets me have this, lets me lead.

Submitting to my tentative exploration. And then he’s kissing me like I’m the blood in his veins and the air in his lungs.

There’s no finesse to it, no artistry. He’s laying claim even as he surrenders, again and again.

“Kameron.”

My name, falling from his lips like a prayer. As if it’s the only word he knows.

He tastes of spice and shadows, the faintest copper sting of blood. I wonder if the flavour will fade from my tongue once he’s bound to Sorcha. If anything of him will remain seared into my flesh like a brand.

I lay his coat on the ground and pull him down, holding him close. “Go to sleep, sir.”

“You’re not going to let the ‘sir’ bit go, are you?” he asks.

“Not until tomorrow, at any rate. You might be a mere mister come morning.”

His soft laughter—rusty and unpractised but real—is a revelation. God, what I wouldn’t give to hear that sound every day. To be the one to coax it from him. “I love you.”

“Love you too, sir.”

I hoard the hours we have left because soon, they’ll be nothing more than memories. And memories—even the sweetest ones—have edges.

Mine will be blades.