“Go back inside, Kam.” His voice is sharp. The lilac of his irises is but a small interior ring.
Be still. Be calm. My heart slams against my chest. The way he’s looking at me is so raveous that I barely recognize him. “I need something from you.”
The air grows colder. “So you showed up for ulterior motives, then.”
I hate the way he says that, like I came here and laughed with him and kissed him and it was all for a favor. “Stop it, MacKay.”
“Just tell me what you want.”
I hesitate. “I need Sorcha.”
When he looks at me, his eyes are black. Brutal. The cold air bites my skin and my lungs constrict. “No,” he says in a voice I’ve only ever heard once before.
That voice as frigid and sharp-edged as a river in winter, one I could drown in. Kadamach’s voice. The voice of the Unseelie King.
I don’t move. I don’t even blink. “I wouldn’t be asking this if it weren’t important. You know that. Not when it comes to her.”
“I said no.” His words are a dangerous warning.
Don’t make me use my powers against you. “Her ancestor was the Morrigan’s consort,” I say. “I need her blood to find the Book.”
“Then take her blood. Drain her dry, for all I care.” I hate that voice. I hate the way it rolls over me, makes me shiver in dread. “But she stays where she is.”
I swallow hard, afraid to ask. “Where did you put her, MacKay?”
Kiaran’s smile sends chills down my spine. “Exactly where she belongs. She’s where I should have kept her two thousand years ago, and she deserves every second of it.”
The air is so brutally icy that it hurts. I can feel my power rebelling, demanding to defend itself. But I keep it tamped down. I embrace the pain because I know how easily I could lose myself to it—and how easily Kiaran could do the same. Right now, his powers are barely contained. His eyes have become as hard and dark as obsidian, emotionless. Unyielding.
As if Kiaran senses my power stirring, his own rises in response. Shadows gather along the ground at his feet. My skin is covered in a fine layer of frost, so pale from cold it’s almost blue.
“Stop this,” I whisper. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I see the moment my words sink in. Kiaran flinches, turning away. All at once, the temperature rises—so fast my skin stings with the warmth. The shadows recede into the ground and the meadow looks as it once did: as welcoming as a summer morning.
“We’ll discuss Sorcha later.” I hear the strain in his voice. His knuckles are white around the brush. “I need to go. Don’t get in my way.”
“Help me understand. The longer you go between feeding, the worse you get?”
Kiaran drops the brush to the ground and grabs the saddle. His movements are stiff as he positions it on the horse and secures it in place. “You wouldn’t recognize me at my worst. I don’t want you to see me like that.”
Just as he’s about to swing into the saddle, I move to stop him, but he pulls back from my touch. I drop my hand. “How many people will you hunt before you decide you’re prepared to find the Book? One?” His fingers tighten on the saddle, but he doesn’t answer. Not one. More. “How many people are you asking me to let you kill, MacKay?”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’ve seen them. You may not stop their hearts, but you take their lives. What you do to them is worse than death. How many?”
Kiaran looks away, but not before I see his expression. Shame. Guilt. Regret. He doesn’t answer, not even when I put my hand over his. “You don’t have to do this. When we find the Book, we’ll use it to break this curse.”
His laugh is hard, bitter. “Do you think that matters to me? I was ready to kill Aithinne and get this over with. You saw the map on my table. Then you came back and told me I was about to lose you all over again.” This time, when his eyes meet mine, they’re so bleak I almost can’t bear to look at him. “You’re asking how many people I’m prepared to kill? The answer is however many it takes. However many it takes to save you.”
I step back. “Don’t you dare say you’re doing this for me. Don’t put that on me, MacKay.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking. You want me to go with you to find this Book and I can barely stand next to you right now.”
“Why—”
“Because I don’t trust myself with you,” he snaps. When he looks over at me, the lilac of his eyes is almost completely enveloped. “You’re still human,” he says in a low voice, “and my control isn’t limitless. Do I need to remind you what happened to the last woman who trusted me not to harm her?”
I shut my mouth. Catríona. The Falconer he fell in love with thousands of years ago. He stopped feeding on humans and couldn’t stop himself killing her.
This time, when Kiaran steps closer, his touch is cold. Brutally so. “Shall I tell you the truth? What I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since yesterday?” His fingers brush the artery at my neck. “How when I kiss you there, I can feel your blood moving through your veins. I could sense the power inside you. It runs from here”—he presses a cold palm to my chest—“down to here.” Kiaran’s touch trails slowly down my arms to my fingertips. I shut my eyes at the shiver that runs through me. “And it should be a deterrent, but it isn’t. You only burn brighter.” Then he dips his head and presses his lips to my throat. Raggedly, he whispers, “Here. I would bite you right here.”
When his teeth scrape the length of my neck, I freeze.
Don’t. Please don’t. Not that.
With a soft sound, Kiaran abruptly pulls away. “And that’s why I don’t trust myself with you. That’s why I need to go.”
I reach out to grip his hand, noticing how his eyes darken slightly. Not like before, but just enough to tell me that I need to be careful.
“When I saw your human victims in the cottage,” I say, “Aithinne said she didn’t know if you were my Kiaran MacKay anymore.”
There it is, the flicker of guilt in his gaze. So quick I almost miss it. I press on, knowing I’m right this time. “I thought of your gifts. How you used to have your sluagh deliver Falconers’ bodies to Aithinne. And I thought she might be right. I thought you might be tormenting her again the way you used to.”
“Good,” he says coldly. “It’s easier that way.”
I raise my hand to touch his face. “But then I remembered the one time you felt guilt, when you killed Catríona, you delivered her yourself. You’re the one who takes those humans to Aithinne’s camp, aren’t you? Because she’s not the one you’re tormenting.” You’re tormenting yourself, I think. You are. As if he reads my mind, he says nothing. But I notice how his gaze softens. Because he is still my Kiaran MacKay. He is. “Don’t do this to save me, MacKay. Not when you’re the one who taught me that I need to save myself.”
“Kam,” he whispers.