Page 39 of The Fallen Kingdom

“Let me guess,” he says when I come up beside him, “you tracked me.”

I shrug. “Serves you right for all the times you did it to me in Edinburgh. Showing up randomly at the park, at myhome...”

Kiaran’s smile is small as he smooths the brush down the horse’s neck. “You offered me your foul human tea. I wanted to strip off that ridiculous clothing you were wearing and you asked me to destroy it instead.” He finally looks up at me from beneath his eyelashes. “Believe me, I remember. I wanted you then. I had for a long time.”

I look at him in surprise. “You did?” I’m suspicious. “You kept telling me I was a silly human girl. You were so condescending and superior about it.”

“Well, you were a silly human girl I happened to want.” He shrugs. “And I won’t argue the rest.”

The horse nudges my shoulder with its muzzle in a clear hint for attention. I gently reach out to stroke my fingertips down its nose. It makes a sound of contentment and I smile—until I notice the saddle on the ground next to the horse.

Kiaran was about to leave.

“Are you avoiding me?” I ask him, not bothering to hide my irritation. “Is that why you were about to ride off somewhere? Be honest.”

His jaw tightens. “No,” Kiaran says. “I was leaving so I could prepare for finding that Book.”

“To prepare...?”

I glance sharply at the faery horse, at the saddle again. It’s covered in familiar markings. Where have I seen those particular symbols before? I remember the grooves of them beneath my fingertips—

During the battle for Edinburgh. Those are the symbols of the Wild Hunt.

“You were going to hunt for a human victim.” When he doesn’t respond, I ask more sharply, “Weren’t you?”

When Kiaran looks at me, his expression is distant. Almost cold. “Then Aithinne showed you. And you still came.”

I hold back a flinch at the reminder of the thin woman in the cottage, the panicked sounds she made when the faery at her neck lifted its teeth away. “Of course I came,” I say. “I’m the one who was supposed to stop Sorcha from using the crystal—”

“Don’t,” Kiaran snaps. “Don’t talk like this is something you allowed to happen to me. This is who Iam. It’s who I was for thousands of years before I ever met you. It’s who I was born to be.”

My fingernails bite into my palms. “It’s who you were forced to be.”

“Semantics, Kam.” He resumes brushing the horse. “If I don’t do this, I won’t be in a position to help anyone, not even you.”

I think of his victims in the cottage, and what he’s reduced them to. But the faery in front of me seems calm, not evil. Not beyond saving. Kiaran laughed in bed with me. He made love to me, and he let me tell him my silly story. He’s not Kadamach.

Or so I believe until the moment I touch his shoulder and the meadow wind blows back the collar of my coat. He looks over at me, gaze flickering to the exposed skin at my throat.

And I see the hunger in his eyes.

Kiaran’s body tenses. He looks away and strokes the brush down the faery horse’s coat. He’s getting himself under control. Stroke.Control. Stroke.Control.

The black around his irises begins to bleed into the color. Unlike the fae in the forest, I don’t sense his insatiable desire to feed. But I can hear the way his breathing has become uneven. Rough.

“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.

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