Sneak Peek of THE FALCONER

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

I CLOSE MY eyes and try to swallow the faery’s power.

The chemical tang in my mouth is so sharp that I want to cast up all over the ballroom floor. Heaving once, I lose my footing and pitch forward.

“Oof!” I careen into the lady nearest me. The wide skirts of our dresses collide and we almost topple onto the marble tiles. Just in time, I grip her shoulders to steady myself.

“My apologies,” I say, my voice hoarse.

I look up at the woman then. Miss Fairfax. She regards me with well-controlled mild distaste. My eyes dart to the other dancers. Many couples in the strathspey crane their heads to see the commotion. Though the jaunty music plays on, everyone—everyone—is staring at me.

Some of them whisper, and I catch their accusations again. Or I think I do. Murderess. She went mad. The marchioness’s death was—

I pull myself away from Miss Fairfax. It takes every ounce of effort to tamp down the memories that threaten to surface, to stay where I am and not run. I know what Father would say. He would tell me that I am the daughter of a marquess, and I am responsible for representing the family name at all times.

“So sorry, Miss Fairfax. Lost the count,” I say.

Miss Fairfax merely straightens her skirts, pats her mussed brunette hair, and lifts her chin as she rejoins the dance.

“Lady Aileana?” Lord Hamilton says. He appears quite concerned. “Are you all right?”

I force a smile and speak without thinking. “I’m terribly sorry—I must have tripped.”

Oh, dash it all. I feel faint, I should have said. That would have been the perfect excuse to get up and leave. How could I be so stupid?

Too late now. Lord Hamilton simply smiles, grips my hand, and guides me back to the line. I avoid the prying gazes of my peers and swallow down the last remnants of power on my tongue.

I have to find the blasted creature before it lures its victim. My instincts tell me to leave the dance, find the faery, and slaughter it. I spare a glance toward the exit. Dash my reputation and the idiotic notion that a gentlewoman shouldn’t cross a ballroom—or leave it—unescorted.

I feel the dark part inside of me stir and rise, desperate to do only three things: hunt, mutilate, kill.

Oh, I want to, more than anything. The faery is nearby, just outside the ballroom.

I step out of the strathspey and head toward the door. Lord Hamilton intercepts me and asks a question. I can’t hear it over the pounding need, my murderous thoughts.

Responsibility, I remind myself. Family. Honor. Damnation.

I reply to Lord Hamilton’s question with a simple, “Of course.”

He smiles again. I feel sorry for him, for all of them. They think I’m the only monster in their midst, but the real danger is the one they can’t even see. Faeries can select their victims and compel them with a small push of mental influence, then feed from them and kill them.

Five minutes. That’s all I need to find the creature and shoot a capsule into its flesh. Only a little time unobserved to— I grip Lord Hamilton’s hand hard. I’ve been out of society so long, and the hunt has become second nature. I have to hush my barbaric thoughts or I’ll act too soon and lose myself. My etiquette lessons repeat in my mind. The daughter of a marquess does not charge out of a ballroom. The daughter of a marquess does not abandon her partner in the middle of a dance.