“He’s gone, Callie,” the Bargainer says. “He’s gone and he’s not coming back.”
I don’t bother asking how he knows any of this. I simply nod. It’s the thing he and I don’t talk about.
Then awareness seeps in. Des’s is mostly on my bed, and our hands are all over each other. If he were anyone else, his presence would scare the living shit out of me.
But Des is … Des is my moonlight.
A chilly breeze raises my gooseflesh, and I look past him, towards the window above my desk. Only a few jagged pieces of glass are still lodged in the frame. The rest of the window pane is scattered in shards on my floor.
I blink a few times, then turn back to the Bargainer.
He lifts a hand to the mess, and the shards of glass rise into the air. Piece by piece they fit themselves back together until the pane of glass is whole once more. “I used the window.”
“You flew?” I ask, skeptical and a little curious. I’ve still never seen what his wings look like.
He gives a slight nod.
“You wouldn’t wake up,” he says, and I hear a thread of concern in his voice.
I don’t usually wake up. Not when I’m that far under the pull of my nightmares. I have to let them play out.
“How did you know?” I ask. “About the nightmare, I mean.”
He’s still searching my face, like he’s trying to make certain I’m okay. “It doesn’t matter.” He releases my arms. “Scoot over.”
I do so, and he settles in next to me, his back resting against my headboard. “The guy was a real asshole, wasn’t he?”
I know he means my father.
I work my jaw, then nod.
I swear the shadows in the room deepen, and I remember all over again who’s next to me, hogging all the room on the mattress. For several seconds we’re both quiet as the darkness lays claim to my dorm room.
My pulse is pounding, partly from the aftertaste of my dream, and partly from Des showing up out of nowhere like some kind of dark savior. And now he’s a hairsbreadth away from … something. Anger, madness, retribution—I still can barely read the man.
“Rest easy, cherub,” he says. Then, softer, “I won’t let anyone else hurt you.” The violence that laces his voice … it’s another reminder of how fierce he can be and how well earned his reputation is.
“You’re … staying?” I say, brushing some sweaty strands of hair from my face.
He was pretty adamant about not sleeping over only a couple of weeks ago.
He’s quiet for so long that I assume he’s not going to answer me.
“Yeah,” he eventually says, “I am.”
Present
“So what’s our next move?” I ask, my eyes drifting over the framed photos in the Bargainer’s living room.
Des sits down next to me on the couch and pinches his lip. “Tomorrow, I’d like to show you the sleeping warriors.”
Unwillingly, a shiver courses through me. Just because I agreed to this doesn’t mean I’m thrilled to return to Des’s kingdom. But, sitting around and letting someone fuck with me while I sleep isn’t a good option either, so …
“Do you think me seeing the women will help us figure out what’s going on?” I ask.
He stares at my lips. “No,” he says plainly, “but I’ll show you them nonetheless.”
I look around us, at his living room. “And after that?”
The corner of his mouth curves up. “I’ll give you my case notes to read over, and we’ll go from there. Other than that, you’ll pay off your debt and make yourself at home.”
Caught in the spider’s web. Isn’t that what I felt last time Des brought me here? That every single thing that happened forwarded some interest of his, and I was hopeless to know what it was.
That strange fae beauty of his stares back at me remorselessly. He belongs to a race of beings that kills savagely, brutally. Forcing me to live under his roof and play his games day in and day out isn’t particularly cruel or out of character.
“Do I literally have to sleep inside your home every single night?”
“Don’t worry about that, cherub.”
I laugh humorlessly. “That’s not an answer, Des. What happens when I leave your house to stay the night with a friend? Am I going to spontaneously die?”
“A friend?” he asks derisively. “Is that what you call your men? Friends?”
Your men?
The only reason I haven’t launched myself across the couch and throttled Des is because, like earlier today, I detect jealousy in his voice, and that throws me off.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re presuming a fucking lot right now,” I say. “I was talking about Temper, my completely platonic female friend, you ass.” She and I had sleepovers from time to time. So sue us for not wanting to grow up.
A corner of his mouth curls up. “You won’t spontaneously die. My magic understands nuances.”
Judging by how weirdly upset he got just now, I bet those nuances don’t count my men.
My heart begins to pound as the reality of my situation sets in.
Living with the Bargainer.
How is this going to work, practically speaking? What if paying off my debt does take years? What if I have to watch Des date other women? What if I date other men?
Living together is going to be b-a-d.
Bad. Bad. Bad.
I slip back into my bedroom, pulling out the phone I remembered to pack earlier when I left my place with Des. I scroll down to Temper’s number.
Considering that I now temporarily live on an island, I have to get my affairs in order—namely, I have to warn Temper that I’ll be out of the office for a bit.
I don’t think too closely on how long a bit might actually be.
You knew that one day this was going to come, I admonish myself.
I’d been prepared for the possibility that I would have to leave West Coast Investigations while I paid off my debt to the Bargainer. It doesn’t make me any less sad.
“Hey, bitch,” she answers. “How you doin’?” she asks.
We’ve been texting each other back and forth all day, so she knows I’m alive and well and free of the Politia’s clutches. But she doesn’t yet know I now live with Des, largely because I’m a chicken, and I didn’t know how to break the news to her.
“Hey Temper.” I rub my forehead, trying to keep my voice light.
“Girl, you missed a good day. That hundred-thou client that called in asking for you? Well today he came in, and hoooo-we, that fucker is a looker. No wedding ring, so the dude’s game.”
I bite my thumbnail. It’s the perfect segue, and yet I don’t interrupt her.
“You need to get yourself off that Wanted List,” she continues, “because the way this guy keeps asking about you, I’m starting to think he’s interested in mixing a little business with pleasure. And girl, you have to be dead to not want this one.”
“You should take him,” I say, and then I wince.
She snorts. “Bitch, if he was open to it, the agreement would be signed, sealed, and delivered. He was adamant about working with you.”
“About that …” I take a deep breath. “I’m going to have to take a leave of absence.”
“And this is news how?” Temper says.
I pull the phone away and stare at it for a moment. That was not the response I’d imagined.
“Girl, you’re on the Wanted List,” she continues. “I understand. I’ve taken on your cases until you can come back.”
I sag against the nearby wall. The Wanted List. Of course.
“Temper, I love you.”
“Of course you do. I love you too, sexy lady. Now,” I can hear her shuffling in her office, “I still think yo
u should get ahold of this client. Want me to give you his number—?”
“No,” I hurry to say. I didn’t want to worry about clients on top of everything else.
“You’re right,” I can almost see her nodding to herself, “too dangerous. He could narc on you.”
I don’t bother mentioning that this call can also be traced. These are all things that both Temper and I are well aware of. The thing is, when you have powers like ours, dealing with pesky things like phone records is child’s play.
“Temper,” I say, my voice going low and a little hoarse, “I might be gone for a long time.”
“You won’t. I’m already working on removing your name, and once Eli gets back, I’ll make sure that whatever strings he’s pulled, he un-pulls them.”
I wince at the threat in her voice.
“Temper, it’s not just the Wanted List. I wish it was just that …” I gather together my courage. Now for the hard part. “You might have to find a replacement.”
The line goes quiet for several seconds.
Finally, “No.”
Temper’s tone raises goosebumps along my arms. I know that if I were in her office, the place would be vibrating with it. This is but a glimpse of her magnificent and malevolent power.
“Alright, alright,” I say, backing off on the subject. “You don’t have to find anyone else, but the thing is … the Bargainer has recruited me to help him with a string of disappearances in the Otherworld, and while this is happening I’ll be staying with him.”
Silence. But this time, when the line goes quiet, it doesn’t feel ominous like it had moments ago. It feels … judge-y.
“What?” I finally say.
“Nothing.”
I roll my eyes. “Just say it.”
“Nothing.”
I wait.
She clears her throat. “Now you’re sleeping over at the Bargainer’s place?”
“Not by choice!”
“Mhm.”
“Oh my God, Temper—”
“Bitch, just give it to me straight: are you bobbing for this guy’s bananas? Is that what this is about?” she asks.
“No—no, it’s not like that. This is strictly professional.”
Liar.
She snorts, seeing right through me. “Does he know that?”
“Um …” I don’t really know how the Bargainer feels.
“Okay, babe, let’s regroup for a reality check: You’re a hot-as-fuck siren. He’s a bad dude. Like I’ve-had-nightmares-of-him bad dude. He wants your goods. Hell, I want your goods, and I’m straight as an arrow. So if you stay there, you know what’s going to happen, I know what’s going to happen, black Jesus knows what’s going to happen, and most importantly, the Bargainer knows what’s going to happen: ya’ll are going to get some serious nookie.”
“Temper,” I groan.
“Don’t even act like it ain’t true. And as for your leave of absence, I’m not filling in your position. Do what you need to do to get out of there, or I’ll make it happen.”
That evening, I sit with Des in his dining room, Temper’s earlier words echoing in my mind.
She just might be powerful enough to take on the Bargainer, and that frightens me.
Perhaps I should just give into his dares … I’d get rid of beads quicker that way. And physically, I’d enjoy myself—oh, would I enjoy myself. With Des, I’m not scared of getting intimate. I’m scared of the fall that’s sure to follow.
Across the table littered with takeout food, the man himself leans back in his chair, his legs splayed open wide, his face all insolent beauty. This is his broody, regal look. All he needs is his crown.
My gaze moves around us. Des’s formal dining room is almost fantastical. Carved onto the chair backs are all sorts of scenes from what I can only guess are fairytales. Above us, candles flicker from a hammered bronze chandelier, and the walls are painted with scenes from a moonlit garden.
Hard to imagine that this man—this thug—commissioned someone to design his dining room like this. It looks like ovaries exploded all over it. Sleek, sophisticated ovaries, but ovaries nonetheless.
Sitting with my heels kicked up on his table, I pick up a carton of lo mein. I dip my chopsticks in and expertly scoop out several noodles.
I pause, mid-bite, when I realize Des is just watching me, his expression fascinated.
“What?” I glance down at my chest, just to make sure I haven’t spilled food on myself.
It was the Bargainer’s idea to pick us up some Chinese, but he hasn’t touched his food since we sat down.
“You’ve changed.”
I have changed, haven’t I? Somewhere along the way I’d gotten a little more hardened. Maybe it was Des leaving, maybe it was my line of work, maybe it was just growing up.
I eye him. “Should I be offended?”
“Not at all, cherub. I find all versions of you quite … intriguing.”
Intriguing. That was one way of putting it.
I raise my eyebrows as I dip my chopsticks into the carton again. “You haven’t changed much,” I say.
“Should I be offended by that?” Des echoes my words, his voice huskier than usual.
I set down the white carton and push the last of the food away.
“No,” I say.
He shouldn’t be offended, but I should be worried. The same things that made me fall for him long ago are getting to me all over again.
“Hmmm,” he says, holding my stare for several seconds.
Then, with a wave of his hand, the cartons of takeout disappear from the dark wood table.
“You didn’t want any?” I ask.
“I’m not hungry.”
Then why is he here with me?
“You didn’t have to sit with me,” I say. “I’m no longer a needy teenager.”
I cringe to think of that girl who carelessly collected beads from the Bargainer to get just a few hours with him.
“Trust me, I know.”
Silence falls thick over us. In the past, it had never been this way. Then, the silence was always comfortable. Hell, there were evenings I’d ask him to stay and we wouldn’t talk at all.
But now the two of us have all this unresolved baggage.
“What are we doing here?” I finally ask.
Anything to lift this weight off my chest.
The Bargainer crosses his muscular arms over his chest. “You’re repaying your debts.”
“Stop it, Des,” I say. “You and I both know that’s not what I meant. Last night, you were going to tell me.”
He leans forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. “But only if you stayed, Callie. You didn’t stay.”
“I could say the same for you.” All those lost years. “Do you even like me?”
“I’ve kissed you, I’ve begged you to stay with me, I’ve spent most of the last week with you. What do you think?” he says softly.
How can an answer manage to be everything I want to hear … while also making me want to pull my hair out?
“What do I think?” I say, swinging my legs off the table so that I can lean forward. “It doesn’t matter what I think. That’s all I’ve been doing for the last seven years—thinking about what went wrong. I’m tired of trying to figure you out.”
Des stands, towering over me even from across the table. He rests his hands against the surface. “There is something, Callie, that you’ve never asked me: how I felt about our seven years apart.”
The audacity! “That’s exactly what I’ve been asking you,” I say.
“No, you’ve been trying to figure out why I left. Not how I felt.”
Only a fairy would make this sort of distinction. And for my part, I
always assumed that how he felt was tied up in why he left.
“Ask me, Callie,” he says softly, his luminous eyes beseeching me.
Just looking at him … it’s hard not to be sucked in by his ferocious beauty and his velvety voice. It’s all so achingly familiar.
And now he’s trying to deconstruct our past and make it something it wasn’t. And I’m just enough of a sucker to allow it to happen.
I can’t believe I’m about to say this. “How did you feel, leaving me?” I ask.
He holds my gaze. “Like my soul was ripped in two.”
I still.
Is he serious?
I feel like my world’s being overturned.
“And the seven years that followed?” I breathe.
He stares at me, unwavering. “A nightmare.”
He’s taking a hammer to the walls I’ve built around my heart, and he’s systematically smashing them down. And I want him to. If what he’s saying is true, then maybe I do want him to get past all my defenses.
By his own admission, his experience sounds worse than mine.
“If it was so bad, why didn’t you just come back to me?” I ask, my voice pleading.
The Bargainer opens his mouth, and I think he’s going to answer, when instead he says, “Truth, or dare?”
You have got to be kidding me.
“Seriously, Des?”
Just when two of us begin to disambiguate our relationship, he stops it dead in its tracks.
“Do this for me, and I’ll give you something in return.”
“Fine,” I say, fixing him with a challenging look. “Dare.”
His lips curl up into a satisfied smile, relishing my answer.
“Do something to me that you’ve always wanted to do.”
Well shit.
That’s what I get for daring the King of the Night.
I swallow.
There are so many inappropriate responses to that command. Because there have always been an unending list of things I wanted to do with Des.
Des waits for me, his arms hanging loosely at his sides.
Rhapsodic (The Bargainer Book 1) Page 19