“Hell yeah, that’s right,” Temper agrees. “You’re a badass bitch when you want to be.”
Temper’s arm tightens around me. “Callie, you and I have been through some shit over the last decade. You don’t need to be strong with me. Just let it out.”
I don’t know if I needed to hear that, or if Temper’s words were simply the straw that broke the camel’s back, but I do give in and cry—if you can call it that.
You cry with your eyes, but I’m not just crying—I’m sobbing and shaking and heaving.
Temper rubs my back and holds me as I fall apart, and she might literally be the best friend anyone anywhere has ever had. I mean, her boyfriend is comatose right now, and she’s forcing herself to be strong so that I can break down.
Minutes, then hours tick by, and every so often, people knock on the door, their voices mentioning things like swearing me in, or dealing with sensitive matters. The only time Temper leaves my side is to turn them away.
“You want to get singed?” Temper threatens one now.
A pause, then some mumbling.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Fuck off.” She slams the door shut and comes back to my side.
At some point in the evening, the sorceress admits to me that she might have feelings for Malaki. She cries a little with me then, and now I’m holding her just as much as she’s holding me.
The two of us fall asleep like that, commiserating over our heartache and comforting each other just as we’ve always done.
Chapter 38
“Missing your mate?”
I spin at that voice, my skin brightening and my wings manifesting.
The Thief of Souls reclines on his throne, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“I will gut you—” I stalk towards him, my claws out in an instant.
Drink his screams.
Laugh as we watch him die.
He raises an eyebrow. “I’d like to see you try.”
My wings move, pulling me into the air. I descend on him like a Fury, my legs straddling his, my claws bared.
The Thief catches my wrists.
“What was it you said the last time you dreamed of me … ?” He pretends to search his memory. “Oh yes—‘If you want to hurt me, you’re going to have to try harder.’
“Tell me, enchantress, have I tried hard enough?”
I shriek, fighting against his hold on my wrists. I want to rip away that smug smile of his.
“Damn you!” My voice is raw with fury and pain. An angry tear slips out. “I will fucking make you feast on your own heart for what you did.”
“That’s awfully vivid. You’re going to have to carve it out of my chest first, and—” He glances at the wrists he holds captive, “it doesn’t look like that’ll happen anytime soon.”
I yank against his grip, my teeth gritted.
The Thief resettles himself between my legs. “My, is this intimate.”
“Where is Des?” I demand. Glamour fills my voice, but it does nothing to pry the truth loose from the Thief.
“If you want your soulmate,” he says, his voice low, “you’ll have to come and get him.” He jerks on my wrists, pulling me in close.
The Thief leans in and licks my bared throat. “For a price,” he says, using words he stole from the Bargainer.
I go feral in his arms, bucking wildly and scratching anything I can.
The Thief easily tosses me to the floor in front of him.
I’m back on my feet in an instant, but that’s all it takes for the ground to split and a cage to literally grow up from the floor. The black bars rise around me, arching overhead until they meet.
“I think you’ve forgotten that inside a dream, I can do anything.” To emphasize his point, my outfit—a wispy, pale blue dress—begins to vanish inch by inch.
“I can humiliate you,” he says, as the dress’s hem climbs up my legs and the straps slide off my shoulders, revealing my breasts.
I scowl at the Thief, too angry to be embarrassed. Distractedly, I push the straps back in place, covering my chest once more.
His eyes are alight with excitement. “I can hurt you—” The metal bars bow in until they touch my skin. My flesh begins to sizzle and smoke under the press of iron.
“This isn’t even me being creative,” he adds. “I could make the floor grow eyes and a mouth and swallow you whole. I could change your appearance—”
He begins to grin. “—I could even make the dead come back to life.”
“Cherub.”
I start at that voice, my breath catching. I turn so fast that I burn myself against the bars all over again.
Stepping out from the shadows, clad in leather and a faded Guns N’ Roses shirt, is my soulmate.
A small sound escapes my throat. “Des.”
My eyes scour him, taking in his sleeve of tattoos, his broad, sculpted shoulders, the ponytail he wears his hair in.
I know he’s not real, that none of this is real, and yet he looks completely lifelike.
In the Otherworld, dreams are never just dreams. They’re another sort of reality.
Des had told me that once.
With every step he takes towards me his strides get longer, brisker. He stops in front of my cage, his eyes searching my face. His gaze flicks to the Thief, his upper lip ticking. A grim smile grows on his features.
“She’s going to kill you,” he says with certainty.
“No,” the Thief disagrees, “she’s going to do things for me—many perverse things—over the course of her very long life, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”
My heart is beginning to hammer in my chest, my pain and rage feeding the siren inside me.
I flash him a malicious smile. “If you want to taste me, Thief, then come closer,” I beckon.
His face is shrewd but his interest is piqued. “I could come to you—or you could come to me.”
My brows knit.
All at once a strong wind tears through the Thief’s palace. The gust blows away the bars of my cage; it blows away the bone-like columns holding up the ceiling, then the pale stone walls along with it. The wind blows away the floor, yanking on my dress.
Then, to my horror, it blows away Desmond, piece by piece. First his feet and his calves, then his chest and arms and pelvis. He stares at me with his fierce, silver eyes, his irises glittering enigmatically. Those too, are lost a second later, scattering like dust in the wind.
I let out a cry, but the wind snatches it away, whipping my hair as it does so. The supernatural gust is sweeping everything up into inky darkness.
The last things to be wiped away are the Thief and his gilded throne.
He smiles down at me, looking like a conqueror. “Come find your mate where oblivion lies. I’ll keep you captive till darkness dies.”
I wake with a gasp.
My hair is plastered to my face, and my skin glows. Next to me, Temper snores, her body somehow managing to take up three-fourths of the bed.
I slip off the mattress and begin to rummage around the room, discreetly looking for a swimsuit. When I don’t find one, I settle for lingerie. Changing into the items, I head back for the pool that lingers half indoors, half out.
This time, when I enter the glowing waters, I don’t sink to the bottom. Instead, I flip on my back and let myself drift along the surface. Inevitably, the water moves me to the outer edges of the pool, and I stare up at the stars.
Des …
My chest feels like it’s caving in.
Even the stars seem to mock me. How can they continue to shine when the man that ruled them is gone?
Come find your mate where oblivion lies …
I begin to glow all over again, just thinking about the Thief.
It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to hurt someone this badly.
Let’s sing to him our sweet, strange song. He will know pleasure then—pleasure and pain. We’ll remind him why sirens are known as killers.
The conundrum of it all i
s how to get my hands on the Thief. Dying is the most obvious way—it’s a one-way ticket straight to the Thief’s kingdom. But that’s exactly what the Thief wants—it’s the very reason he gave me the lilac wine. Because, at the end of the day, once a fairy dies, their souls are under the domain of the King of the Dead.
At least I think he wants me under his domain … he hasn’t tried very hard to kill me.
Come find your mate where oblivion lies …
Said as though I could just fucking walk there.
I glare up at the stars—
My breath leaves me all at once.
Holy shit.
What if I could just walk to the Kingdom of Death?
What if?
The Kingdom of Death and Deep Earth is a physical place in the Otherworld, just like the other kingdoms. The fact that you have to die to get there is the most obvious route in, but …
If fairies can spin moonlight into cloth, and Des can put starlight in my hair, why couldn’t the living enter the realm of the dead without dying?
Even on Earth, there were tales of living people entering the Underworld—some even leaving with the dead. Here in the Otherworld, a place where the impossible is made possible, perhaps I could do the same.
Or perhaps grief has made you weak in the head.
I deflate.
I continue to stare up at the stars, the water lapping against my skin. But the longer my thoughts wander, the more they keep coming back to the possibility that there might be a way for me enter the Land of the Dead, one that doesn’t involve dying.
I bet it’s possible.
Maybe then I could face the Thief of Souls without being his subject.
After all, I wouldn’t have been the first person to visit the King of the Dead and live to tell the tale. There was one other who sought him out long ago …
I sit upright in the water, the waves splashing at the movement.
Goddamn it, I have an idea.
An idea that might actually work.
Chapter 39
“All hail the Queen of the Night.”
I stride into the throne room, Temper trailing behind me. A chorus of cheers rise up as fairies watch me file in, their gazes drawn to my glowing skin. My power still hasn’t settled down, not since yesterday. At this point, I’m not sure it ever will.
Not until I get my mate back.
I take a seat on Des’s throne, Temper stopping just off to my side. Hours ago I filled my friend in on all that I knew about the Thief and the kingdom he rules—and then I told her my idea. Now, all that’s left is executing it.
The room goes quiet, people waiting on me for further instruction.
I don’t wear a crown, and I’m not here by choice, but for once, I feel … queenly.
Too late for Des to see it.
I glance at one of the Night soldiers guarding the doors at the back of the room. “Bring the traitor in.”
The soldier ducks his head and slips out. In his wake, the silence seems to deepen.
We wait, the minutes ticking by.
All at once the double doors swing open, and two guards dressed in black escort a white-haired fairy down the aisle.
Galleghar smirks at me, clearly pleased at himself despite the situation—pleased that his last remaining child is dead.
At the sight of him, I squeeze the armrests, my claws puncturing through the velvet.
We will tear into him and make ribbons of his flesh.
The soldiers lead Des’s father to the end of the aisle.
“Release him,” I say to the guards.
Immediately they step away from Galleghar, moving to take their posts nearby.
The former king glances down at his iron cuffs, a smile twisting his mouth. “How does it feel to lose what you loved most, slave?” he asks, peering up at me.
The room sucks in a collective breath at the slur.
I watch him, tapping a claw against my armrest.
Let’s taste his flesh as he begs for mercy, my siren whispers. Bring him closer.
“All my life, I’ve never truly understood my power,” I begin. “Why must the nature of sirens be to entice men?”
Galleghar’s brows furrow. Not the response he was expecting, and he has no idea where I’m going with this.
But I do.
“I don’t understand,” he says, forced to answer because of the glamour in my voice.
Whatever wards protected him from my magic back on Barbos, they’re gone now.
We have him in our clutches.
I study him. “You will.”
Why does my power draw others in?
I always wondered about that. About how much of my alluring nature was to blame for my stepfather’s sick assaults. Obviously, that’s incorrect thinking—my stepfather was to blame for his actions, not my power—but at the time I didn’t know it. And then an instructor at Peel Academy touched me inappropriately, and suddenly the abuse felt like a pattern, and I wondered all over again—why? Why did I have to be this way? If I blended in more, could I have escaped the abuse I endured?
No.
No, I could not have.
There will always be bad men, and they will take and take and take.
But so will I.
People like us are not victims. We’re someone’s nightmare.
I finally understand why my power draws others in.
“There are two kinds of predators,” I say softly. “One who chases after prey, and one who coaxes their prey to them.”
Galleghar hasn’t lost his smug expression.
He will in a moment.
“What do you see when you look at me?” I ask.
“My mortal enemy,” he says. “You must be destroyed.”
“What else?”
Again his brows draw together.
“A slave,” he says, compelled to answer by my magic.
“What else?”
He frowns, but his eyes drink me in, fascinated. “… An enchantress,” he finally says.
“A siren,” I correct him.
There are aspects of my magic that I’ve unconsciously dulled over the years. The ability to ensnare my victims with a look alone—that is one of them.
The same part of me that resented my nature also feared this part of me. The sinister, powerful, punishing part of me. I already disliked the attention I received. I didn’t want any more of it.
That’s why, even at Peel Academy, I was a loner. I willed myself to be overlooked. I didn’t realize then that’s what I was doing, but I did it nonetheless.
And I continued doing it.
Until now.
All at once I unleash the full force of my magic on the room. My skin brightens a touch, and my power fills the air.
Dozens of fairies stand, their eyes glazing over as they look at me. Many begin to clamber over chairs, trying to get closer to me. Even Temper cuts towards my throne.
“Everyone, stay where you are.” My audience stops where they stand, bound by my order.
I gaze down at the former Night King. Abruptly, I stand. Stair by stair, I descend the dais, until I’m only a couple yards from him.
“What do you see now?” I ask.
This is what it’s like for a siren to hunt.
He takes a step forward, his eyes bright, his gaze ensnared.
“There … aren’t words,” he breathes, his vendetta forgotten. He shakes his head wondrously. “In all my years I have never beheld one such as yourself.” He takes another step forward. “Why should my son receive such a prize from the gods, but not me?”
A moment ago I was a slave. Now I am a prize. Always an object to be possessed.
I close my eyes, even as the former Night King begins to murmur promises about the future. “When I am king again, you could still live here … The Thief is not to touch this kingdom … You could be one of my concubines … I would make you my favorite … You would have everything you ever wanted …”
The only thing I ever wan
ted is gone.
Teach me again how to be someone’s nightmare, I’d asked Des.
My power ripples over my skin.
With pleasure, mate.
I open my eyes.
“Kneel,” I command.
Galleghar doesn’t even have it in him to glare at me. I hold his very mind in the palm of my hand; what rules him now is desire.
I scowl at the former Night King. This is the seed of evil that started it all. Had it not been for Galleghar’s selfishness, the entire fabric of this world’s history would have been different. Des’s mother might still be alive, along with his half-siblings. Des might’ve been raised in a castle rather than a cave. He might have had a great life.
We might never have met, and he might never have died before his time.
The horrible thing about true love is that I would erase us if it meant keeping him alive.
Slowly, I diminish my glamour. I don’t want Galleghar to mindlessly enjoy what I’m doing to him, I want it to bother him very, very badly.
Within seconds, the former king’s expression goes from lustful to confused to furious.
“You bitch,” he snarls.
“Ah, ah,” I chastise him. “The next time you say or do anything unflattering about me—or anyone else for that matter—I will make you eat your tongue. Literally.”
I reach out to caress Galleghar’s cheek.
Ours to taste, ours to break.
He lifts his bound hands, presumably to push mine away.
“No.” I say. “You won’t fight me, you won’t flee. You will sit here, answer my questions, and let me touch you as I please.”
His hands drop, even as he curls his upper lip. Galleghar has so much power—I can sense it vibrating within him—and yet against me it’s utterly useless.
I stroke his cheekbone. “You’re very pretty,” I say, “in a cruel sort of way. Too bad the rest of you is useless.” I grab him by his lower jaw and tilt his head back and forth, assessing him from different angles. “Then again, perhaps I can find some use for you. Now that my mate’s gone, there’s nothing stopping me from starting my own harem.”
I lean closer. “You would be my concubine. I should warn you, if you were in my harem, there are many things I would ask of you that you may not be comfortable with. Sirens are known to enjoy both sex and blood. I do hope you’re not squeamish.”
Dark Harmony (The Bargainer Book 3) Page 29