Dark Harmony (The Bargainer Book 3)

by Laura Thalassa

  This situation is unraveling. I came here to save my mate, and instead the Thief has proven that nothing at my disposal can harm him.

  I back away from him, and he lets me, even though he hasn’t finished disarming me. I still have a dagger strapped to my thigh, and another holstered around my calf. To leave me with some weapons … they must truly be useless against him.

  My attention returns to Des. The Night King is still as death itself. I could pretend like my heart isn’t lying right here on this slab, but then the Thief already knows what he has.

  I rest my hands on my soulmate’s arm; there’s a frightening chill to his skin. “Why did you do this to him?”

  The Thief steps up to my side. “If you knew anything about leverage, you’d know the answer to that.”

  I turn to the Thief, a retort on my lips. But in an instant, he disappears, vanishing just as Des and Galleghar have.

  I feel his dark, cruel magic all around me. It’s wild in a way that not even fae magic is. It swarms in the air, then slips down, towards the Night King, until it’s no longer in the air but in my mate.

  Beneath my fingers, Des’s arm twitches. I start at the sensation. Then my grip tightens.

  “Des?”

  His eyes flutter, and his lips move, like he’s murmuring something. But if anything, our connection seems to grow fainter.

  Dear God, what’s happening?

  The wild, malevolent magic lifts from Des, and he’s still once more.

  I rub my chest as our bond restrengthens.

  “Ah, well, it was worth a try.”

  I jolt as the Thief crowds in behind me.

  “And here I’d hoped I’d have a few more days,” he says. “Then perhaps my form,”—he smooths his shirt down—“would be a bit more … to your liking.”

  I rotate to face him. “What are you talking about?” Even as I ask, realization dawns.

  The Thief was trying to invade my mate’s body.

  A bolt of sheer terror courses through me.

  Is that what he intends to do? To wear Des’s form just like he did the Green Man’s? To terrorize me with the face of my mate while he inhabits the Night King’s body?

  Bile rises up my throat as I stare at his dark features.

  Don’t, I want to warn him. There are lines that are crossed, and then there are lines that are crossed. Parading around as my soulmate falls into the second category.

  But, of course, I don’t say that because I have a deep-seated belief that the more I give away my fears, the likelier the Thief is to exploit them.

  “Is that your real face?” I say instead.

  “Who says I truly have a face?” he retorts.

  A chill runs down my spine.

  “This, enchantress, is the form I choose to take—for now,” the Thief says.

  The sound of footsteps interrupt our conversation.

  Galleghar enters the room, looking vaguely peeved. Or maybe that’s his normal expression.

  It’s probably his normal expression.

  First Galleghar sees his son lying on the stone altar, then he notices the Thief standing too close to me.

  His eyes narrow on his partner. “How could you have left me to this human?” he accuses the fairy at my side.

  The Thief of Souls steps away from me, appraising Galleghar. There’s nothing behind the Thief’s eyes, no camaraderie, no softness—nothing at all to indicate that these two have any sort of closeness.

  “What, precisely, was I supposed to do?” the Thief asks. “The Night Queen has tamed my soldiers.”

  “She is not a queen,” Galleghar says vehemently.

  “She is,” the Thief insists.

  Galleghar gives me a look that plainly says he still disagrees.

  “You were supposed to kill her,” Des’s father says. “What the fuck happened to that plan?”

  I can still remember the attack in Barbos; the Thief wouldn’t let me die there. Apparently I’m not the only one surprised by that.

  Something in the air shifts, and the Thief’s magic churns. It feels violent.

  “I did kill her. Back in Mara’s forest,” the Thief responds smoothly.

  “And yet here she stands,” Galleghar says. “You had a perfectly good opportunity on Barbos, but you wouldn’t commit. Worse, you wouldn’t let me finish what you couldn’t.”

  The two stare at each other for several seconds, and I’m oddly calm about the whole thing, considering they’re discussing killing me.

  “You made a mistake coming here,” the Thief says.

  “No,” Galleghar’s voice rises, “you made a godsdamned mistake, mooning over this mortal. You let your dick make decisions when we had a plan.”

  The room practically crackles with power. I swear something is poised to happen.

  “Kill her,” Galleghar says, striding towards us. “Or let me do it.”

  The Thief gives him an indolent look.

  “Kill her,” Des’s father repeats, insistent.

  Magic floods the air. And still, the Thief makes no move.

  It’s answer enough.

  Galleghar’s upper lip curls. “You swore an oath. Uphold your end and kill—

  “No.”

  CRACK!

  Magic splits the air, and Galleghar is blown back. His body slams into a wall of shelves, books and bones and jars all raining down from behind him. He crumples to the ground, moaning.

  The Thief’s form ripples, like it’s a mirage, the magic so intense it bends the light. A darkness is gathering around the Thief, dimming the room.

  I don’t know if this is the Thief’s borrowed power from Galleghar, or his own, but it’s uncannily like Des’s.

  Des’s father looks shocked as he lays there. “Oathbreaker,” he whispers.

  “I don’t know why you’re so surprised,” the Thief says, “I mean, you said it yourself—I didn’t kill her on Barbos when I could’ve.”

  Galleghar’s voice begins to rise. “We had a deal!”

  “You thought an oath would bind me?” The Thief walks forward, casually surveying Galleghar. “After all you learned of my nature, you thought that would be sufficient?”

  “I freed you,” Des’s father says.

  The Thief flicks his wrist and a bolt of magic slices open Galleghar’s chest, cutting him down to the bone.

  I jerk at the sudden violence, even as Des father let’s out a shocked cry.

  He turns to me. “Release me!” Galleghar begs.

  “Release you?” I echo. From what?

  “Your glamour still binds me,” he explains. “Release me from it.”

  The Thief laughs. “You think being able to disappear will save you? I could follow you to the darkest corners of the universe. No place is safe from me.”

  He punctuates his words with blow after magical blow. Galleghar’s body jolts at each one, the hits ripping open his flesh. The former king cries out, either in pain or anger.

  He tries to get up. “Please,” he implores me again.

  The Thief laughs. “You’re begging the slave now? How the tides have turned, my friend. And here I thought you wanted her dead.”

  The Thief of Souls flicks his wrist back and forth, back and forth, cutting Galleghar apart inch by inch, a small smile on his face.

  “Do you regret the price you’ve paid for power?” he asks.

  But Galleghar is beyond words, his face a mass of wounds. Whatever regenerative powers he has, he either can’t or won’t use them.

  At some point, I turn away. I’m as bloodthirsty as the next creature, but there’s vengeance and then there’s sadism. This is the latter.

  I return to the stone slab, to Des, ignoring the choked sounds behind me.

  Softly, I stroke his cheek. How am I going to get us out of here?

  “Bargainer,” I whisper, “I’d like to make a deal.”

  Nothing happens. I hadn’t expected that anything would, but it’s a letdown all the same.

  My other hand dri
fts to Des’s upper arm, his three bronze war bands cool against my skin. His matching circlet sits perched on his brow. If ever he looked like a king, it would be now, laying here like the solemn dead.

  Galleghar has stopped making noise, and the wet sound of skin ripping is gone. In the silence, the Thief’s footfalls echo like tolling bells.

  He comes to my side and unceremoniously takes my hand, pulling me away from Des.

  “Come,” the Thief says, “I have much to show you.”

  I resist. “Wake him up.”

  “Okay.”

  I spin around to face him, shocked by his response.

  The Thief steps in way too close, forcing me to lean back against the altar. His arms move to either side of the slab and cage me in.

  “Tell me,” he says, “what would you do to wake your mate?”

  Anything.

  I don’t respond. I don’t need to. The Thief knows.

  He leans in close. “Now, enchantress, you and your mate had a little game you used to play—Truth or Dare. Why don’t we have a go at it?”

  My upper lip is curling.

  This is our little game—and trust me, enchantress, it’s far from over.

  “So, Truth … or Dare?” he asks, his strange, empty eyes glittering.

  “Neither.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not an option,” he says. “Why don’t we start with a simple dare: touch me.”

  “No.”

  The Thief pauses, and then he smiles. It’s only then that I realize he wants my disobedience more than anything else.

  He glances at Des. I follow his gaze, unease coiling low in my stomach.

  Suddenly, the Night King’s back arches and he begins to shout.

  My knees nearly buckle at the sound.

  So much pain. I can feel echoes of it through our bond.

  “Stop,” I whisper.

  The Thief ignores me, and Des continues to shout, his eyes sightless. The sound closes up my throat.

  “Stop!”

  Still, no reaction.

  I swallow down my disgust and my anger. I imagine for a moment that I am Des, that I am dark and untouchable and nothing can ever hurt me.

  I gaze up at the Thief. In all my life, I’ve never hungered for someone’s death so badly. But instead of delivering death, I lift a hand and cradle the side of the Thief’s face.

  And still Des’s cries carry on.

  The Thief’s eyes slide to mine. “More,” he commands. I can see the thrill in his eyes.

  There are so many ways to control a person, but blackmail is, perhaps, the worst of them all.

  Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and force myself to drown out my mate’s horrifying shouts. I guide the Thief’s face to mine. Very softly, I brush my lips against his.

  I can taste the barest hint of the Thief’s dark magic. It reminds me of all those other kisses he forced on me.

  We’re simply picking up where we left off.

  When Des’s shouts finally quiet, I drop my hand and end the kiss.

  The Thief smiles at me. “I think I’m going to like this game very, very much.”

  Going to gut him for this.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Callie. You’ll learn to love it—or live with it. Because you will live. After all, that was part of your mate’s bargain.”

  What?

  “Des made a bargain with you?” My heart stutters. I glance over at my mate, his face placid.

  You and I had an understanding, he’d said to the Thief.

  “Desmond, Desmond, Desmond, ever the secret keeper,” the Thief says. “Did he not tell you just what lengths he went to, to try to save you?”

  I continue gazing at my mate’s sleeping form. The flickering light makes the shadows dance along his skin. Perhaps it’s just my imagination, but it looks as though the darkness is grieving for him.

  Des, what did you do?

  It shakes me to the core to think that whatever Des plotted and planned, it landed him here, in this state. I’ve never known someone to get the upper hand on the Bargainer.

  Not like this.

  The Thief steps away from me, circling around the altar. It makes me jumpy, seeing him focus on Des when my soulmate is so exposed.

  “I had heard so many things about the King of the Night’s infamous bargains. How shrewd he was, how calculating and unforgiving. Love seems to be his downfall.

  “See, he came to me not too long ago—did he tell you this? He came to me and he made a deal: so long as I never killed him or his precious mate, he’d willingly become my prisoner.”

  The room seems to tilt a little, and I have to place a bracing hand on the altar. My eyes move back to Des.

  This is not life. This is some mockery of it.

  But Des must’ve been aware of this going in. He saw the sleeping soldiers, he knew that the Thief could keep a man alive without them ever truly living.

  So why would he make such a deal?

  The Thief stares down at the Night King. “What your mate missed is this: the truest pain comes with life, not death.”

  Des would never miss something like that.

  The question is: what am I missing?

  “You know,” the Thief continues, “he’s still in there. His mind, everything. Perhaps I will wake him up …” I can see the gears in the Thief’s head turning.

  I manage a delicate swallow. I want to see Des’s eyes open, more than anything in the world I do, but I don’t want the Thief to compel them open—and I don’t want Des seeing whatever it is the Thief intends.

  The Thief breaks our stare-down first. “Perhaps we’ll revisit that exciting thought later.”

  He takes my hand again.

  “I’m not leaving him,” I insist. I can’t. The thought of walking away from Des now that I’ve finally found him is unbearable.

  “You are,” the Thief insists, a bit of his good humor seeping away.

  I bare my teeth at him. “Make me.”

  I’m still glowing, still feral with my power.

  He laughs, the sound skittering up my arms. The Thief’s grip tightens on mine, chaining me to him. “Do you realize I could immobilize you just as I have your mate? I have done it to a thousand different fairies. Now that you’ve tasted lilac wine, you are no different from any of them.”

  He’s right. He could incapacitate me so easily. His threat hangs over my head like a blade.

  I search his face. “Is that what you’re going to do? Are you going to force dark magic on me just as you have every other fairy?”

  He doesn’t need to speak for me to pull the answer from him.

  “You’re not.” Oh God, he’s going to do everything but that. For some perverse reason, the Thief wants to watch me tailspin.

  His hand slides to my wrist, where golden scales dust my skin. He squeezes my flesh to the point of pain.

  “Do you feel that?” he asks.

  For a moment, I assume he’s talking about the pressure on my wrist. But then there’s a stirring in my chest, and what is happening? My hand moves over my heart, then my back bows as a rush of magic floods my connection to Des.

  For an instant, it feels like the bond we share is coming back to life. On the slab, Des stirs.

  As quickly as the sensation comes, it passes, settling back down to the dying embers it’s been. My soulmate goes still again.

  “That’s what’s at stake for you,” the Thief says.

  I hate him. Christ, do I hate him.

  He holds Des’s life in the palm of his hand, and while he might not outright kill my mate, he’ll dangle our bond in front of me. That’s all he needs to do to get my compliance.

  “This is what’s going to happen,” the Thief says, “you’re going to do everything I tell you. Otherwise, you lose Des, piece by piece.” To emphasize his point, dark magic thickens the air, and Des’s back arches again. Like some sick dream, my mate begins to cry out again.

  “Stop—stop!” I’m shouting, a
nd my glamour is everywhere and in everything, burning so brightly. It doesn’t make any sort of difference.

  “Understood?” the Thief says calmly, Des bellowing between us as pain continues to rack his body.

  My wrath gathers in my veins, but those shouts—it’s as though a part of me is dying.

  “Understood,” I say, my voice raw.

  Des shudders, his body falling limp on the stone slab.

  “You’re going to regret doing that,” I say, blazing with barely contained rage.

  “No, enchantress, it’s you who will be regretful, should you defy me again.”

  Chapter 42

  The Thief leads me out of the room and through his castle, showing me this or that, all while wearing a triumphant smile on his lips. We both know he doesn’t give a shit about anything in this stolen castle of his, save for the wretched souls he gets to torment. Right now he’s just savoring my pain.

  We’ll stab out his eyes and cut out his tongue—

  Ever since the Thief started leading us through the palace, my siren has been whispering all the ways he will pay for his crimes.

  We’ll bring him to the point of pleasure and then we’ll destroy him as we have always destroyed our enemies.

  Eventually, the Thief leads me out onto a balcony. From where we stand I can see the vast ocean. Under the cover of night it looks like spilled ink, stretching out as far as the eye can see.

  Next to me, I sense the Thief about to speak.

  “Why am I here?” I ask, swiveling to him. “Why not just kill me or incapacitate me like all the other fairies you’ve come across?”

  That would’ve been easier.

  The Thief pauses, assessing me.

  “Why?” he finally says. “Why, why, why? You creatures and your need to have orderly, logical answers. When someone falls in love, is it logical? And when they blindly hate, is that logical either? Your deepest drives are based on nothing. What you’re asking for is an explanation for the unexplainable.”

  I didn’t expect that answer. The Thief of Souls went and got philosophical on me.

  He steps in close. “Stop trying to understand me. You will never fathom my motives. I am not like you or anyone else.”

  I study him. “What do you intend to do with me?”