Almost immediately I feel Temper’s magic at work. Where Des’s magic is sultry darkness and coiling shadows, hers is like heat from a furnace.
When she opens her eyes again, they glow. She continues to hum, the low bars of her voice sounding eerie.
“Bargainer,” she says, “tell me what happened.”
He and I share a look. The last time Temper was pissed off on my behalf, she blew up a portal.
“What do you already know?” Des asks.
“Only what Malaki told me—”
Malaki told Temper about this? That fairy is officially whipped.
“—that Callie was injured and we might be leaving soon.”
“Whoa,” I say, beginning to sit up. “We might be leaving soon?”
Temper pushes me firmly back down. “What else did I miss?” she asks.
Before Des can explain, I cut in. “They wanted to whip a human who’d been raped,” I begin.
I proceed to tell Temper the rest of the story, from the moment Des first exited the throne room to the moment he carried me out of it.
By the time I finish, Temper’s mended my broken wings completely. They itch where the new skin and bone growth has occurred, but, itchiness aside, they might as well be brand new.
“Where is that fucking thundercunt?” she demands, referring to Mara. “I will kill her.”
Her words have Des smiling nefariously, and oh my God, the only thing worse than these two being enemies is them being friends.
A knock on the now door-less doorframe interrupts Temper’s rant.
Outside, a human servant waits, his head bowed. In his hands is a bouquet of wildflowers.
“Yes,” Des says, moving to the doorway.
“I have a gift for the Night King’s mate,” he says, lifting the flowers a little as he speaks.
I push myself off the bed. “Callie,” I say, crossing the room. I take the bouquet from him. “And thank you for the flowers.”
His head hesitantly lifts, and I stare into his cool, green eyes. “Thank you, for what you did,” he says softly. “None of us will forget.”
He doesn’t need to clarify who us is.
He dips his head again, and then he leaves, heading down the steps.
“Wait!” I call out, stepping onto the walkway beyond the suite.
He swivels back to me.
“You don’t have to live like this,” I say. “None of you have to. There are places for all of you on earth.”
He smiles. “We appreciate you and your strange ways. Perhaps one day we will leave. Until then …” He tips his head then resumes walking once more.
I feel my shoulders deflate. Rome wasn’t built in a day and all, but still, it’s a hard pill to swallow, knowing that these humans will continue to live here, where they have precious few rights.
“So,” Temper says when I re-enter my rooms, “I propose we blow some shit up, then leave.”
Des doesn’t look completely opposed.
I feel all my despair and all my pain filling me up, choking the life out of me. Suddenly, I can’t take it.
Lightning heats my veins. Maybe, if you boil away all my suffering, all my petty insecurities, all my frustration and toil, you’ll hit an indestructible core. Something that cannot be broken by greed or lust or violence. Something that isn’t quite magic but is still power nonetheless.
“No,” I say, facing Temper. “I’m not running from this place.”
The beginnings of a smile tug at my mate’s lips when I meet his eyes.
“It’s time the Otherworld understands just how strong a slave can be.”
Chapter 40
That evening, I stare at the beautiful gown waiting for me. It’s a deep plumb color, so dark it’s nearly black. The shoes that go with it are nothing more than leather and ribbons—shoes for dancing in.
I take a deep breath.
Time to don my battle armor and see those fairies again. I can still feel the echo of those lashes against my wings.
Des walks up to the armoire the gown hangs from and closes the doors.
I glance at him in confusion.
“Tonight we’re not attending,” he says.
“But—”
He cups my cheeks and cuts me off with a kiss. His lips move against mine until I’ve forgotten what, exactly, I’m objecting to.
My hands drop to his forearms, sliding over his exposed skin. I can feel goosebumps rise along his flesh at my touch.
To have such an effect on the King of the Night! Sometimes I forget that he’s just as moved by me as I am by him.
His lips break away from mine, dipping just below my ear. “My mate hasn’t been satisfied nearly enough since we arrived here.”
My core heats at his words. What, exactly, does the Bargainer have planned?
Des’s breath ghosts against my skin, right at the juncture where my neck meets my jaw. He presses a kiss there.
“What a poor soulmate I am, to deny her this.”
Des begins to back me up, up, up until my wings brush against the wall, effectively trapping me in.
One of his hands moves from my arms to the low cut top of the wispy fae dress I wear. It elaborately laces up the front, tying together at the scooped collar.
The Bargainer slides a finger along that collar, grabbing the end of one of the ribbons. His eyes meet mine as he pulls on the ribbon, undoing the bow. The blouse loosens, the binding unraveling inch by inch.
Des pushes the material down my torso, exposing my breasts. He presses a kiss to the valley between them.
“Gods, you are exquisite,” he says, his voice hushed.
The same can easily be said about him.
I remove the leather band that holds his shoulder-length hair back and run my hands through it.
He helps me take off his shirt, tossing the piece of clothing to the ground.
I smooth my hands over his large pecs.
“Do something magical,” I whisper.
Des’s lips twitch, like he finds my request both funny and endearing. “Name your price, cherub.”
Now it’s my turn to suppress a smile. There’s always a price with him, but these days, it’s not always an unpleasant one.
Rather than naming my price, I let my dress do the talking, sliding it the rest of the way down my body.
The Bargainer sucks in a breath as he takes me in. All that I have left on is a scant pair of panties, and judging by the way my mate is eyeing them, they’re not going to be on for long.
I feel the brush of Des’s magic as it leaves his body.
A moment later the vases of flowers that are perched around the room all upend themselves at once, and the water and flowers inside each now slide out. But rather than falling to the floor, they begin to float in midair as though they were experiencing zero gravity. The effect is dazzling.
“Magical enough for you?” Des asks, his eyes on me.
“Just barely.”
He smiles. “You tart thing.” He kisses me again, and as he does so, my panties slide themselves off my hips, another bit of Des’s magic at play.
He pulls away long enough to run his hand down my torso. “My brave mate, my fierce mate. No fairy has ever been prouder of his woman.”
His words move me. Being here, in the Kingdom of Flora, has made it abundantly clear that humans aren’t seen as equals. But if there’s one thing Des has always made sure of, it’s making me feel like I’m his match in all ways.
He smooths his hand over my skin until the tips of his fingers brush my core. In response, my skin lights up. We stare at each other, something about this intimate act made all the more vulnerable because we won’t look away.
I move my hips against his touch, forcing his fingers to slide in, then out, in then out. I was already wet when he undressed me, but now my inner thighs slicken.
The rest of his clothes peel away from him.
Did I mention that I freaking love magic?
His cock presses between u
s, so hard it’s straining.
I move against him, and he groans at the friction.
“Can’t resist you …” He lifts me then, easing me slowly back down. I feel the head of his cock push against my entrance, and then it’s sliding in, filling me inch by inch.
He drinks in my expression as my back arches, my lips parting as he seats himself all the way to the hilt.
He takes my hands in his and presses them into the wall on either side of my head. The only thing holding me up is his chest and hips.
“Nothing has ever felt so good,” he says, “I’m sure of it.”
He slides out, the sound thick and wet, then slams in again. I gasp at the sensation, arching into him, my legs tightening around his waist.
“Faster,” I breathe against him.
But, stubborn fairy, he doesn’t move faster. He goes slow and deep, driving me frantic. His wings spread around me, enveloping us in a cocoon of his own making.
“What if I wanted you to be my queen?” he asks as he thrusts in and out of me, his eyes glinting in the near darkness he's created beneath his wings.
“Mmm,” I close my eyes against him, enjoying the sensation.
He continues to slow, the pace becoming increasingly agonizing.
I shift against him, my eyes fluttering open. “Des,” I complain.
He stares at me, his eyes serious. “What would you say to that?”
To what?
He presses his lips to my ear. “Give me the answer I want, and I’ll give you what you want.”
What had he asked me? Something about being his queen …
I should know better than to give into Des’s bargains; they’re always weighted to his benefit. But pinned to the wall, with his cock buried deep inside me, I’m not exactly a strategic expert.
And Des’s thrusts have pretty much come to a halt.
“Yes,” I breathe, eager to resume where we left off. “Sounds great.”
Anything to get him to move again.
He smiles, looking like the cat that ate the canary. “Good,” he says.
His thrusts pick up and, sweet baby angels, this is everything.
Des releases my hands to scoop me against him. He pulls us away from the wall and moves us across the room. Flowers and droplets of water that still float in the air now brush across my skin as we pass them by. The room looks as though time itself has stopped.
“My future queen,” Des says as he gazes up at me.
I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him close.
“Faster,” I whisper.
“Ever demanding,” he says.
Pressing my back to the wall once more, the King of the Night rocks against me, each stroke stronger than the last. He drives himself deeper and deeper, his wings flaring out once more.
“About to come,” I say.
“Wait.”
Wait? I’m not sure I can. My climax is climbing up and up, and it demands to be released.
His hands tighten on me. “Now.”
That’s all the encouragement I need.
I feel myself shatter apart, my orgasm lashing through me. The sensation is made all the more intense when I hear Des groan, his cock thickening inside me as he pounds out his own release.
It feels like it lasts a lifetime as wave after wave of pleasure washes through me.
It’s not until several minutes later, once Des has slid out of me and the two of us have collapsed onto the bed in a tangle of limbs that I remember his words.
What if I wanted you to be my queen?
Give me the answer I want, and I’ll give you what you want.
What, exactly, had I just agreed to?
Chapter 41
I dose in Des’s arms, feeling his hands stroke my wings. I never used to be a fan of post-sex cuddling, but that was before the Bargainer became mine. Now I’m finding that I actually have quite an appreciation for it.
The flowers and water are back in their vases, but now hovering above us is a thick sheet of parchment and five separate paintbrushes, which are all painting at once. Where Des found the brushes, or the parchment, or the five little ceramic pots of paint that rest on a side table next to the bed, I have no idea.
Just like when he first started making his art for me, I’m completely enchanted.
The painting is quickly coming along, though it takes me minutes to figure out what, exactly, the image is of. Eventually, however, I realize I’m staring at feathers, lots and lots of iridescent feathers.
“You’re painting my wings,” I whisper.
“Mmm,” he says in response, running his hand over them again.
One of the paint brushes wanders away from the parchment, floating down to the side table next to me. It dips its bristles into one of the pots of paint, and then, once it’s coated with black paint, it floats up and over my body.
Before it makes it back to the parchment, a glob of the paint hits my shoulder.
“Des!”
He laughs, totally aware of what just happened.
“You did that on purpose!”
“Maybe,” he says evasively, a grin in his voice.
He brings his hand up to my shoulder, and using his thumb, rubs the paint into my skin.
I breathe the smell of him in, his scent mixed with mine. “I think we should skip more events,” I whisper.
He turns his face to me, his lips brushing my forehead. “Now that,” he says, “is an absolutely brilliant idea.”
I smile a little as I run my fingers over his chest, where his sweat still slickens it. I draw swirls into his skin before continuing on, my touch tracing over the tattoos that wrap down his arms. One day I’ll memorize the designs by heart.
He finishes the painting in silence, the two of us watching it come to completion. Once it’s finished, it and the paintbrushes all lower themselves to the side table.
“I have a secret to share,” Des murmurs, his mouth pressed close to my hair.
I still.
He’s shared secrets in the past, but only after prodding. For him to offer one up … When he did it earlier in the day, while I was getting healed, I thought it was a one-off event meant to distract me from the situation. But now, it’s possible he’s simply opening up to me more, trusting me more.
I angle my head to look up at him.
Where minutes ago he was carefree and content, now he looks somber.
“When I close my eyes, all I see is the shape of your face and the brightness of your smile. You are the stars in my dark sky, cherub.”
That isn’t at all what I expected to come out of his mouth. My heart, I’m finding, is simply not big enough to hold everything I feel for this man.
Des swallows gently. “You and I share many tragedies. Mothers who died too soon. Terrible fathers …”
He said something similar days ago.
He takes a deep breath. “My father was killing off all his heirs when my mother discovered she was pregnant,” Des begins. “She fled the palace before anyone else could discover this particular fact.
“The kingdom simply thought she’d deserted her king—a grave enough offense. And the slight didn’t go unnoticed. From everything I’ve learned, my mother had been my father’s favorite concubine. It must’ve bruised his ego.
“He spent years searching for her, but she’d made a career for herself as a spy; she knew how to hide.
“She raised me in Arestys, shielding the truth of our identities and the extent of our power from the world.
“She did a good job hiding us, but … I exposed us.” He says this with such guilt.
“As soon as he discovered our existence, my father came for us, and—he killed her.”
I feel horror closing up my throat.
Des’s eyes are far away, as though he’s seeing the memory unfold all over again. He runs a hand over his face. “I was fifteen when I watched my mother die.”
I can’t even fathom …
“Des, I’m so sorry.”
Has a sorry ever, in the history of the world, made a situation like this better? And yet I can’t not say it.
He blinks several times, pulling himself out of the past. “I killed my father.”
My eyes snap to his. For several seconds I don’t breathe.
Des … killed his father?
So many emotions bubble up. Surprise, horror, fear … kinship.
You and I share many tragedies.
Now I understand. His father and mine both died by our hands. It makes me wonder anew what he saw that first day he met me. I always assumed my depravity had to have shocked him a bit. I hadn’t imagined this.
“Was it an accident?” I ask.
He laughs. “No,” he says, his voice bitter, “it was quite deliberate.”
My skin prickles. “Why are you telling me this?”
His hand slides around my waist, locking me to his side. “Sometimes I see you, and the past is alive. It overlays who you are and what you do.” He squeezes me closer, almost to the point of pain. “I’m reminded of my own old wounds, and I feel … I feel my vengeance rising.
“I cannot change my past, and I cannot change yours. I cannot even stop you from getting hurt … but I can make others atone for your pain.” He says this last part so silently, so malevolently that a shiver escapes me.
That’s foreboding.
“What are you thinking of, Des?” I ask him. Because it’s clear to me that he’s scheming.
He glances down at me, his white hair and silver eyes looking more Otherworldly than ever.
“Nothing, cherub. Nothing at all.”
Chapter 42
“Did you hear the news?” Temper asks the next morning. The two of us eat breakfast in the same large atrium I ate at my first morning here.
This morning, when I woke up alone in my bed, I headed over to Temper’s room and took her out to breakfast.
I was determined to show those here at Solstice that they hadn’t seen the last of me yesterday.
“What news?” I ask now, ripping off a piece of a strudel and shoving it into my mouth.
Dozens of other guests in the atrium keep glancing at me and my repaired wings, their voices low as they whisper into their friends’ ears.