She must sense that tonight is different, that I crossed one of my own hard fought lines. I can see her rising desperation.
“What about my debts?” she says.
“They don’t matter.” Not right now at least. So long as she owes me favors, the two of us are inextricably connected. I’m not worried about her slipping through my grasp. No, right now I’m still worried that the demon in me will decide taking her to the Otherworld is a great idea again.
I grab Callie’s doorknob, trying to beat a hasty exit out of there.
“One final wish.”
I hesitate. Don’t rise to the bait. Don’t take the wish. Already my magic is surging, ready to make yet another deal with my mate.
So hard to resist.
“Don’t, Callie.” I’m not sure I’ll be able to say no.
She closes her eyes, her breath sighing out of her. “From flame to ashes, dawn to dusk, for the rest of our lives, be mine always, Desmond Flynn.”
For a moment, I feel unbearable elation. My soulmate. This whole time I’ve been trying to avoid claiming her, and she ends the night by claiming me. How delightfully surprising.
In response to her words, my magic snaps out, lashing through the room. It absorbs her wish; I feel it—her desire, her intent, it’s now mine.
And I know what this means—
A deal’s been struck.
Desmond, you fucking fool. Should’ve left when you still had the chance.
She opens her eyes. For an instant she looks so hopeful it hurts.
I don’t have time to tell her that it worked; that my magic accepted her deal. That until the end of time, the two of us are bound—not just by fate, not just by the beads on her wrist, but by the oath she recited.
I’m jerked away from her, thrust into the darkness and shot out miles away.
I hit the ground hard, the air knocked out of me. Slowly, I sit up, glancing around at the endless rolling hills that surround me on all sides.
My magic betrayed me. I didn’t accept her deal; I didn’t even think of her final words as one. But my power had. It set the terms of the bargain and bound us both to it.
It’s been a long time since something like that’s happened. I’ve known my power to be sentient, but normally I control it and not the other way around.
I suppose my control—or rather, my lack of it—is why this happened. And not only did it accept Callie’s wish before I could even process it, it set the terms of her repayment.
My stomach plummets.
I’m afraid I already know what it took.
Chapter 20
Repayment Begins
May, 7 years ago
My heart’s been hammering in my chest since late last night.
For the thousandth time I try to materialize into Callie’s dorm room. And for the thousandth time I hit a magical wall that slingshots me back into the flat I’ve been renting in Dublin.
Gods, what has my magic done?
I try a different approach, appearing at the outskirts of the city of Peel. I move like a shadow through the city, heading closer and closer to the boarding school that houses my mate.
Peel Academy, Callie’s school, rests on the very edge of the town, surrounded on three sides by sheer cliff faces and thrashing seas. It’s tethered to the rest of Peel by a single, winding road.
I glimpse it in the distance, the coastal fog rolling between the buildings. Closer and closer I stalk, and for a few, paltry minutes, my hope soars.
Whatever my magic took away, perhaps I can outmaneuver it.
I start up that narrow, winding road, heading for the campus grounds. I make it about five hundred feet outside of Peel Academy when my own, traitorous magic halts me. My feet won’t move forward any farther. When I try to fly, my magic bars the airspace around the campus. When I melt into the night, becoming one with it, the darkness still won’t let me come any closer.
I manifest back on the ground, and furiously I bash my fists against the invisible barrier, over and over again until my skin feels like it’s been rubbed away and my bones have cracked themselves open. I might as well be hitting myself. This is my own magic that I’m coming up against.
Angry and defeated, I reluctantly return to my flat.
I run my hands through my hair.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I’m only now truly beginning to accept what I realized in that instant my power rose to meet Callie’s final words: my magic granted my mate a favor, and now we’re both paying its tithe.
I close my eyes and hear those last words all over again.
From flame to ashes, dawn to dusk, for the rest of our lives, be mine always, Desmond Flynn. Her voice is like a ghost in the room.
I try to hold onto her words. They’re all I have left of her.
I suck in a breath. They’re all I have left.
Suddenly, I’m desperate to touch every ridiculous souvenir she insisted she buy for me. I’m desperate to see her face in each one of my sketches. I begin to move through the flat, collecting the items I have of her from where they lay. A shot glass from Vegas, silks from Beirut, a beckoning cat from Tashirojima, a lamp from Marrakech, a beret from Paris—the list goes on and on.
I spread them around me, each one a talisman that can somehow protect me from the terrible truth: my magic fucked us both over.
Will Callie still love me once this magical tithe has been paid? Will she eventually piece together what has happened?
I need her to piece it together. Otherwise …
The uncertain future looms large.
You idiot, Desmond. Had you given a little more of yourself a litter earlier, had you explained to her what your true feelings were, this might not have happened.
But what was I supposed to tell her? That she was fated to be my mate? That she really had no choice in the matter because she was mine?
I wasn’t going to put that sort of pressure and those sorts of expectations on a teenage girl. Especially not one who’d only just escaped her stepfather’s abuse.
I sit heavily on my bed.
What was my magic thinking? I gave her all those beads so that I could remain close to her for years to come. Not so I’d be forced to keep my distance.
If only I understood the precise terms of this repayment. But just as the lungs can breathe and the heart can beat even when you’re unaware of them, so too can my magic act without my conscious consent.
It usually doesn’t—like the heart and lungs it only works involuntarily when it needs to. And for whatever reason, it felt this deal was one it needed to make.
I just thought I’d have more time.
Chapter 21
Another Man
3 years ago
Every day I try.
And every day I fail.
I toss the shots of Patrón back, one after the next, the alcohol burning my throat as it goes down. I don’t bother with limes or salt. I want to feel the bite of the tequila, the burn of the pain.
The photo sits heavy in my pocket. I can’t bear to look at it again; I can’t bear to get rid of it either.
I’ve savored almost all the information I’ve learned of Callie since we’ve been apart. How much of a ballbuster she is now, how resourceful she can be. How she could’ve used her voice to become a singer or her body to become a model, but instead she used her wits and her spirit to become a private investigator.
I’ve savored almost all the information I’ve learned … except for this.
That face I dream about, with those smiling eyes and beguiling mouth. Right now they’re looking at another man, kissing another mouth, and I have the proof of it in my pocket.
A hot wave of jealousy rises up in me.
Damnit, I can’t get the photo out of my mind, though it’s been over an hour since I last looked at it. The tight embrace the two shared outside the man’s apartment. I can taste bile at the back of my throat.
Should’ve been me.
I didn’t want to know
the rest of what happened between the two, but I learned it nonetheless. How she joined him inside the apartment, how she didn’t leave until the early hours of the morning, slipping away like a villain from the scene of a crime, her clothes a little disheveled, her hair a little messy.
I flag down the waiter for another shot. When he slides it to me and I throw it back, the tequila tastes like water.
How long I’ve waited for my mate, and how quickly she was snatched just beyond my reach.
I have a rare moment of self-pity.
I’m the powerless bastard all those fae thought I was growing up. And the human mate my father derided me for, the one I spent decades denying, is now being pleasured by some other man while I sit here, numbing my sorrows on mortal brew.
Just as quickly as the pity comes, it burns away. Taking its place is anger—dark, smoldering anger.
I need to pound my fist into flesh.
I throw a few twenties on the table and leave the bar, going through my list of clients and honing in on the meanest motherfuckers who were never planning on paying me back without a fight. When I lay into them tonight, I’ll imagine it’s a different face, a different man.
Anything to dull this ache and expel this anger.
Perhaps I’ll even leave my business card behind as a tantalizing breadcrumb that the Politia can add to their ever-thickening file on me. Maybe it’ll even catch Callie’s notice. You never know.
Regardless, it’s about time I reminded humans why the Bargainer is someone to fear.
Part III
Till Darkness Dies
Chapter 22
Reunion
Less than a year ago
I pass through my Catalina home and out onto my back porch. The sun sets on the Pacific Ocean, lighting the sky on fire as it descends beneath the horizon.
Across the vast miles of sea that spreads out from beyond my property, I can just barely make out the hazy Malibu hills.
My chest aches at the sight.
She’s somewhere over there, so close it feels like I could reach out and touch her, but so far I despair I’ll ever feel her skin beneath my fingers again.
I force my wings to manifest, then spread them wide. They soak in the last dying rays of the sun.
I bend my knees, then with one great thrust, I leap into the sky.
Just as I do every other evening, I fly towards that distant California shore, aiming for Callie’s house. It’s become something of a ritual, trying to see just how close I can get to her before my magic stops me.
It’s been seven years. Callie’s no longer a teenager. She can now legally drink, gamble, buy cigarettes. I’ve missed an entire era of her life, and the loss burns deep. How much more will I have to miss? Will she be stooped and frail by the time I can wrap my arms around her again? I can feel the sands of her life slipping down the hourglass, bringing her closer and closer to death. It makes me fevered, panicked.
I fly on, watching the clouds turn from pale orange to cotton candy pink, to dusty lilac. Eventually, they blend in with the deep blue evening sky.
I steel myself as I near that elusive boundary that marks the edge of my reach. Malibu is near enough that I can differentiate the buildings dotting the land. Near enough to make me see clearly what I’m being denied.
I press on, waiting for the moment my power will force me to stop. I feel it several seconds before I reach the magical boundary. Like always, I push against it, battling my own power.
Only this time, something’s different.
It’s weaker, putting up less resistance as I slam a fist into it. It shudders, my disturbance like a ripple along a lake.
That’s never happened.
Encouraged, I hit it with another blow. It doesn’t give.
C’mon.
Gathering my power into my fist I strike it once, hard. This time, it’s like a bomb detonating.
The magic explodes, hitting me square in the chest and throwing me backwards. As I careen through the sky, I feel Callie’s seven-year-old debt finally—finally—dissipate.
Paid in full.
I don’t breathe as I right myself.
I rub my chest, feeling the last remnants of my magic slide back into me.
Gods’ hands, it’s over.
The wait is over.
Less than a year ago
I fly the rest of the way to Callie’s beach house, my heart pounding furiously.
At last, I will be able to see her, feel her, breathe her in! There will be no more other men, no more long, lonely nights.
I land soundlessly on her property, my wings folding behind me. I can feel something in the air and in my bones, a magic drawn up from the core of the earth.
A thousand times I imagined returning to her as I am now, and every second of the flight that brought me here I agonized that somehow this wasn’t real. Surely after all that waiting, it’s not just over.
I run my fingers over an aged terracotta pot that sits on her patio, the succulent it holds spilling out from it. Her house, her things—I can touch them! The magic never let me before. I had to sustain myself on scraps of information up until now. For a man like me, the secrecy nearly killed me.
I’m seeing Callie’s place for the first time. The inside is dark, and I can sense that at the moment, the place is empty. It stirs my blood into a frenzy, knowing that I’ll have to wait even longer to see her again. Now that the debt’s been paid, I have no patience for waiting.
I could always seek her out, but that sort of eagerness puts one at a disadvantage, and when it comes to reclaiming my mate, I have enough working against me as is—namely the fact that she blames me for leaving her seven years ago.
Her sliding glass door snicks as the lock unlatches. Silently it slips open, and I step inside.
Callie’s scent hits me, and it nearly brings me to my knees. How had I lasted this long without it?
My boots scuff against the gritty floor. I toe the sand that lays scattered along the ground, the unmistakable shape of half a footprint still visible.
Callie. My siren. Can’t keep herself away from the ocean.
My footfalls sound heavy as I make my way through her living room. I pick up an empty wine bottle and read the label. Hermitage. I nearly whistle. Expensive taste.
I’ve heard enough about Callie to know it’s not just wine she drinks. Whiskey is her other poison of choice, and if my information is correct—which it nearly always is—she enjoys her spirits more often than she should.
I set the bottle back down and move to the kitchen, my fingers trailing her cracked tile countertops. My gaze roves over the faded cabinets and the worn wood floors. She spent a pretty penny buying her seaside Malibu house, and yet by the looks of it, she hasn’t changed a damn thing about it.
I move over to a hanging corkboard near her fridge, several notes pinned to it, mostly just phone numbers and a note with a smiling dick drawn on it, signed Temper in the corner.
Leaving the kitchen, I head down her hallway. Her walls are bare of the usual photos that people mount. There’s no family portraits—no surprise there—but there aren’t any photos of Callie with friends.
Why?
I note with more than a touch of dismay that the trinkets we collected from around the world, the ones that once filled her dorm room, are also absent.
The question now is: are they missing because she’s still angry at me, or because she feels indifferent?
Please not indifference. I can work with anything but that.
The only things that hang on the walls are some framed watercolors of coral and a carved wooden fish; the generic sort of shit that you can buy at any store.
I pass her guest bathroom, then another room that looks like it’s sometimes a guestroom, sometimes a storage space. Casting a bit of my magic out, I listen to the shadows, letting them gossip to me about this house and its owner.
… drinks in the dark hours …
… shower busted down the hall …
/> … talks in her sleep about lost love …
… several men have stayed the night …
Hot jealousy roars within me at that last one. Here I stand, the man once famous for bedding much of the Otherworld’s female population, now torn in two when suddenly the tables are turned on me.
No men save me will warm her bed any longer.
Speaking of—Callie’s bedroom looms ahead. Just the sight of the door has my wings flaring. I head inside, my eyes drinking in the space. Everywhere I look there’s a testament to the sea—from more marine wall art, to a conch shell sitting on a side table, to vases filled with sea glass. Because she can’t live in the sea … she brought it to her. It even has the briny smell of salt and seaweed.
I move through the room, skimming my fingers over the spines of novels shoved into a whitewashed bookshelf.
It’s only when I get to one of the side chairs in her room that I come across something that doesn’t belong. I pick up the offensive piece of clothing, which was thrown over the chairback, and bring it to my nose.
I breathe in the material, then grimace, squeezing the cloth tight in my fist.
Dog. Specifically, a lycanthrope.
A bit of my inner darkness taints my eagerness.
Her … lover.
For a brief moment, I’d forgotten.
From what I’ve gathered, she’s been dating a Politia bounty hunter. At first, I didn’t believe it. Callypso Lillis, the woman who once quaked at the authorities, now dates one of them?
I shouldn’t have been so surprised. Sirens are a bit fatalistic. They have a long history of getting themselves into trouble thanks to a millennia-old curse placed upon their species. And even though that curse has since been lifted, there will always be a part of my mate’s kind that will attract trouble.
Though technically, between me and the bounty hunter, I’m the worse choice.
It only takes a little magic for flames to begin licking the material. Within seconds the offending shirt is nothing more than smoke and ashes, and then it’s not even that, my magic eating up every last trace of its existence.