Rhapsodic (The Bargainer Book 1)

by Laura Thalassa

  My siren stirs.

  “Let’s call them baser impulses. And, again, those don’t need much management.”

  Am I hearing him correctly?

  I set my drink down on the coffee table. “So, you encourage … people to get it on?” I can’t believe we’ve never talked about this. He always acted like a nun around me. I never would’ve guessed this would be part of his job.

  One of his eyebrows arches. “Would you like a demonstration?”

  The siren in me is waking up. All the things he rules she feeds off of. Violence, chaos, … sex.

  She would gladly take a whole armful of beads for such a demonstration.

  He sees my silence for what it is—consideration. One moment he’s sprawled on his end of the couch, setting his drink down, the next, he disappears. I jolt when he reappears next to me on the couch.

  “You would enjoy yourself, Callie,” he says, leaning in. This close to me, his presence is overwhelming. His lips brush my ear. “I would make sure of that.”

  He was never like this with me before. Only now am I learning that he fought his most innate nature to be appropriate with me. Even when I put all the moves on him I could think of.

  I clear my throat. “Des.” I’m drowning in years of desire for this man.

  “Think about it.” He pulls away. “Nothing would please me more.”

  My heart’s thundering, the siren desperately trying to claw her way out the longer I stare at him.

  “You were mentioning your reasons for visiting earth?” My voice is hoarse as I force the question out. It’s a last ditch effort to stop whatever’s going on from continuing.

  His mood shifts, his eyes shuttering as he returns back to his corner of the couch. “Ah, yes, the official reason. The duties I have running my kingdom still leave me with plenty of time to work on international—interworldly, really—relations. As the Bargainer, that’s what I’m doing. I mingle with supernaturals here, use my magic to grant them petty favors,”—favors like mine—“and I collect repayment with interest. These things make my kingdom richer, safer.”

  He picks his beer back up and takes another swallow.

  “And what’s the unofficial reason?” I ask.

  He stares at me for a long time, his eyes growing distant. “I’ve been pulled here for reasons that have long mystified me.”

  The eternal wanderer.

  His eyes move over his living room, his gaze still unfocused. Wherever his mind drifted to, it’s not here.

  “Do they still?”

  His attention snaps back to me. “Still what?”

  “Mystify you.”

  A muscle in his cheek jumps. “No, cherub, they don’t.”

  Chapter 9

  December, eight years ago

  Des and I stand in a dark corner of campus, where a low-lying stone wall separates the grounds of Peel Academy from the edge of the cliffs that border this area of the Isle of Man. Far below us the ocean churns as it crashes against the rocks. I swear I can hear that water whispering to me, begging me to come closer. It’s not a stretch to believe that the sea birthed sirens. It calls to my dark, inner self the way my voice calls to men.

  Well, mortal men, anyway.

  I had wondered what kind of supernatural was immune to my glamour. Now I had my answer.

  Fairies. Creatures that are not of this world.

  I look over at the campus grounds, where students bustle between Peel Castle to my left—which houses the school’s classrooms, dining halls, and libraries—and the dormitories to my right. The place is lit up by lamps, but even so, between the coastal fog and the evening darkness, it’s hard to make people out.

  “They can’t see us,” Des says. The Bargainer steps in close, and the heat of his magic brushes against me. “But it wouldn’t matter anyway, would it?” he says.

  I take a step away from him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Des moves forward. “Poor Callie. Always on the outside, always looking in.”

  I frown, my eyes returning to the groups of students that cross the lawn. Even from here I can hear their laughter and bits of their conversation.

  “Tell me, cherub,” he continues, “how does someone like you,” his eyes move pointedly over me, “end up being an outcast?”

  Briefly my gaze drops to my ripped jeans and ankle boots, then to my leather jacket and the scarf that rings my neck. Physically, I fit in. It’s everything beneath my skin that sets me apart.

  “Why are we even talking about me?” I ask, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

  His gaze follows my hand. “Because sometimes you fascinate me.”

  My heart skips a beat. I’d all but assumed that the interest went one way.

  He’s still staring at me, waiting for his answer.

  “It’s not them, it’s me.”

  His brows pull together.

  I glance back down at my boots and kick at a patch of grass. “It’s hard pretending to be normal after … you know.” After you off someone. I exhale. “I think I have to put myself back together before I make friends. Real friends.”

  I can’t believe I just admitted that. I rarely admit these things even to myself.

  Des tips my chin up, his face serious. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, though I’m sure a million different things are going on in his devious mind.

  “How about I make you a queen for a night?” he finally says.

  I give him a queer look. But before I can read into his intentions, a line of small, twinkling lights appear over his shoulder. As they get closer I hear the buzzing of their wings.

  Fireflies. A whole group of them. They fly in one single, orderly line.

  My eyes cut to Des, who’s smiling softly. This is clearly his work.

  The twinkling fireflies circle me before—horror of horrors—they descend on top of my head.

  “I have bugs in my hair,” I tell him, my shoulders tense.

  “You have a crown,” he corrects, smirking and leaning against the stone wall.

  This is his idea of a crown? I can feel them moving about my hair, and it takes everything in me not to swat them all away.

  I’m not really a bug person.

  One of the fireflies tumbles off, landing on my scarf. It then proceeds to crawl beneath my scarf and down my shirt.

  “Oh my God!” I squeal.

  “Naughty bugs,” Des chastises, coming over and helping me scoop the firefly up, “stay away from the pretty human boobs.”

  Did he just call my boobs pretty?

  The Bargainer captures the bug in his fist, his knuckles grazing my skin. He steps away from me and, opening his palm, releases the glowing critter. The two of us watch it drunkenly canter back to my hair.

  I can just barely make out their luminescent bodies flickering above me. The whole thing is so ridiculous and strange that I begin to laugh. “Des, are you trying to cheer me up?”

  But when I get a good look at him, he’s not laughing. The insects’ light dances in his eyes as he stares at me, lips parted.

  Des blinks, and it’s like he’s returning from wherever his mind drifted.

  He takes my hand. “Let’s get out of here. You hungry?” he asks. “Dinner’s on me.”

  I squeeze his palm, feeling like something between us changed for the better. But I don’t address it; there’s nothing like a good confession to scare the Bargainer away.

  “Dinner’s on you?” I say instead. “Now that sounds interesting …”

  He flashes me a wicked smile, his eyes twinkling. “Cherub, I may make a fairy out of you yet.”

  Present

  I’m already elbow deep into my work by the time Temper saunters into West Coast Investigations, slamming op
en the door to her office. That woman is like a hurricane.

  I hear her click on her message machine and then, a moment later, I hear the tinny sound of a message.

  Sipping my coffee, I once again check the Most Wanted list.

  The Bargainer is still listed as the third most wanted criminal in the supernatural world. Whatever strings Eli pulled, they’re still holding.

  I suppose if the Politia catches me and the Bargainer together, I’ll be viewed as an accomplice.

  Motherfuckery.

  This is precisely why I keep secrets. The law and I don’t quite see eye to eye.

  “Hooooo!” Temper whoops from the other room. I hear the click of her shoes as she jogs over to my room.

  “Girl,” she says, pausing dramatically in my doorway. Today her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, “did you hear—”

  “—about the hundred-K client?” I finish for her.

  I swivel in my chair, the heels of my boots scraping across the top of the desk. “Yeah, I already got a file written up for him.”

  The client in question had also called my phone, specifically requesting to work with me. What he needed my help with wasn’t clear, only that he was willing to pay a king’s ransom for it.

  I finger the file I created for him. “Seems a little sketchy,” I admit. Not sketchy enough to turn down, but enough to raise red flags.

  Temper harrumphs. “If you don’t take it, I will. I’ve got a kitchen to remodel.”

  “I’ll take it, I’ll take it,” I grumble. “By the way,” I grab a stack of files to my left and toss them to her, “these are officially yours.”

  She grabs the folders and flips through them. “Excellent. Oh, look at this precious gem—a wife beater I get to hex. Poor baby, he has no idea.” Temper slides out of her chair. “All right, I best be getting to work. So many criminals, so little time—” She pauses when she catches sight of my face. “Hey, how are you holding up?”

  Whatever she sees in my expression must be giving away some of my inner turmoil. My personal life is never very great, but right now it’s at an all-time low.

  I lift a shoulder. “Meh.”

  “Meh good, or meh bad?”

  “Meh I’m not sure?” I answer.

  She leans across the table and places her hand over mine. “I’ve been a bad friend. I assumed that thing with Eli … that it was just a fling.”

  I slide my hand out from under hers and wave her off. “Stop being a sap. This isn’t about Eli.”

  “Oh good,” she relaxes, straightening. “I was about to feel massively guilty.” She frowns as she takes me in again. “So … what is wrong?”

  I set down my coffee and scrub my face. “My past.”

  “Ah,” Temper says, “the mysterious past you still haven’t told me about …”

  “I will,” I insist, “I just …”

  Would you like a demonstration?

  You would enjoy yourself, Callie. I would make sure of that.

  Des might as well be in the room, I can hear his voice so clearly right now.

  “… don’t know how I feel about it at the moment,” I finish.

  Temper nods sympathetically. “Fine, screw talking about it. Want to grab drinks tonight, piss off a bartender for being rowdy, and pick up some eligible bachelors?”

  “Um, raincheck.” There’d be no drinking and dating in the near future for me.

  “Hmmm, well, you’ll let me know if everything isn’t okay, won’t you?” she asks.

  No.

  “Of course.”

  “You’re such a goddamn liar, Callie,” she says, shaking her head. “Fine, tell me when you’re ready.”

  But when it comes to the Bargainer that’s the thing: I’m not sure I’ll ever be.

  After taking care of several odds and ends—including memorizing the list of interview questions the Bargainer gave me last night—I leave the office and head out to interview the primary person of interest in one of the cases I’m working. Most of my job is simply this: cornering people, glamouring them, and forcing them to confess whatever they know.

  Today it’s about a client’s missing daughter.

  “Where is she?” I demand, crossing my arms.

  The suspect: twenty-four-year-old Tommy Weisel, local drug-dealer, community college dropout, and ex-boyfriend of sixteen-year-old Kristin Scott, who’s currently missing.

  Tommy sits in one of his kitchen chairs, pinned in place by my glamour. He squirms in his seat, unable to stand, his throat working as he tries to suppress his answer.

  As usual, it’s all in vain.

  “She-she’s in the basement,” he says, his upper lip quivering.

  Once the words are out, he scowls at me. “You coc—” The rest of the sentence dies in his throat.

  Another order I gave him: no swearing and no putdowns. It’s really for his own good. The siren in me loves nothing better than to reward hate with cruelty.

  “How did Kristin get into your basement?” I ask.

  Tommy licks his lips, his gaze darting to my phone, which is just out of his reach and currently capturing this all on video.

  “I … led her there,” he says.

  The side of my mouth curves up, and I prowl closer to him, stroking his face with the back of my glowing hand. “Led? Is that you trying to be clever?” I tsk, shaking my head. “It was a good try. Let me rephrase: is Kristin there against her will?”

  He squeezes his eyes shut as sweat beads on his forehead.

  “Answer me.”

  “Yeeeeeessss.” The word hisses out of him, and then he’s panting, trying to catch his breath. His shoes slam against the linoleum floors and he screams out in frustration. “You motherfu—” His voice cuts off in a gurgle.

  I lean in close to him, ignoring his oily hair and the smell of stale B.O. wafting off his clothes. “This is what you’re going to do,” I say. “You’re going to release Kristin, then you’re going to turn yourself in and confess to everything you’re guilty of, and you’re going to work with police to prove your guilt. And you are never, ever going to harm Kristin, her family, and any other girlfriends or exes you have ever again.”

  He shudders as my glamour takes hold of him.

  “Now get up and release your girlfriend.”

  Without any further prodding, Tommy leads me to Kristin, who’s cowering in his basement.

  Several minutes later, a crying Kristin and I are in the foyer of Tommy’s house.

  The drug dealer looks scared and angry as he watches us, forced to stand over ten feet away from me and Kristin thanks to another order I gave him.

  I lead Kristin to the front door, using my jacket to turn the knob. One can never be too careful about leaving fingerprints behind. Guys like Tommy are sometimes wilier than they appear.

  I usher Kristin out, then pause, glancing back at Tommy, who’s glaring at me.

  “Remember,” I say, “you’re going to turn yourself in right after this.” I begin to close the door before I pause again. “Oh, and I was never here.”

  As soon as I get home, I drop my things and head for my bedroom to fetch my swimsuit. Today, I’m getting in the ocean.

  Now that I’m officially not drinking, swimming is one of the only other ways that I relieve tension. And interacting day in and day out with some of the greediest, least scrupulous people in L.A., I have a lot of tension to relieve.

  I never make it past my living room.

  My front door rattles, then metal groans as someone breaks apart my doorknob. A moment later the door bangs open.

  I only have enough time to call the siren to the surface.

  Instead a familiar form comes storming in.

  I clutch my chest. “Crap, Eli
,” I say, my voice ethereal, “you scared me.” And then I realize Eli just broke into my house.

  I glance back at the door. “Were you … waiting for me?”

  He doesn’t respond, and there’s an intensity to his features that makes me tense up.

  He crosses the foyer, his attention focused wholly on me. Without speaking, he closes the last of the distance between us and pulls me into his arms, kissing me hard.

  “Whoa,” I say, managing to break my lips away. The rest of me is still crushed to him. “What’s going on?”

  My mind is having trouble catching up.

  Eli’s my home. Eli’s holding me.

  “I had to see you, baby.” He’s back to kissing me, and I am so confused.

  I rip my head away to glance at the calendar I have up.

  The full moon …

  “Eli, you shouldn’t be here.”

  It’s only been a day since the full moon, and the closer to the full moon it is, the more a shifter’s human side gives way to the animal. It’s dangerous for non-shifters to be around them.

  “I couldn’t stay away.” His lips are back on mine, and I’m trying really hard not to freak the fuck out, but his hands are shaking and I can feel Eli fighting to keep this form.

  “Why didn’t anyone stop you from leaving?”

  “No one gets in the way of mate business,” he says, doing everything he physically can to get close to me.

  Mate business.

  Mate. Business.

  Nope.

  Nope, nope, nope.

  I think I’m beginning to hyperventilate. All I wanted was to go for a swim, and instead … this steaming pile of horseshit.

  “But I’m not … I’m not your mate,” I say. I’m not even his girlfriend. Not anymore.

  I can hear him growl low in his chest. “I was going to ask. Once I got back, I was going to ask.”

  Uh oh.

  “Ask me what?”

  Please don’t ask me what I think’s on your mind.