Rhapsodic (The Bargainer Book 1)

by Laura Thalassa

He’s just better at hiding his meltdown than I am.

  “First the children, and now this,” he says, his seat groaning as he leans forward in it. “Apparently this enemy has taken a liking to you.” A flash of anger in those silver eyes.

  My panic rises all over again.

  The Bargainer stands, his presence almost menacing as the darkness curls around him. His hammered crown and war cuffs only serve to make him look more intimidating. He comes up close to me, placing a finger under my chin.

  “Tell me, cherub,” he says, tilting my chin up, forcing me to meet those silver eyes of his, which look almost feral, “do you know what I do to enemies that threaten what’s mine?”

  Is he referring to me? I can’t tell, nor can I tell where he’s going with this.

  He leans in close to my ear. “I kill them.” He pulls away to meet my gaze. “It’s neither quick nor clean.”

  His words send shivers up my arms.

  “Sometimes I feed my enemies to creatures I need favors from,” he says. “Sometimes I let the royal assassins practice their skills on them. Sometimes I let my enemies think they’ve escaped my clutches only to recapture them and make them suffer—and how they suffer. The darkness cloaks many, many deeds.”

  It scares me when Des gets like this. When his Otherworldly cruelty surfaces.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I say softly.

  His stares into my eyes. “I am the scariest thing out here. And if anything tries to touch you, they will reckon with me.”

  The next few days, Des spends in the Otherworld, doing his kingly duties while I stay back at his Catalina home. He’s invited me along, but um, yeah, I’m good on this side of the ley line for now.

  Meanwhile, I’ve read over some of Des’s case notes, which largely restate what he’s already told me. It mentions the human servants with their bruises and haunted eyes, the fairies who fall into that deep sleep after caring for those strange children, and the people who chose death over answering Des’s questions. The whole mystery is one sad, disturbing trail of destruction.

  When I’m not reading up on the case, I’m either exploring the island of Catalina or Des’s house. Right now, I’m up to the latter.

  I wander into the Bargainer’s room, flicking on the lights. My eyes move from the art hanging on the walls, to the metal model of the solar system, to the wet bar.

  I’ve been curious as to why Des didn’t want me to see this room when he first gave me a tour of the house. There’s nothing much in here.

  I move over to his dresser, opening the drawers one after the other. Inside each are piles of folded shirts and pants. The mighty King of the Night stores his clothes just like the rest of us.

  I close the last drawer and move farther into the room, not seeing much else I can rummage through. Seriously, this is one of the most spartan rooms I’ve come across, and I do my fair share of snooping in my line of work.

  My eyes land on one of his bedside tables. The only thing resting on it, besides a bedside lamp, is a leather-bound portfolio. I remember from our time together that Des loved to sketch; I even got him a sketchbook at one point.

  I move over to the book, my hand curving over the soft cover. But then I hesitate. This is private—it’s essentially Des’s journal.

  But he’s never been unwilling to share his artwork before.

  Making a decision, I open the portfolio.

  I stop breathing the moment I see the first picture.

  It’s of … me.

  The portrait is quite simple, just a simple basic of my head, neck, and shoulders. I run my finger down the penciled slope of my cheek, noticing how bright my eyes look in the drawing. How hopeful I appear. I remember Des drawing this in my dorm room over seven years ago. I also remember seeing the image and completely not connecting with it. I’d been so lonely then, so full of my own demons, I couldn’t imagine that anyone looked at me and saw this beautiful girl. But I’d been flattered nonetheless.

  After all this time he kept it.

  I feel more of my defenses crumbling. The wall I built around my heart is in shambles, and apparently Des doesn’t have to be here to destroy it.

  The next sketch is of me sitting on the floor, my back against my dorm room bed, giving a petulant look to the artist drawing me. Scrawled beneath the picture is a note: Callie wants me to stop drawing her. This is how she looks when I tell her no.

  I grin a little as I read that. Mighty words, but Des had at least partially caved into my request; he drew me all sorts of landscapes and Otherworldly creatures in addition to the portraits of me he was so fond of.

  The next drawing is one I’ve never seen, and unlike the other sketches, this one’s more painstakingly executed. At first all I can make sense of is the odd angle of the drawing, like the artist was on his back, looking down the length of his body. Then I make out the woman curled up against the chest we’re looking down at. I recognize my dark hair, the top of my nose, and the contours of my face, which is somewhat buried against Des’s chest.

  This could’ve been one of many nights where I fell sleep curled against him, but something about the image … something about it makes me think it was one of the bad nights, the nights where Des stuck around to scare off my nightmares. I can feel an echo of that old pain even now.

  Those evenings were what made me realize I loved the Bargainer. That it wasn’t just infatuation, but something I could feel on my skin and in my bones. Something that couldn’t be extinguished.

  I didn’t fall for Des because he was handsome, or because he knew my secrets, but because he stuck around when I was least lovable. Because he was a man who didn’t try to take anything from me even when I lay next to him, but instead gave me peace and comfort. Because each one of those nights he saved me all over again, even if it was from myself.

  And if this picture was anything to go by, it was a moment Des wanted to remember as well.

  I flip to the next image, this one in color. Most of the drawing is set in deep shades of blue and green. In it I’m smiling, a ring of fireflies resting on the crown of my head. I remember this night too—

  A knock on the door jolts me from my thoughts.

  What am I doing? I definitely shouldn’t be looking through these. Even if I am clearly the Bargainer’s muse.

  Hastily I close the portfolio, arranging it how I found it. I throw several glances back at it as I cross the room. He kept those old drawings all this time. Again I’m reminded of his confession about how he felt leaving me.

  Like my soul was ripped in two.

  And once again, I feel hope so sharp it’s almost painful.

  That too is whisked away when someone pounds on the door again.

  Who would visit Des here?

  I get my answer a few seconds later, when I peer through the door’s peephole.

  “Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

  “I heard that, Callie,” the familiar, gravelly voice says.

  The Bargainer doesn’t get visitors here.

  I do.

  Chapter 21

  May, seven years ago

  “Holy fuck,” Des says, materializing in my dorm room. “It’s a warzone out in your hallway.”

  In the hallway I hear a muffled shout as some girl loses her shit because her nail polish smudged and ohmygod there’s no time to fix it.

  I close my laptop and swivel around in my chair. I glance down at my bracelet. I hadn’t called the Bargainer tonight, nor had I the day before, and many nights before that. Somewhere along the way, Des started inviting himself over.

  Des crosses my room and peers out my window. Far below us, girls in gowns and boys in tuxedos cross the lawn. “What’s going on tonight?”

  “May Day Ball.”

  Des glances over at me, his eye
brows raised. “Why aren’t you getting ready?”

  “I’m not going,” I say. I pull my legs up onto my chair.

  “You’re not going?” He sounds surprised.

  Isn’t it already obvious? I’m wearing boxer shorts and a worn T-shirt.

  I suck in my lower lip and shake my head. “No one’s asked me.”

  “Since when do you wait for permission?” he asks. “And also, how is that possible?”

  “How is what possible?” I ask, staring down at my knees.

  I’m grumpy. Officially grumpy. If I still went to my former high school, I wouldn’t have to hear the excited squeals of girls as they got ready, and they wouldn’t notice how my door was ominously shut.

  “That no one’s asked you.”

  I shrug. “I thought it was your job to understand people’s motives.”

  When I look up, Des’s arms are folded across his chest, and I have his full attention.

  “What?” I say, suddenly self-conscious at all the attention.

  “Do you want to go to the May Day Ball?” he asks.

  Oh God, I’m not admitting this to him. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t see how that matters.”

  He cocks his head, and sweet baby angels, he’s going to read me. He’s already reading me.

  “It does matter. Now, do you?”

  I open my mouth, and I know that everything is in my eyes. That I don’t fit in, and people don’t entirely like me. That I’m an outsider and I want in, I always want in, but I don’t get to walk inside that particular door. I’m forever banished to watch other people live their lives while I wait for mine to begin—or end. It really could go either way. My existence so far has mostly consisted of me holding my breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  Des is moving, closing the remaining space between us, and I’m just staring at him like a fool, my knees pressed close to my chest.

  He kneels in front of me, the air shimmering beyond his shoulders. He takes my hand, his eyes serious.

  My heart’s in my throat, and I can’t swallow it back down. I feel bare in the most exquisite way, and I’m not sure why that is.

  He begins to smile. “Would you, Callypso Lillis, take me to the May Day Ball?”

  Present

  Eli. The Most Wanted List. That’s all I can think about as I step outside Des’s home and face my ex.

  Our last confrontation feels like a million years ago. Honestly, after everything that’s happened in the Otherworld, this just seems … so insignificant by comparison.

  “Were you trying to get caught, or did you just not give two shits about it?” Eli asks.

  “I didn’t give two shits about it.” I fold my arms over my chest and lean against the entryway wall. Now I feel the heat of my anger coming back. This bastard. “I can’t believe you had the audacity to come into my home and threaten my life and then, as if that weren’t enough, you put my name on the goddamn Wanted List.”

  “Callie, I never would’ve hurt you,” he says, his voice soft. He looks almost wounded. And I’m sure it is wounding on some level, considering he is the protector of his pack.

  “You came into my house during the Sacred Seven,” I say. “Of course you could have hurt me.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re pack. Or at least—you were.”

  I feel my hackles rising at his reaction.

  “Do you put all pack members on the Wanted List?” I ask.

  Let’s see just how big Eli’s balls are.

  Eli runs a hand down his face. “What I did, all of it, was a mistake,” he says, his voice defeated. “I was angry, and my wolf was demanding justice …” He sighs. “It’s no excuse, but I regret it, if it makes any difference.”

  I press my lips together. It’s not like I handled things well either, but putting someone on the supernatural Wanted List far outweighs any wrongdoing on my part.

  “I’m not going to let you arrest me,” I say.

  He lets out a breath. “I’m not taking you in. I just … needed to talk to you.”

  “You could’ve just called.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice genuine. Coming from an alpha like him, an apology is a rare thing.

  I work my jaw. I’m still so peeved at the whole thing. Pushing down my frustration, I nod, looking away. I’m not sure whether I’m acknowledging Eli’s apology or accepting it. All I know is that I want to bury the hatchet between us.

  The shifters eyes move to the Bargainer’s house. “My offer still stands, Callie.”

  I glance at him.

  “What I did was wrong, but what this guy’s doing, that’s worse. He’s taking away your free will,” he says. “The Bargainer is a wanted man. Just give me the word and I’ll go in there and take care of the issue.”

  It takes several seconds to register what he’s saying. When it does, horror washes over me. “No, I don’t want that.”

  “Callie.” The alpha is in his voice.

  “Don’t,” I warn. He no longer has the right to exert his pull over me. “There’s so much you don’t know.”

  “Then tell me,” he says. “Or else I’m just going to keep assuming the worst.”

  Isn’t that exactly what I’ve been demanding of Des? To stop keeping secrets? And here I am being a hypocrite.

  But this secret …

  “I never told you about my past.” I rub my face.

  Even now I hesitate to tell Eli. It hurts to remember, and then there’s the shame. Always the shame.

  But perhaps if I tell him, he’ll understand why I acted the way I have. And perhaps it will help him feel better, about me, about Des, and about the situation.

  “When I was a minor,” I begin, “my stepfather … my stepfather …”

  Eli goes still.

  “He sexually abused me.” I force the words out.

  I hear a low growl. This is what I’ve always loved about shifters—about Eli. No one fucks with their young. No one.

  I blow out a shaky breath. “It went on for years. And it only stopped …” I pause again, pinching my forehead.

  I can do this.

  “When I was almost sixteen, he came at me, and I fought him off with a broken bottle. Nicked an artery.” All that blood. “He was dead in a matter of minutes.”

  Eli’s growl is growing louder and louder.

  I stare at my hands. “I killed a man. I wasn’t even an adult. I thought my life was over before it had begun, all because I finally fought off the person abusing me.” My voice drops. “He was such a powerful seer. Had I done things the legal way, I just … I don’t know if it would’ve ended well for me.”

  I take a deep breath.

  “So I called on a man infamous for his deals …”

  That’s all I manage to get in before Eli pulls me into a hug, holding me close. “I’m so sorry, Callie. So fucking sorry.”

  I shudder a little as the memory runs its course through me and I nod against him.

  “You should’ve told me this. All of this,” he admonishes me quietly.

  “I’m bad at sharing,” I admit.

  He holds me for close to a minute, and I appreciate the comfort.

  Eventually, I step out of his arms, wiping away a tear that’s managed to sneak out from the corner of one of my eyes.

  “What you have to understand,” I say, “is that the Bargainer saved me. He cleaned up the mess, enrolled me in Peel Academy, hid my crime.”

  Telling Eli this is a gamble. The shifter is one of the good guys. He could drag me away, dig up that old case, and let the system do its work.

  I’m sort of banking on the fact that Eli’s sense of justice—pack justice—will align with my actions; people who do bad things to
innocent shifters just sort of disappear.

  “The Bargainer didn’t charge me then,” I continue. “I know you think he did, but he has his own code of ethics. Because I was a minor at the time, he wouldn’t allow me to do business with him like that.”

  Now knowing what I did about fairies, true favors were kind of a big deal. The fae lived to take advantage of a situation.

  Eli seems to understand this too. The werewolf raises his eyebrows.

  “It was only later that I called him again. And again. And again. I came up with all sorts of favors just so that he could stick around for a while.” Because I was intrigued by him. Because I was infatuated by him. Because I wanted a friend who wasn’t scared off by my darkness—and Des wasn’t.

  “He should’ve never made those deals with you,” Eli growls.

  I play with my bracelet, rolling the beads round and round my wrist. “No, he probably shouldn’t have,” I agree. “But we’ve all given into our baser natures a time or two, haven’t we?” I say.

  Eli grunts, looking out over the Bargainer’s property.

  He rubs his face. “I wish you would’ve told me all these things long ago.”

  Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve. It does no use getting upset about it now.

  “Did I ever have a chance?” Eli asks.

  I glance over at the shifter. “I don’t know. But I do know that you deserve someone who can give you far more than I can.”

  Stepping in close, Eli rests his palm against the side of my face. “That sonuvabitch is a lucky man.”

  The words are barely out of his mouth when behind us, the front doors slam open.

  I turn just in time to see Des striding out from his home, his wings visible. His stormy eyes flick to Eli, who’s still standing close to me, and I see a flash of possessiveness in them.

  Reflexively, I step away from the shifter.

  It’s broad daylight out here, which isn’t exactly Des’s favorite time of day. He was supposed to be in the Otherworld for several more hours. Clearly, something changed.