Dark Harmony (The Bargainer Book 3)

by Laura Thalassa

  “Surely you should’ve come by now—or am I losing my … touch?” He tweaks his finger, and I let out a choked cry, nearly climaxing then and there. “But perhaps you need a little more persuading.”

  Never want this to end.

  He breathes against my cheek. “Come for me, siren.”

  I can feel magic and darkness in those words. They settle into me and through my haze of pleasure I register that this is all going to come to a swift end.

  I manage to squeeze one final order out. “Give me … everything.”

  He does. Des drives into me as I shatter, his flesh pounding against mine harder and harder and deeper and deeper. The pleasure is so extreme, so acute, I can barely hold onto it. It washes over me, blinding, unnatural, addicting.

  His body was meant for this—screwing and claiming and twisting my will into his own. Just as mine was meant to allure him and seduce him, and ultimately bend his desires to fit my own.

  With a groan, he comes, his hips slamming into mine as he fills me up. Each stroke of Des’s hips sends another wave of pleasure through me.

  We come down slowly, our bodies sweaty and dusty.

  Des collapses next to me before dragging me onto his chest. He holds me captive in his arms, stroking my flesh softly, his lips trailing over my shoulder. He playfully bites the skin there. “Stay in my arms, cherub. Stay here and never leave.”

  “Alright,” I say, settling in against him, blissfully uncaring about the chill creeping in with the evening.

  For a little while, we lay there in silence. Then, slowly, a laugh bubbles low in my belly. “I can’t believe I let you stick a finger up my butt,” I finally say.

  I’m such a smooth pillow talker.

  I sense rather than see him smirk. “Says the girl who once got me to come in my pants.”

  Now it’s my turn to smirk. Then my thoughts circle back. “I can’t believe I liked it.”

  “My saucy little siren? I can. I have the feeling that by the time the sun sets on our lives, you’ll be the naughty one to my virginal, saintly soul.”

  I outright guffaw at that. “As if.”

  A grin spreads across his face. “You’re probably right.” His hand smooths down my spine, making my skin pucker. “I have more tricks in my bag. All you have to do is say the word. Or challenge me again. I rather enjoyed pitting my magic against yours.”

  I can’t contain the excited shiver that courses through me. I don’t think I’d realized just what being mated to Des means. He rules over sex; everything that we’ve done together so far—that’s all just the tip of a very large iceberg.

  And I probably still won’t fully understand what being mated to him means until I’ve seen and savored every last one of his perversions and witnessed every last one of his horrors. Only then will I fully be able to grasp this force of nature I’m mated to.

  We’re quiet for a time.

  “It’s not enough,” Des eventually says, his hand rubbing up and down my arm. “Having you. I always assumed that once you warmed my bed, it would be.” He cups my pussy as he speaks, and I swear to God, I am this close to jumping him all over again.

  “But I’m a greedy bastard, and I want more. Always more.”

  My fingers glide over his arm; his tattoos seem to leap and dance in the firelight. I lift my head and rest it on his chest.

  “Tell me a secret,” I whisper.

  He traces the curve of my cheek. “Secrets are meant for one soul to keep.”

  I feel myself tense at his words.

  “My mother used to say that all the time,” he explains. “It’s one of those formative lessons of hers I’ve carried with me since childhood.”

  My brows furrow. Some of my sex-induced haze is slipping away. “And now the sleeping soldiers say it.”

  “Up until now, I hadn’t been able to figure out how exactly they knew it.” Des’s finger traces my lips. “And then I fought my father, who is in league with the Thief of Souls.”

  His finger drops from my mouth. “You wanted to know a secret, here’s one, Callie: some time, long ago, my mother whispered those same words to Galleghar Nyx. She, a spy set on escaping him, said them as a taunt. And now he’s taunting us both with them.

  “I need to understand the nature of his undeath to understand the rest of this mystery.”

  Undeath. There should be simply life and then death, but in the land of supernaturals, both earthly and Otherworldly, there are a whole range of beings that somehow fall outside this dichotomy.

  “Perhaps then I can understand how he learned that phrase. And so we wait.”

  Des pulls me to him and kisses me deeply, tasting like salt and sex and the night in all its secretive goodness—and then our clothes peel themselves off the ground and slide back onto us.

  The two of us break apart, and whatever moment we were having, it’s over.

  I sit up and gather my legs to my chest, wrapping my arms around them.

  “Tell me about him,” I say softly.

  Des has already told me the short version of Daddy Dearest’s life, but there’s so much I still don’t know.

  Those silvery eyes are on me in an instant.

  “He’s not worth wasting any more breath on.”

  “We’re already wasting breath searching for him,” I say. “Tell me something about him—something I don’t already know.”

  The Bargainer beckons his discarded flask with his fingers, calling it back to him like a wayward soldier. It’s not until he’s caught the thing and taken a sip from it that he speaks again.

  “He had hundreds of concubines,” Des finally says. “Hundreds. Just take a moment to imagine that.”

  Hundreds? That’s like having a wife for every day of the year.

  “I don’t know how many of them he fathered children with, but the number is large—large enough for the killing to get a name in our histories. It became known as the Royal Purge—the Purge, for short.

  “And when Galleghar died and I first walked the halls of his former castle, I saw firsthand the women he’d taken in.

  “They had this look about them.” Des gestures to his eyes. “Soldiers get that look when they’ve lived through too much. Many of them had it. And yet … and yet dozens of those women cried for him when he died.” Des scoffs to himself. “He killed babies—their babies—and they still cried for him.”

  I don’t say anything. There aren’t words for this kinds of atrocity.

  “That’s not to say that everyone in his harem loved him. In the years after his death, I started to uncover the details of their lives. In the ledgers, we found evidence that some of his wives died untimely deaths—usually after they openly mourned their dead children or objected to the Purge.

  “Someone had also diligently recorded the dozens of suicide notes from Galleghar’s various concubines. I later discovered that those who survived their suicide attempts were then brutalized by the king. He took it as a personal slight that they dared to leave him.

  “And of course, there were other escape attempts by other wives, and those too were violently punished. Hell was a kinder place than my father’s court. To think my mother dared to escape under these circumstances …”

  Brave, brave woman.

  The fire snaps and pops between us. Des is still lost in the past.

  “Did you know that when I executed my father, I was expected to inherit the harem he left behind?” He gives a humorless laugh. “Doesn’t that make your skin crawl? To inherit a lover like some sort of heirloom?”

  It’s sickening. But then, this entire story has turned my stomach.

  “I broke with tradition went I sent them all away.” His eyes move to me. “I knew about you even then,” he admits, a soft smile spreading across his face. But then it disappears. “As did my father,” he adds.

  A chill slides over my skin. In front of me the iridescent fire dims as the Bargainer’s shadows close in on it.

  “To answer your question, cherub, I
never knew much about Galleghar Nyx. Only that he was a mean sonuvabitch, that he tyrannically ruled over the Night Kingdom, and he killed my mother in cold blood. And now, somehow, he is alive.”

  Chapter 10

  “Still no closer to finding me—or Galleghar—it appears.”

  The Thief stands on the other side of the fire, peering down at me with his onyx eyes.

  I sit up so fast a wave of vertigo washes through me.

  “That was a neat trick you did there, back in Somnia,” he says, circling around the fire as he approaches me.

  I scoot backwards, but there’s nowhere to go out here in the Banished Lands. I look for Desmond, but other than the Thief, I’m utterly alone.

  He crouches next to me and tilts his head, studying me. There’s something detached and reptilian about him.

  “So you can glamour fairies after all,” he says.

  I can glamour fairies—I can glamour him.

  My skin brightens. “Get away from me.”

  He continues to stare at me, his eyes inky. Slowly, he begins to smile. “Enticing, but no. I think I’ll stay right here.”

  It doesn’t work on him.

  Dear God.

  “Shame your wiles don’t affect me.” He reads my face. “Don’t fret, enchantress. I am tempted.”

  “Why did you wake them?” I ask as my skin dims.

  “Why did I wake them? That’s your most pressing question? Don’t you want to know why I kidnapped them in the first place? Or why I put the women in caskets and the men in trees?”

  Of course I do.

  He takes a seat next to me, and it takes a great amount of willpower to not recoil at his nearness.

  The Thief sighs. “Because I wanted to.”

  He leans in. “I put the men in trees because, as the Green Man, I could. I took the women savagely and caged them like I have been caged.” I can feel the sick heat of his anger and his excitement as he talks. “I hid the men and showcased the women,” he continues, “and oh how I enjoyed watching all those fairies fear the unknown. It’s been so long since any of them felt true fear, but now they do.

  “So,” he says, facing me more fully, “is that what you wanted to hear?”

  Yes. No.

  All these years I’ve spent hunting criminals, and the worst ones give these kinds of answers. They committed atrocities because they wanted to. Because they could.

  But even as the Thief of Souls gives me this glimpse into his mind, he manages to evade the answer that I really wanted to hear. I want to know what his plans are, not how his sick mind works.

  “Enough about me,” he says softly. “I know, enchantress, that if you’re scared or excited enough, your baser nature will expose itself.” He reaches out and strokes my cheek with the back of his knuckle.

  I flinch at his touch, my nostrils flaring. I should be sprinting far away from the Thief, but my muscles are locked up. I couldn’t move if I tried.

  “The question is,” his hand slides to my lower jaw and he drags my face to meet his, “which route do I explore—your passion or your fear?”

  His eyes dip to my lips. God save me, I might as well be back in the Fauna Kingdom’s prison because right now I’m staring at Karnon. It’s a different body, but the same eyes.

  My breath hitches at the reminder, and a few seconds later my skin illuminates as the siren unfurls, stretching out beneath my flesh like a stiff muscle.

  A fierce fury rises in me, eclipsing my fear.

  This barbarian thinks to intimidate us? Scare us?

  I grab his wrist and pull it away, leaning into his space. “Whatever you think to do to me, I dare you to try.” I take my other hand and press it to his chest, tapping a clawed finger against him. “But you should know that, if given the chance, I will gut you and make a necklace of your innards.”

  Not going to lie, my siren is a real piece of work. But it’s times like this that I appreciate her particular brand of crazy.

  The Thief smiles at me, looking like his interest’s been piqued. “I do hope you make good on your threat. I’d hate to see all this vehemence go to waste.” He moves in closer, our faces inches apart.

  His breath fans against my cheek. “Find me, Callypso. I’m eagerly awaiting our reunion.”

  “Cherub—”

  My body startles, roused from sleep by Des’s voice. My eyes sweep over our campsite.

  Swear the Thief was here just a second ago.

  His presence was so vivid that my mind isn’t convinced I dreamed him up.

  But then I’m distracted by Des’s warm body and his penetrating stare.

  “Everything alright, Callie?”

  I swallow—an action his eyes dart to—and nod. “I’m fine.”

  That earns me a frown. But rather than pushing the issue, Des squeezes my hip.

  “Someone’s coming,” he whispers.

  I begin to get up, looking madly out at the darkness, but he gently presses me back down.

  “If you could be a peach and pretend to be asleep, that would be wonderful. I want the fae to come closer.”

  Pretend to be asleep after the dream I just had? I think not.

  But I do force myself to relax for Des’s sake, even if I don’t close my eyes. Instead I strain my ears and eyes to hear and see anything beyond the fire. One long minute slips into another.

  All at once, the Bargainer’s power rushes out of him, thickening the air like darkness is a physical thing. I sense it close in on its prey like a snare, trapping them in place.

  The caught fairy shrieks like a wild beast, the guttural sounds punctuated by a string of curses.

  In an instant, Des is gone from my side, dissolving into vapor like he was never there. I flip over just in time to see my mate looming over a fairy in the distance. The fae is uselessly fighting the magic trapping him in place, his scythe-like weapon striking the magical barrier over and over again.

  Des folds his arms, appraising the man and looking as though he finds him wanting.

  After a moment, the Night King takes the scythe away from the man. “You’re going to answer some questions for us,” Des says, “or you’re going to die.”

  I pull the charred marshmallow from the fire, assessing the blackened crisp.

  Damnit. This is the fifth one I’ve burned. I officially suck at this S’mores thing. To be fair, I’m pretty sure Des’s iridescent fire burns hotter than the fires I’m used to.

  I wait for it to cool before I remove it from my stick and grab another from the S’mores supplies Des had presented me with when he returned with his captive.

  Pretty sure this is his attempt to keep me occupied while he interrogates his prisoner.

  Ashamed to say that it’s totally working.

  Meanwhile, several feet away, Des is well into his interrogation.

  So far he’s folded the fairy’s weapon into an origami horse, taken away his voice briefly, and removed the last of the items the fairy had on him (a couple stones, a knife, some dried mystery meat, and a necklace made of fae hair—because heaven forbid we meet someone normal here).

  “Who opened the tomb?” Des asks the fairy calmly.

  The man spits at Des. The spittle never hits my mate. Instead it stops in midair, then reverses its trajectory, splashing against the fairy’s face.

  “Who opened the tomb?” Des repeats.

  “Suck on my prick!”

  “Mmm, tempting,” Des says, cocking his head. “Is that a genuine offer?” His magic unlaces the man’s crudely-made breeches, then it begins tugging the cloth down.

  The fairy’s eyes widen and he begins to yank the material back up, fruitlessly trying to keep his pants on. “What in the bloody ferking gods’ names!”

  “Cherub,” Des says, glancing over at me, “I think the man’s shy. One moment he wants my attention, the next he’s being a coy minx.”

  I pull my sixth marshmallow from the fire; it’s perfectly golden brown.

  Success!

  �
��Men give such mixed signals,” I say.

  I admit it—I like to toy with my targets just as much as Des does. That was always one of my favorite parts of the PI business.

  Grabbing a bar of Hershey’s chocolate and a graham cracker, I pull my marshmallow off its stick.

  Get into my belly.

  “They do, don’t they?” The Bargainer’s eyes brighten enough to let me know that he likes my brand of wicked. Turning back to the fairy, he taps on his lips. “No need to be bashful. I’m sure your prick will be everything I’ve ever dreamed a prick could be.”

  Now the fairy’s bucking, wildly trying to pull his pants up with his legs. He’s failing abysmally at it. “You sick shite!” he shouts.

  I begin to munch on my S’more and oh my God, it’s one of the great tragedies of the world that S’mores are only reserved for camping. These little bastards are delicious.

  Des’s good humor collapses in an instant. His magic quits tugging at the fairy’s pants. Now that there’s no more magical resistance, the prisoner nearly gives himself a wedgie yanking his pants up.

  The night darkens. “I’m done being coy as well,” Des says, his voice like polished steel. “Tell me what happened to the body resting in the cavern beneath that boulder,” he points to the unassuming grave markers in the distance, “or I’ll start killing you in increments.”

  “I don’t know!” the fairy yowls.

  “Have you ever died in increments?” Des asks. “It’s slow and—well, I don’t need to tell you that it’s painful.”

  “I never saw anything! I swear it—”

  I feel the brush of magic, and then the prisoner’s hand is jerked in front of him, his fingers splayed out.

  “I like to start with the pinkie—begin small, you know,” Des says. Right now, he’s one hundred percent Bargainer. “I’ll remove it, knuckle by knuckle …”

  “Godsdamnit! I don’t know where the body is!”

  The fairy’s ruined scythe now unfolds, mending itself back together until it looks whole and untouched. It floats through the air, stopping dangerously close to the fairy’s hand.

  The fairy lets out a little whimper as the blade caresses his little finger.

  “After the pinkie …” Des continues, “well, there are nine other fingers to play with.