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The phrase echoes like a memory through my head.

“This—this won’t be gentle,” he warns, his entire body trembling as he dams up his wicked need.

I grasp his hair, my grip tightening as I tilt his head towards mine.

“Your warnings are wasted on me.” My fingers flex against him. “You’re not fucking some delicate flower. You’re fuckingme.”

A siren.

The King of the Night, who rules over sleep and sex,unleashes.

He slams into me again and again, gathering me up in his arms, his gaze drinking me in. It’s the oddest combo of male aggression and devoted adoration.

His pace is punishing, and his strokes are deep, and I can’t keep eye contact because, Jesus, my body is pure sensation, and I need to stop looking at him or I’m going to get an award for the world’s fastest climax.

Des moves one of my legs over his shoulder, deepening his angle. I grip the blankets I lay on uselessly, my breasts bobbing from the force of each thrust.

He touches my dim skin. “This is a first.”

We’re knee deep in each other, and my siren hasn’t stirred, my magic still replenishing. It’s a strange sensation, not having the siren share this experience with me. I feel naked in a whole new way.

The Bargainer takes one of my bandaged hands, threading his fingers through mine. His lips skim over my forehead, then my nose, then my lips, chin, throat. There they pause—hepauses, his entire body drawn tight.

He kisses a trail across my neck, right where I’m sure bruises in the shape of his father’s hand have appeared.

“My beautiful nightmare,” Des whispers against my skin. “My beautiful, beautiful nightmare.”

With that, the Bargainer thrusts into me again. I hiss out a breath as his pace picks up, his sweat-slicked chest gliding over mine again and again. I’m being lit up from the inside out. It feels like there’s no place he hasn’t touched. We’re wrapped up in each other, our bodies entwined, our hearts magically bound up.

Des grips my hand tightly, as though he’s afraid to let me go. “Look at me, Callie,” he commands.

“Going to come if I do that.”

He dips in close to kiss my cheek, all the while rocking in and out of me. “Last I heard, that’s kind of the point. Now, look at me.”

I turn my gaze to his. Never has he looked so breathtaking, never has he looked so fae—like the moon come to life. His silver eyes glitter, his white hair dangling loose between us.

And it’s that, not each aggressive stroke, that sets me off. I’m right there on the edge in an instant … and then I break.

Des sees the moment I climax, flashing me a wolfish smile. My gaze begins to drift as my orgasm lashes through me. I’m shattering to bits.

“Don’t look away,” Des orders.

I drag my gaze back to him. How to tell him it’s all too much?

Des leans in, stealing a kiss from my lips as his strokes become more frantic. I catch his groan on my tongue as he gives into his own need, his hips pumping furiously as he comes.

Take—claim—keep.

I hear the phantom words one final time, and then it’s over.

“It was anambush.”

Des strokes my sweaty skin, holding me close. I’m sore in all the right places—and in a couple wrong ones too. My throat, for instance, is starting to hurt like a bitch.

“Somehow, Galleghar knew where we were, and he intercepted us before we had a chance to locate him.”

Around us, the myriad of lamps burn away, casting the Night King’s chambers in low, flickering light. A pleasant breeze drifts through the pane-less windows. As far as nights go, this one’s absolutely perfect—recent fight notwithstanding.