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The Bargainer pauses. Then his stomach begins to shake. A second later I realize he’slaughing.

He tilts my head so that I’m gazing up at him. “Cherub, shit, you’re too adorable.” Carefully he wipes my tears away with his thumb.

Adorable. Another compliment I tuck away. Later, when I’m alone, I’ll pull it back out and savor it.

Des’s gaze falls to my mouth, and his look goes from affectionate to hungry. He hesitates, and I think he’s going to kiss me, but then his eyes move to the computer and he exits out of the movie.

“Are you still good for round two?” he asks.

To be honest, laying here on my human pillow, Iamgetting sleepy, despite the fact that said human pillow has kept my anatomy awake for quite some time.

“I’m still good,” I lie.

As if I’m going to opt out of this. I’d like to see someone try to pry me away from this man’s sculpted body.

I swear the Bargainer’s eyes miss nothing as he stares at me. Giving his head a shake, he starts upHarry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2,and I resettle against his chest.

My mind drifts as I began to watch the eighthHarry Pottermovie.

Aside from some intense kisses and some minor groping, the Bargainer hasn’t pushed things any further with me. And now, much to my chagrin, I actually kind of want him to. Especially, if I’m being honest with myself, after what he told me tonight about how it felt leaving me.

Like my soul was ripped in two.

He admitted his feelings. Gave them freely to me. I’m still reeling from that. For any fairy, that’s a big deal. Secrets are like currency. The more you have, the more powerful you are.

For a fae king to give up his secrets?

I can only imagine.

I snuggle deeper into his chest, some strange, light emotion taking ahold of me.

I could get used to this.

Chapter 18

April, seven years ago

The Bargainer andI step out of a taxi.

“Is it weird for you—taking a car rather than flying?” I ask.

We’re on another gig of his. Someone whose debts he needs to collect.

“Not as weird as bringing you along,” he says, paying off our driver.

Tonight, the two of us are still on the Isle of Man, though I’ve never been to this particular part of it. I think we’re on the north end of the island. The houses in this particular area are built close together, many of them with peeling paint and mossy roof tiles.

“Are you ever going to show me your wings?” I ask, watching him as he walks away from the taxi, tucking his wallet into the back pocket of his pants. I force my eyes not to linger on him, or on the way his clothes cling to his muscular body.

Oh, to be that faded shirt.

“Trust me, you don’t want to see my wings,” he says, walking past me, up the paved road.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I ask as I follow him, pulling out a pistachio flavored macaroon from the bag I carry. We made a pit stop at Douglas Café right before this.

“Something you should know about fae,” he says over his shoulder, “the only time our wings come out is when we want to fight or fuck.”

Considering how often and in depth my textbooks’ descriptions of fairy wings were, those bitches must be losing their shit all the time.