Page 120

Des.

The Bargainer’s wings are spread threateningly, and his face is unreadable, which means Des the killer has come out to play.

Someone’s losing their shit.

“Oh, so nice of you to join me,” I say, my voice high. I’m about to lose my shit too.

“I never left you,” he says.

I’m not going to think about that comment. This situation is weird enough as it is.

He stares out at the coffins. “If I were any crueler, I would burn this room down, women and all.”

Normally, a statement like that would shock me, but right now, when I can still feel those phantom fingers trailing down my skin, I’m thinking that leaving these women here, in the core of Des’s capitol, is a very bad idea.

Chapter 20

April, seven years ago

My dorm roomhas become a collage of me and Des. A string of prayer flags hang across my ceiling, courtesy of a trip to Tibet. The lantern perched on my shelf is from Morocco. The painted gourd on my desk is from Peru. And the striped blanket at the foot of my bed is from Nairobi.

The man’s taken me around the world, mostly on business trips, but sometimes just for the hell of it. I think he likes seeing my excitement. And out of all these trips, I’ve collected a room full of souvenirs.

Pinned to my walls, between my trinkets, are the Bargainer’s sketches. A couple of them are of me, but once I noticed I was a recurring theme in his art, I asked him if he could draw me pictures of the Otherworld. Originally, my intent had been to minimize portraits of me, but once he began drawing images of his world, I was ensnared by them.

Now my walls are covered with sketches of cities built on giant trees and dance halls nestled beneath mountains, monsters both terrifying and strange, and beings so beautiful they beckoned me closer.

“Callie,” Des says, pulling me back to the present. He’s sprawled across my bed, the edge of his shirt hitched up just enough to give me a glimpse of his abs.

“Hmmm?” I say, twisting my computer chair back and forth.

He hesitates. “If I asked you something right this instant, would you answer me honestly?”

Up until now, our conversation had been lighthearted, humorous, so I think of nothing when I say, “Of course.”

Des pauses, then says, “What really happened that night?”

I freeze, my chair coming to a stop.

He doesn’t need to elaborate just which night he’s speaking of. We both know it’s the night he met me.

The night I killed a man.

I’m shaking my head.

“You need to talk about it,” he says, tucking his hands behind his head.

“Are you suddenly a shrink now?” There’s a lot more venom in my voice than I intended. I can’t go back to that night.

Des reaches for my hand and holds it tightly in his own. The same trick that I’ve used dozens of times on him he now turns on me: touch.

I stare down at our joined hands, and damn but his warm grip makes me feel safe.

“Cherub, I’m not going to judge you.”

I drag my gaze up to his. I’m about to beg him to not push me any further. My demons batter against the walls of their cages. He’s asking me to unleash them him, and I don’t know if I can.

But when I meet his eyes, which stare at me with so much patience and affection, I say something else entirely.