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But perhaps … perhaps it works differently in the Otherworld. Perhaps soulmates aren’t predestined there as they are here. Or perhaps the bond manifests differently.

All questions I need to ask Des when he wakes.

I sit down at a patio table near the edge of the property and sip my coffee.

I glance down at my bracelet. It appears unchanged from yesterday, but as I count the beads, three whole rows are missing. I don’t think Des even knowingly removed them.

His magic did.

I notice, however, that last night didn’t remove the entire bracelet. Clearly, the Bargainer’s magic doesn’t believe that one night of revelations and proclamations of love (and a shit ton of sex) is enough to seal the deal.

It seems Des’s magic is as capricious as my siren is naughty.

I close my eyes and breathe in the briny air, listening to the crash and the sea.

“Callypso Lillis, I’ve been looking for you.”

I freeze at the sound of my full name and the strange, masculine voice at my back.

I turn in my chair and squint, staring at the sun. It dims, and in its place is a man of staggering beauty. His hair looks like spun gold and his eyes are the cerulean blue of the sky.

Some sort of supernatural. Nothing but magic makes a human look like that.

A moment later my brain catches up with me.

Why is a stranger on Des’s property—in his backyard no less? And how does he know my name?

Everything about the situation feelswrong, wrong, wrong, but I’m too shocked at the moment to react.

My siren, however, isn’t.

Luminescent light ripples across my skin as she surfaces.

I stand abruptly. “How did you get back here?” I demand, my voice ethereal.

That’s all I can say. Not,Get the fuck off this property. Not,I’m going to call the cops. Not,DES!

He steps closer. “I told you, I’ve been looking for you.”

He answers my question, but I don’t think the siren compelled him to do so. He doesn’t look like a glamoured man. He’s not clamoring to get closer to me, waiting for my next command.

Which means …

Fairy.

Shit. The only other Otherworld creature I know looking for me is the Thief of Souls.

Is this … him?

He saunters forward. “You are surprisingly difficult to get alone,” he says.

I back up, bumping into the table behind me.

He’s going to grab me.

I act on instinct, grabbing my cup of coffee from the table and throwing it at him. He lifts his hand in the air, and the mug and the liquid arcing out of it freeze in midair.

He extends his hand palm out, and ever so gently the cup floats onto it, the coffee funneling back into the mug.