Page 90

Outside the café, the sky is dark. It might be afternoon in Southern California, but it’s already evening here on the British Isles.

Des leans back in his seat, stirring his coffee idly. Something a lot like nostalgia tightens my throat. Des used to take me here whenever he got bored of sitting around my dorm room.

His gaze follows mine to each detail of the café. “Did you miss this place?” he asks.

“Not as much as the company,” I admit.

He looks almost pained at that.

“Why did you leave, Des?” I whisper. We’re going to have to go over all of this at some point if we’re living under the same roof.

His expression turns grim. “Thatis a conversation for another time.”

I almost groan in frustration. “It’s been so long, what does it matter?”

I’m such a goddamn liar. It still matters. Desmond Flynn is a wound that’s never healed.

“It matters,” is all he says, echoing my thoughts.

Beautiful, frustrating man. He’s eyeing me like a cornered animal would. That’s never a good position to put a supernatural in, especially a fae king.

I know all this, and yet I still can’t let the subject go.

“Tell me,” I insist.

He rubs his eyes, hissing out a breath. “It’s not in my nature to tell you.None of thisis in my fucking nature. I will explain it all when the time’s right.”

All my hopes plummet at that. “Des, it’s beenseven years. How long do I have to wait for the time to be right?”

The atmosphere at our little table darkens. “Do you evenknowthe meaning of waiting?”

I reel back at the bite in his words.

He leans his forearms on the table, a lock of his white hair escaping the leather thong he tied it back in. “Seven years, Callie, and how many of them did you spend single?” He seems to swell with the emotion in his voice.

“What?” I reel back, eyeing him. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything.”

Is Des … jealous?

“Tell me,” he repeats, the shadows deepening in the room, “how many years of those were you single?”

I’m still staring at him, dumbfounded. Of all the millions of ways I could spend my day, I hadn’t imagined this would be one of them.

Des grabs my wrist, taking hold of a bead. “Answer me.”

The words are ripped from my throat. “None of them.”

Ugh. Fuck magic. And fae debt collectors.

“None of them,” the Bargainer repeats, angry but satisfied. He releases my wrist.

I glare. “And I expect you kept your hands to yourself as well?” I’ve heard enough stories about the King of the Night and his revolving door of women. “Youasshole. Youleftme. You broke my heart and you left me. You don’t get to be jealous of what came after that.”

He leans forward, his face menacing. “I didn’tleaveyou, Callie.”

Now I’m pissed. “You fled my room that night after the dance. Tell me how that’s not leaving.”