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“Finally,” I breathe, “somegood news. Pack your bags. Tomorrow you’re moving to the Isle of Man.”Where I can keep tabs on you from afar.

She looks like I slapped her upside the head. “What? Wait—tomorrow?”

“Peel Academy has summer sessions starting in a couple weeks,” I say smoothly. I’d already managed to pull some strings to get a cambion, a half-demon half-human child, enrolled. Peel Academy doesn’t particularly like dark creatures gracing their esteemed halls; it always takes a few deals and a lot of arm twisting—both figurative and literal—to register unwanted magicals. This girl will be nothing by comparison.

“You’re going to attend classes starting then, and you’re not going to tell anyone that you killed Hugh fucking Anders.” This job was going to be the bane of my existence. Hugh Anders. Of all the rotten luck.

“Unless,” I add, “you’d prefer that I leave you here with this mess.” Fat chance of that happening. But she doesn’t need to know that.

“No—please stay!”

Her desperation is a punch to the gut. I don’t know what to do with this feeling that’s knotting me up. So foreign.

And I still can’t decide whether she’s a trap or the real thing.

“I’ll deal with the body and the authorities,” I say. “If anyone asks, he had a heart attack.”

My gaze lingers on the girl. I find I’m hesitant to leave her. She’s bloody and shaken, and I want to wipe the fear from her eyes.

I push the thought away. Snapping my fingers, Hugh Ander’s body lifts into the air.

“There’s something you should know,” I say.

“Uh-huh?” Her gaze drifts to the man she killed, and I can see her courage slipping. The last thing I need is for her to break down.

“Eyes on me,” I command.

Her attention returns to me, and I can see her physically pulling herself together.

“There’s a chance my magic will wear off over time,” I say. “I might be powerful, but that pretty little curse all you sirens have hanging over your heads might override even my magic.”

It’s no secret that misfortune follows sirens, which means my power will undoubtedly erode away. And that means more magic and time spent for no return.

This is how it feels to get worked over.

“What happens if that’s the case?” she asks.

I smirk. A siren who doesn’t immediately know how to play a few people—nowthatis new.

“Then you best start utilizing your womanly wiles, cherub,” I say, taking her in. “You’ll be needing them.”

May, 8 years ago

I manifest inan empty lot a mile away from the girl’s house. Now that I’m finally alone, I stop fighting my instinct.

My wings burst into existence behind my back.

I practically choke on my own shock.

That girl … she was—is—could be—my mate.

No. For so many reasons, no.

But her voice, her face, hertouch—and the way my wings reacted, the way my entire body reacted …

No.

But my magic throbs in a way it never has.