A Strange Hymn
Page 29

I turn back to Des, my flesh bare. Like me, his clothes have long since peeled away. I run a hand over his bicep, my thumb tracing one of his war cuffs.
We slip through a layer of wispy clouds, the mist prickling my flesh. It’s the clouds that remind me of the first time I flew. Des had pointed out the couples hidden in the darkness, each caught in a lover’s embrace.
I suck in a breath, realizing what Des means to do. What we mean to do.
Of course the King of the Night, the man who rules over sex and sleep, violence and chaos, means to take me up here, where only the stars and the great vastness of the universe are our audience.
“I told you I had many, many demands,” he says, reading my thoughts. His voice is soft as the two of us hover in the heavens, our hair rustling in the gentle breeze.
As he speaks, I can feel his magic settling around us. It’s not pushy or uncomfortable like it sometimes can be. Rather, I feel as though I’m bathing in Des’s essence—shadows and moonbeams.
Slowly, his hands slide down my back. They feel like a sculptor’s touch, molding me into some pleasing form. They slip under the backs of my thighs.
My hands are clasped loosely around Des’s neck, and I play with the soft ends of his hair.
“I thought you wanted me to follow your instructions,” I say, my breath a whisper.
He lifts my body up just a few inches, and then slides me onto him. My lips part as I stare at him, my skin beginning to glow. I look like just another star in the sky as our flesh meets.
“I do,” he says, nuzzling my cheek, “but I find I prefer you a bit untamed too.”
With that, the two of us begin to move, our bodies quickly turning feverish. And we spend the night as just two more lovers hidden amongst the clouds.
Chapter 19
The next day, Des and I are back out in the training yard, me a little bedraggled from my evening, Des looking just as sharp as always.
If I thought that after the closeness of last night, the Bargainer would go easy on me today, then I thought wrong.
I clutch my brand-spanking-new daggers in my hands, feeling every inch the amateur as Des comes at me.
“Block—block,” he barks out as he begins his attack.
My arms come up belatedly, just barely holding him back.
“My flank is open, Callie,” he says.
“How am I—?”
He spins out of my grip, and then I feel the press of his blade against my neck.
“How many times have I killed you today?” he asks, his breath warm against my cheek.
“Twenty-three.” He’s been making me count. Like I don’t already feel supremely shitty about my combat skills.
He clicks his tongue. “You can do better.”
I don’t want to do better. I want to go back inside the palace, find the royal kitchens, pillage them of their pastries, and then take a nice long nap.
But wishes, I’ve decided, are little bastards that always bite you in the ass—at least, if you get them from the Bargainer.
Des swipes out, knocking one of my blades from my grip, the metal clattering against the ground.
Okay, seriously, my suckiness is starting to piss me off.
“Your blade is an extension of your arm,” Des says, beginning to circle me. “You wouldn’t let someone cut off your hand—don’t let someone divest you of your weapon.”
I lunge for my fallen dagger, just barely missing another swipe of my mate’s weapon as I roll out of the way.
“Finally, my siren shows potential.”
“What I would give for you to be quiet,” I mutter. Much as I love his voice, there’s something particularly unpleasant about receiving instruction from someone you’re sleeping with.
“You would give me something?” Des says, looking intrigued. “Cherub, I’m always open to that sort of bargain.”
Beyond Des, Malaki and Temper exit the palace, heading right for our training grounds. Never have I been so happy to see them. Surely this will get me out of training for the day.
The tip of Des’s blade is suddenly poking my breastbone, his silver eyes intense. “Don’t take your eyes off your enemy for a second.”
“Temper and Malaki are here,” I say, nodding to them.
“Good,” he says, not turning from me. “Perhaps you can impress them with your skill.”
“We’re not stopping?” Suddenly, Temper’s presence is feeling a whole lot less welcome. I don’t want everyone and their mother watching my ass get handed to me. I sort of have a reputation to maintain. There are also the tatters of my dignity to consider. I’d like to keep those.
Over Des’s shoulder, I can just make out my friend giving Malaki fuck-me looks.
Des swipes my feet out from under me. I land on my hip, my weapons clattering out of my hands.
“Concentrate,” he growls.
You’d think for a dude who got repeatedly laid last night, he’d be in a slightly better mood.
I scramble for my daggers just as he kicks one out of the way.
Screw this. Seriously.
“Bitch,” Temper calls out, “I know you can give better than that.”
I throw her a nasty look, but it’s a wasted one. She’s already moved on, leaning into Malaki and whispering something to him that makes him laugh. I’m pretty sure it’s at my expense too.
The Bargainer swats my butt with his weapon, making me instantly livid. “If you don’t like the way I talk to you, then show me.”
I grab my remaining dagger and lash out, the tip of my blade cutting through the leather covering Des’s calves.
He pauses, his eyes flicking to the tear in his protective gear. Suddenly, a smile breaks out along his face.
“Well done!” he says, sliding his weapon back into its sheath. “I’ll make a warrior out of you yet.” He reaches for my hand. “Training’s officially over for the day.”
I give his hand a skeptical look before taking it, half thinking this is another trick. But it isn’t. Apparently, I get to finish training early if I make progress. Score.
“Aww, you guys are done already?” Temper asks, sauntering over with Malaki.
As if she even cares about me ending practice. She’s just bummed that her impromptu date with the Lord of Dreams is coming to a swift end.
“Don’t look so sad, Temperance,” Des says. “I have plans for the both of you.”
The both of us?
I flash him a quizzical look, my belly squeezing uncomfortably.
“You two are going to spend the day getting ready for Solstice.”
“Fuck this shit,” Temper says to me.
The two of us are locked away in the royal dressmaker’s shop, a series of fairies taking our measurements and holding swatches of cloth up to our faces. The air is thick with the scent of sandalwood and burning oil.
We’ve already gotten our nails (or, in my case, claws) filed and our hair trimmed.
“I mean, seriously, fuck it.”
The fairy measuring her sniffs.
I only barely manage to contain my smile at Temper’s utter disdain.
“I thought you liked getting primped up?” I say. Lord knows Temper’s always going on about improvements I could be making to my own wardrobe.
“Yeah, I like it when I do it myself. It only takes five minutes, and most importantly, I don’t have to strip down to my lacy bits while some random fairy paws at me.
“Ow!” Temper yelps as said random fairy sticks her with a pin. “Bitch, did you do that on purpose?” She gives the fairy the evil eye.