A Strange Hymn
Page 61

The shadows in the room shift and thicken. Today is really taking Des’s mood to task.
I don’t know how empty Des’s earlier threat was when he ordered the fairy to heal me earlier, but she’s done her best. It’s not her fault that fae and human magic aren’t terribly compatible.
“Temper,” I murmur.
Des comes over to me. “What was that, cherub?”
“Get Temper. She can help.”
You wouldn’t believe that a sorceress as inclined to evil as Temper is would be good at healing, but she is. Proof that the Fates are ironic bitches.
As it turns out, we don’t have to tell Temper at all; the already broken door to our guest house blows off its hinges before Des has so much as left my side.
“Callie.” Power rides Temper’s voice.
Gingerly, I raise one of my hands and wave it weakly.
She storms inside the room, her eyes wild. “Who do I got to kill?”
Des folds his arms. “You’re going to have to get in line for that.”
She comes to my side, her eyes landing on my back.
She inhales sharply. “Girl, what happened?” Her voice changes from anger to panic. It’s never a good sign when Temper goes soft on you. I must look worse than I think I do for Temper to have that kind of reaction.
Des comes up behind her. “I need you to heal her.” And now he, too, has an edge of panic in his voice.
“No shit,” she says, laying her hands on my wings. She closes her eyes, humming low under her breath.
Almost immediately I feel Temper’s magic at work. Where Des’s magic is sultry darkness and coiling shadows, hers is like heat from a furnace.
When she opens her eyes again, they glow. She continues to hum, the low bars of her voice sounding eerie.
“Bargainer,” she says, “tell me what happened.”
He and I share a look. The last time Temper was pissed off on my behalf, she blew up a portal.
“What do you already know?” Des asks.
“Only what Malaki told me—”
Malaki told Temper about this? That fairy is officially whipped.
“—that Callie was injured and we might be leaving soon.”
“Whoa,” I say, beginning to sit up. “We might be leaving soon?”
Temper pushes me firmly back down. “What else did I miss?” she asks.
Before Des can explain, I cut in. “They wanted to whip a human who’d been raped,” I begin.
I proceed to tell Temper the rest of the story, from the moment Des first exited the throne room to the moment he carried me out of it.
By the time I finish, Temper’s mended my broken wings completely. They itch where the new skin and bone growth has occurred, but, itchiness aside, they might as well be brand new.
“Where is that fucking thundercunt?” she demands, referring to Mara. “I will kill her.”
Her words have Des smiling nefariously, and oh my God, the only thing worse than these two being enemies is them being friends.
A knock on the now door-less doorframe interrupts Temper’s rant.
Outside, a human servant waits, his head bowed. In his hands is a bouquet of wildflowers.
“Yes,” Des says, moving to the doorway.
“I have a gift for the Night King’s mate,” he says, lifting the flowers a little as he speaks.
I push myself off the bed. “Callie,” I say, crossing the room. I take the bouquet from him. “And thank you for the flowers.”
His head hesitantly lifts, and I stare into his cool, green eyes. “Thank you, for what you did,” he says softly. “None of us will forget.”
He doesn’t need to clarify who us is.
He dips his head again, and then he leaves, heading down the steps.
“Wait!” I call out, stepping onto the walkway beyond the suite.
He swivels back to me.
“You don’t have to live like this,” I say. “None of you have to. There are places for all of you on earth.”
He smiles. “We appreciate you and your strange ways. Perhaps one day we will leave. Until then …” He tips his head then resumes walking once more.
I feel my shoulders deflate. Rome wasn’t built in a day and all, but still, it’s a hard pill to swallow, knowing that these humans will continue to live here, where they have precious few rights.
“So,” Temper says when I re-enter my rooms, “I propose we blow some shit up, then leave.”
Des doesn’t look completely opposed.
I feel all my despair and all my pain filling me up, choking the life out of me. Suddenly, I can’t take it.
Lightning heats my veins. Maybe, if you boil away all my suffering, all my petty insecurities, all my frustration and toil, you’ll hit an indestructible core. Something that cannot be broken by greed or lust or violence. Something that isn’t quite magic but is still power nonetheless.
“No,” I say, facing Temper. “I’m not running from this place.”
The beginnings of a smile tug at my mate’s lips when I meet his eyes.
“It’s time the Otherworld understands just how strong a slave can be.”
Chapter 40
That evening, I stare at the beautiful gown waiting for me. It’s a deep plumb color, so dark it’s nearly black. The shoes that go with it are nothing more than leather and ribbons—shoes for dancing in.
I take a deep breath.
Time to don my battle armor and see those fairies again. I can still feel the echo of those lashes against my wings.
Des walks up to the armoire the gown hangs from and closes the doors.
I glance at him in confusion.
“Tonight we’re not attending,” he says.
“But—”
He cups my cheeks and cuts me off with a kiss. His lips move against mine until I’ve forgotten what, exactly, I’m objecting to.
My hands drop to his forearms, sliding over his exposed skin. I can feel goosebumps rise along his flesh at my touch.
To have such an effect on the King of the Night! Sometimes I forget that he’s just as moved by me as I am by him.
His lips break away from mine, dipping just below my ear. “My mate hasn’t been satisfied nearly enough since we arrived here.”
My core heats at his words. What, exactly, does the Bargainer have planned?
Des’s breath ghosts against my skin, right at the juncture where my neck meets my jaw. He presses a kiss there.
“What a poor soulmate I am, to deny her this.”
Des begins to back me up, up, up until my wings brush against the wall, effectively trapping me in.
One of his hands moves from my arms to the low cut top of the wispy fae dress I wear. It elaborately laces up the front, tying together at the scooped collar.
The Bargainer slides a finger along that collar, grabbing the end of one of the ribbons. His eyes meet mine as he pulls on the ribbon, undoing the bow. The blouse loosens, the binding unraveling inch by inch.
Des pushes the material down my torso, exposing my breasts. He presses a kiss to the valley between them.
“Gods, you are exquisite,” he says, his voice hushed.
The same can easily be said about him.
I remove the leather band that holds his shoulder-length hair back and run my hands through it.
He helps me take off his shirt, tossing the piece of clothing to the ground.
I smooth my hands over his large pecs.
“Do something magical,” I whisper.
Des’s lips twitch, like he finds my request both funny and endearing. “Name your price, cherub.”