“You do realize almost all fae have wings?”

I know they do. But I never have.

I hold up a forearm. In the dim light, the golden scales that plate my arm from wrist to elbow shimmer like jewelry. On the tips of each of my fingers, my nails glint black. They’re not sharpened at the moment (thanks to meticulously filing them down), but the second my siren gets a little angry, they’ll grow back into curving points.

“How about this?” I ask. “Do most fae have this?”

He clasps my hand in his own. “It doesn’t matter one way or another. You are mine.” Des kisses the palm of my hand, and somehow he manages to make my insecurities feel small and petty.

He doesn’t release my hand, and I stare at the scales.

“Will they ever go away?” I ask.

His grip tightens. “Do you want them to?”

I should know that voice by now. I should hear the warning notes in it, the dangerous lilt to it. But I don’t, too consumed with my own self-pity.

I meet his eyes. “Yes.”

I get that I’m being a poor sport. Rather than making lemonade out of lemons, I’m pretty much cutting open those lemons and squeezing them into my eyes.

My heart begins to speed up as he fingers one of the hundreds of beads that still circle my wrist, each one an IOU for a favor I cashed in long ago.

His eyes flick to mine. “Truth or dare?”

Des’s gaze twinkles as he plays with the bead on my wrist, waiting for my answer.

Truth or dare?

This is the little game he loves to make out of my repayment plan. To me it feels less like the game ten year old girls play at slumber parties and a whole lot more like Russian roulette with a fully loaded weapon.

I stare the Bargainer down, his silver eyes both so foreign and so familiar.

I don’t answer fast enough.

He gives my wrist the lightest of squeezes. “Dare,” he says for me.

The part of me that enjoys sex and violence quakes with excitement, wanting whatever Des offers. The rest of me is starting to think I should be scared shitless. This is the same man who’s known around these parts as the King of Chaos. Just because we’re mates doesn’t mean he’s going to go easy on me. He’s still the same wicked man I met eight years ago.

Des smiles, the sight almost sinister. A moment later, a pile of leathers fall to the floor next to me. I stare down at them dumbly, not understanding what it is he dared me to.

For all I know, I just got royally fucked over.

Actually, I’m almost positive I got fucked over.

“Suit up,” Des says, releasing my wrist. “It’s time to start your training.”

Chapter 2

How hard is it to fight a warrior king without the use of glamour?

Really freaking hard.

The bastard dared me to train with him. And if that sounds vague, that’s because he meant it to be.

I don’t know what I’m doing, why I’m doing it, or how long I’ll be doing it for. All I know is that hours ago Des gave me leathers and a sword, and ever since then, he’s been systematically nicking those training leathers and swiping my sword out of my hand.

Above us, little orbs of light—fairy lights—glitter from the trees arching over the royal courtyard that’s doubling as our training grounds. They hover over the gurgling fountain and dot the hedges that surround us. Beyond them, the stars shine like diamonds, brighter and denser than any I’ve seen on earth.

“Lift your elbow,” Des says for the millionth time, snapping me back to attention. This is just one of his many instructions …

“The strike must start from your shoulder. The arm is merely the follow through.”

“Keep your center of gravity steady. Nothing but a deathblow should make you lose your balance.”

“Fleet-footed, Callie. What you don’t have in girth you must make up for in speed.”

“Your wings are an asset, not a liability. Don’t let them slow you down.”

Des comes at me again, and if I wasn’t already intimidated by his experience, I would be by the predatory glint in his eye. That’s only a good look on him when he’s about to sully me. Otherwise, it’s plain terrifying.

I weakly block one of his strikes then scramble back. The Bargainer follows, a slight grin on his lips—like this is actually enjoyable.

Gah, training sucks balls.

Big ones.

“Why … why are we doing this again?” I gasp out.

“You know why.” He rolls his wrist, swinging his sword around.

Meanwhile, I’m over here, still panting like a dog. “That’s … not an answer.”

“Your one weapon—your glamour—doesn’t work here in the Otherworld,” he says, continuing to advance. “No mate of mine will be defenseless.”

Finally an answer, and damnit, it’s a good answer. I don’t want to be defenseless either. If only training wasn’t so bruising, both for my body and my ego.

“How long … will this … task last?” I ask, panting as I shuffle away from him. It feels like it’s been days since we started.

“You told me you wanted to be someone’s nightmare.” Des says. “I’ll stop training you once you feel you are.”

Teach me again how to be someone’s nightmare. I remember the words I said only days ago. I hadn’t imagined they’d lead to this.

… And then the rest of what he’s saying registers.

“Wait.” I stop backing up. “You mean to tell me this task isn’t over when we stop today?”

Des rushes me, his blade striking mine with the force of an anvil. For the hundredth time, my sword clatters to the ground.

And once again, I get trounced.

The edge of the Bargainer’s blade finds my throat a moment later. The two of us stare at each other from across it.

“No, cherub,” he says. “This is just day one of the task.”

Damn it all to hell.

“I hate training.” The skin of my neck brushes the edge of Des’s sword as I speak.

“If it were fun, more people would do it,” he responds.

I raise my eyebrows. “Celibacy isn’t all that fun either, but perhaps it would do you some good,” I say tartly.

His expression brightens with excitement. Only this crazy fairy would find the threat thrilling. “Is that—?”

Someone behind me clears his throat. “Is now a bad time to introduce myself?”

I jolt at the new voice, and only Des’s quick movements prevent me from slicing my neck on his weapon. He drops his sword and reluctantly tears his eyes from mine.

I swivel around, noticing the outline of a man a few feet away from us, his body cast mostly in shadows.

Next to me, the Bargainer slides his sword into its scabbard. “You’re timing is apt as ever, Malaki.”

The fairy steps out of the shadows.

The first thing I notice is the man’s staggering frame. He and Des are nearly the same height, and like Des, he seems to be made entirely of muscle.

Seriously, what do they feed these guys? I thought fairies were supposed to be lithe.

The second thing I notice is the eyepatch covering his left eye. That’s just not something you see on earth. Peeking out from the edges of the eyepatch is a thin, deep scar that bisects his eyebrow and cuts into his cheek. His skin is a deep olive color, made all the more striking against his deep brown hair.

“I thought I might be interrupting something—at least, until the lady mentioned celibacy.” The man, Malaki, laughs as he approaches, something that causes Des’s mouth to quirk. “How the mighty king is finally being brought to his knees.”