“We need to get back to Somnia. Now.”

The flight back is nothing like the previous one. Des won’t release me, despite the fact that I’m fine—even if my throat is a little sore. He flies at a punishing pace, the wind howling in our ears as we speed across the sky.

“Where’s Galleghar?” I ask.

“Hidden back in whatever shithole he crawled out of.”

I was wrong about Des needing to release his rage. I don’t think pummeling his father helped at all. If anything, he seems more tightly wound.

“So he’s still alive.”

The King of the Night’s nod is barely perceptible.

Damn. Galleghar must be hurting—two broken wings and a couple of gut wounds. Not to mention the punches to the head he sustained.

The Bargainer flies us directly to his chambers, landing silently on his balcony. He sets me on my feet, his wings flaring wide around me, as if to shield me from the world. Des steps into my space, his face impassive. But more than ever, I can sense his tumultuous emotions, from the agitated arc of his wings to his rigid line of his shoulders.

His eyes drop to my lips, and that’s the only warning I get. Reeling me in, he takes my mouth savagely.

His lips are fire, burning against mine.

Take. Claim. Keep.

Maybe he murmurs this, maybe I sense it from our connection, but those three words seem to be the driving force behind his manic energy.

I can feel his wrath and his panic, his frustration and fear all tied up into the slide of his mouth against mine.

I return it with equal intensity. I might be capable of living for centuries, but I can still die like a human can. I felt it there for a moment, when Galleghar was squeezing the life out of me, and again when I was falling. Just because fae call themselves immortal doesn’t mean they are.

I part Des’s lips with my own, tasting his essence as my fingers delve into his soft hair.

Behind me, I hear his balcony doors snick open. He lifts me again, wrapping my legs around his waist.

“I need to be inside you,” he says hoarsely.

I nod against him, my mouth going to his again. Nothing like a brush with death to make you feel amorous. I need to feel alive, and I think Des does too.

The Bargainer steps inside, the doors clicking shut behind him. Not a moment later, my clothes melt off of me, magically removing themselves. Des’s clothes follow suit as he moves us to the bed.

He’s barely laid me on the bed and parted my thighs, when he pulls me to him, thrusting deep inside me.

I gasp as his thick cock stretches me, the sensation a pinch of pain then pleasure, pleasure, pleasure. I revel in the feel of his muscular body pressing down on mine.

“Gods above, cherub.” Des kisses the juncture between my neck and shoulder as he slides out. He pistons in again.

I lean my head back and moan as he fills me, stretches me. He’s need, need, need. I can practically hear him—

Take … Claim … Keep.

The phrase echoes like a memory through my head.

“This—this won’t be gentle,” he warns, his entire body trembling as he dams up his wicked need.

I grasp his hair, my grip tightening as I tilt his head towards mine.

“Your warnings are wasted on me.” My fingers flex against him. “You’re not fucking some delicate flower. You’re fucking me.”

A siren.

The King of the Night, who rules over sleep and sex, unleashes.

He slams into me again and again, gathering me up in his arms, his gaze drinking me in. It’s the oddest combo of male aggression and devoted adoration.

His pace is punishing, and his strokes are deep, and I can’t keep eye contact because, Jesus, my body is pure sensation, and I need to stop looking at him or I’m going to get an award for the world’s fastest climax.

Des moves one of my legs over his shoulder, deepening his angle. I grip the blankets I lay on uselessly, my breasts bobbing from the force of each thrust.

He touches my dim skin. “This is a first.”

We’re knee deep in each other, and my siren hasn’t stirred, my magic still replenishing. It’s a strange sensation, not having the siren share this experience with me. I feel naked in a whole new way.

The Bargainer takes one of my bandaged hands, threading his fingers through mine. His lips skim over my forehead, then my nose, then my lips, chin, throat. There they pause—he pauses, his entire body drawn tight.

He kisses a trail across my neck, right where I’m sure bruises in the shape of his father’s hand have appeared.

“My beautiful nightmare,” Des whispers against my skin. “My beautiful, beautiful nightmare.”

With that, the Bargainer thrusts into me again. I hiss out a breath as his pace picks up, his sweat-slicked chest gliding over mine again and again. I’m being lit up from the inside out. It feels like there’s no place he hasn’t touched. We’re wrapped up in each other, our bodies entwined, our hearts magically bound up.

Des grips my hand tightly, as though he’s afraid to let me go. “Look at me, Callie,” he commands.

“Going to come if I do that.”

He dips in close to kiss my cheek, all the while rocking in and out of me. “Last I heard, that’s kind of the point. Now, look at me.”

I turn my gaze to his. Never has he looked so breathtaking, never has he looked so fae—like the moon come to life. His silver eyes glitter, his white hair dangling loose between us.

And it’s that, not each aggressive stroke, that sets me off. I’m right there on the edge in an instant … and then I break.

Des sees the moment I climax, flashing me a wolfish smile. My gaze begins to drift as my orgasm lashes through me. I’m shattering to bits.

“Don’t look away,” Des orders.

I drag my gaze back to him. How to tell him it’s all too much?

Des leans in, stealing a kiss from my lips as his strokes become more frantic. I catch his groan on my tongue as he gives into his own need, his hips pumping furiously as he comes.

Take—claim—keep.

I hear the phantom words one final time, and then it’s over.

“It was an ambush.”

Des strokes my sweaty skin, holding me close. I’m sore in all the right places—and in a couple wrong ones too. My throat, for instance, is starting to hurt like a bitch.

“Somehow, Galleghar knew where we were, and he intercepted us before we had a chance to locate him.”

Around us, the myriad of lamps burn away, casting the Night King’s chambers in low, flickering light. A pleasant breeze drifts through the pane-less windows. As far as nights go, this one’s absolutely perfect—recent fight notwithstanding.

Des brushes a strand of my hair away from my face. “My father was going after you because we’re mated.”

I prop myself up, my gaze going to Des’s sinful mouth. My thoughts drift for a moment to all the things I want those lips to do to me. Things besides talking.

Already, the attack seems like a dream. It happened so fast, and then it was over. And now … well, here I am wrapped up in silk sheets and a muscle-y fairy.

The Bargainer’s eyes drop to my neck. He reaches for it with his tatted arm, his fingers trailing over the bruises that are surely there.

It’s not over for him.

His hand moves from my neck, sliding over the curve of my hip. “For most mated pairs, the death of one fairy means the death of both. In some cases, like Mara’s, a fairy can outlive the other, but that’s surprisingly rare. Most of the time if you kill one, you kill both.” The Bargainer’s eyes rise to mine. “Galleghar attacked you because he rightfully believes ending you will end me.”