And then, like something from a movie, both men laugh and embrace each other in a bone-crushing hug.

Whaaa?

I stare at them incredulously.

For the life of me, I’ll never understand men, no matter what world they come from.

The roguish fairy pulls away to look my mate over. “How the hell are you, Desmond?”

Desmond. No wonder the whole room went still. These people recognize their king. He must’ve lifted whatever enchantment he placed on himself right before we stepped inside the bar.

Des nods, a sly smile spreading across his face. “Real good, my brother. Real good.”

“Ha! I know that smile,” the redheaded fairy says, clapping him on the back. “Whose fortune have you swindled this time? Or,” his eyes swivel to me, “is it a wife you’ve stolen? It’s been awhile since you last brought a girl here, you scoundrel.”

Oooh, cringy-cringe. I could’ve lived without knowing that.

To me, the redheaded man says, “Beware of this one,” he shakes Des’s shoulder. “He likes to ruin his women before he cuts them loose.”

Ruin his women?

A hot wave of jealousy rises in me.

Des’s expression sobers up. “It’s not like that. At all.” His eyes land heavily on mine, and I think he’s trying to beam me an apology.

I suppose this situation is only fair. After all, Des had to quietly endure seven years of me hooking up with other men while he waited for me to unknowingly repay my final wish back. I can grit my teeth through a little of Des’s own dating history.

The redheaded fairy reassess me. This time, he must notice something he hadn’t before because he says, “She’s not just any girl, is she?”

“No.” Des is still flashing me an intense, heated look.

He stares at the Bargainer for a moment longer, and then his eyebrows rise. “Oh—oh,” he says, “this is the girl you’ve been searching for?”

Des nods.

The fairy turns to me again, and he sweeps me up into a hug that practically chokes the breath out of me. “Welcome to the family then,” he says, his voice rumbly. “My sincerest apologies go out to you for getting stuck with the Bastard for a mate.”

He finally lets me go, looking from me to Des like a proud father.

This is so weird.

“Ah, me,” he says, sucking in a deep breath through his nostrils. “This changes things for the better.” He claps Des on the side of his arm. Then, seeming to remember that the two of us are just standing there in the threshold of the bar, he says, “Well, c’mon, let me get the Bastard and his bride a drink. It’s the least I can do.”

I’m no one’s bride, but I don’t bother correcting Redhead. I’m living with Des, making love to Des, and I’m bonded to Des. A ring and a piece of paper seem like superfluous details at this point.

“Why does he keep calling you ‘Bastard’?” I ask Des when his roguish friend leads us toward one of the grimy tables.

The noise of the tavern escalates once more.

“Because I am one,” Des says.

“I thought you knew your father,” I say. In the book I’d read, hadn’t it stated that the King of the Night was born into the royal harem? Wouldn’t he have known his father if this were the case?

“I found out who he was when I was a teenager,” he says. “Before that,” Des continues, “I was referred to as ‘the Bastard’.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. “I’ve called you that,” I say, mortified. I had never considered the term as an actual label.

Des’s friend stops at a table, and Des and I slide in.

“Cherub,” he says, his voice low, “I assure you, it’s fine.”

I don’t feel fine about it …

The Bargainer’s redheaded friend sits down across from us, thumping the table. “Three meads,” he calls out to the bartender at the back of the room.

When his attention returns to us, his eyes twinkle. “Desmond, my old friend, you’ve not officially introduced me to your mate.”

Des leans an arm on the gummy wooden surface. He looks over at me. “Callie,” he gestures to Redhead, “this no good son of a bitch is Phaedron. Phaedron, this is my mate, Callypso.”

Phaedron takes my hand. “It truly is a pleasure,” he says, his voice turning serious.

Not knowing what else to do, I nod, giving his hand a squeeze. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Phaedron is clearly another one of Des’s old friends, which is baffling to me. I’m still getting used to the fact that someone like the Bargainer has friends. And technically, more of them than me.

That’s somehow really depressing.

A new group of fairies enter the bar. Most are women, though there’s two men amongst them. They walk through the room, their outfits low cut and largely transparent. All of them move from table to table, their hands gliding over the shoulders and arms of many of the patrons.

Phaedron sees me staring. “Prostitutes,” he says.

I give him a look. “I wasn’t born yesterday.”

I swear I have a filter, I just don’t always use it.

Phaedron breaks out into a smile, eyeing me up and down. “And the Bastard found his match.” He leans forward. “Tell me, Desmond, are all human women this feisty on earth?”

Des flashes him a rakish smile. “Only the best ones.”

“Aye!” Phaedron laughs. “And they’re firebrands in bed!”

I raise my eyebrows at that.

The conversation is interrupted by the bartender, who drops off our drinks.

I make a moue of disappointment as I stare at the glass of amber liquid set in front of me.

Still can’t drink.

On the other side of the room, one of the patrons whistles. “My king!” he calls out, leaning back in his seat. “When are you going to come over and greet an old friend?”

A slow, lazy grin snakes across Des’s face. “I was hoping to avoid that fate,” he shouts back.

I watch all of this in wonder. I’m seeing yet another side of Des, one that’s crude and raw and rough around the edges. I don’t say it, but right now he reminds me of all the Politia officers and bounty hunters I worked with as a private investigator. I’m not surprised to find I like this side of him a great deal despite his crassness.

The fairy lets out a cackling laugh. “Aye, you still might. My arse is too ancient to leave this seat.”

“But not too ancient to get you here,” Des notes.

The fairy cackles again, his friends joining in.

I can tell Des wants to go talk to what appears to be yet another friend.

I bump him with my shoulder. “Go.” I nod to his friend.

Des hesitates, and then, making a decision, he stands, grabbing his drink. “I’ll just be a minute,” he promises.

I watch him as he saunters away, kicking out a spare chair next to the fairy and straddling it backwards.

“What have you done to my friend?” Phaedron asks.

I give him a quizzical look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Phaedron shakes his head. “He waited until you gave him permission before he got up to talk. And since you two entered, there have been at least two different opportunities Desmond could’ve—would’ve—bargained something away from you if he wanted to.”