“Another part of my job as King of the Night is to make sure that chaos exists, and chaos—that is the natural state of things, even here on earth. Again, the universe does my job for me.

“Then there are those other deeds that best happen under the cloak of darkness. Violence, sleep and—” he runs his gaze down one of my arms, and I feel a phantom finger trailing down my skin, “sex.”

My siren stirs.

“Let’s call them baser impulses. And, again, those don’t need much management.”

Am I hearing him correctly?

I set my drink down on the coffee table. “So, you encourage … people to get it on?” I can’t believe we’ve never talked about this. He always acted like a nun around me. I never would’ve guessed this would be part of his job.

One of his eyebrows arches. “Would you like a demonstration?”

The siren in me is waking up. All the things he rules she feeds off of. Violence, chaos, … sex.

She would gladly take a whole armful of beads for such a demonstration.

He sees my silence for what it is—consideration. One moment he’s sprawled on his end of the couch, setting his drink down, the next, he disappears. I jolt when he reappears next to me on the couch.

“You would enjoy yourself, Callie,” he says, leaning in. This close to me, his presence is overwhelming. His lips brush my ear. “I would make sure of that.”

He was never like this with me before. Only now am I learning that he fought his most innate nature to be appropriate with me. Even when I put all the moves on him I could think of.

I clear my throat. “Des.” I’m drowning in years of desire for this man.

“Think about it.” He pulls away. “Nothing would please me more.”

My heart’s thundering, the siren desperately trying to claw her way out the longer I stare at him.

“You were mentioning your reasons for visiting earth?” My voice is hoarse as I force the question out. It’s a last ditch effort to stop whatever’s going on from continuing.

His mood shifts, his eyes shuttering as he returns back to his corner of the couch. “Ah, yes, the official reason. The duties I have running my kingdom still leave me with plenty of time to work on international—interworldly, really—relations. As the Bargainer, that’s what I’m doing. I mingle with supernaturals here, use my magic to grant them petty favors,”—favors like mine—“and I collect repayment with interest. These things make my kingdom richer, safer.”

He picks his beer back up and takes another swallow.

“And what’s the unofficial reason?” I ask.

He stares at me for a long time, his eyes growing distant. “I’ve been pulled here for reasons that have long mystified me.”

The eternal wanderer.

His eyes move over his living room, his gaze still unfocused. Wherever his mind drifted to, it’s not here.

“Do they still?”

His attention snaps back to me. “Still what?”

“Mystify you.”

A muscle in his cheek jumps. “No, cherub, they don’t.”

Chapter 9

December, eight years ago

Des and I stand in a dark corner of campus, where a low-lying stone wall separates the grounds of Peel Academy from the edge of the cliffs that border this area of the Isle of Man. Far below us the ocean churns as it crashes against the rocks. I swear I can hear that water whispering to me, begging me to come closer. It’s not a stretch to believe that the sea birthed sirens. It calls to my dark, inner self the way my voice calls to men.

Well, mortal men, anyway.

I had wondered what kind of supernatural was immune to my glamour. Now I had my answer.

Fairies. Creatures that are not of this world.

I look over at the campus grounds, where students bustle between Peel Castle to my left—which houses the school’s classrooms, dining halls, and libraries—and the dormitories to my right. The place is lit up by lamps, but even so, between the coastal fog and the evening darkness, it’s hard to make people out.

“They can’t see us,” Des says. The Bargainer steps in close, and the heat of his magic brushes against me. “But it wouldn’t matter anyway, would it?” he says.

I take a step away from him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Des moves forward. “Poor Callie. Always on the outside, always looking in.”

I frown, my eyes returning to the groups of students that cross the lawn. Even from here I can hear their laughter and bits of their conversation.

“Tell me, cherub,” he continues, “how does someone like you,” his eyes move pointedly over me, “end up being an outcast?”

Briefly my gaze drops to my ripped jeans and ankle boots, then to my leather jacket and the scarf that rings my neck. Physically, I fit in. It’s everything beneath my skin that sets me apart.

“Why are we even talking about me?” I ask, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

His gaze follows my hand. “Because sometimes you fascinate me.”

My heart skips a beat. I’d all but assumed that the interest went one way.

He’s still staring at me, waiting for his answer.

“It’s not them, it’s me.”

His brows pull together.

I glance back down at my boots and kick at a patch of grass. “It’s hard pretending to be normal after … you know.” After you off someone. I exhale. “I think I have to put myself back together before I make friends. Real friends.”