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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2017, 2023 by Laura Thalassa

  Cover and internal design © 2023 by Sourcebooks

  Cover design by Amanda Hudson/Faceout Studio

  Cover images by Brais Seara/Shutterstock, arigato/Shutterstock, Studiotan/Shutterstock, Visoot Uthairam/Getty Images

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks. Bloom Books is a trademark of Sourcebooks.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Bloom Books, an imprint of Sourcebooks

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  sourcebooks.com

  Originally self-published in 2017 by Laura Thalassa.

  Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from The Emperor of Evening Stars

  Chapter 1

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  Astrid,

  For you, the universe.

  Mighty Nyx came,

  Mighty Nyx sought

  All that he could

  Of his dark lot.

  In the deep night,

  His kingdom rose.

  Beware, great king,

  Of that which grows.

  Easy to conquer,

  Easy to crown,

  But even the strongest

  Can be cut down.

  Raised in the shadows,

  Reared in the night,

  Your child will come

  And ascend by might.

  And you, the slain,

  Shall wait and see

  What other things

  A soul can be.

  A body to curse,

  A body to blame,

  A body the earth

  Will not yet claim.

  Beware the mortal

  Beneath your sky.

  Crush the human

  Who’ll see you die.

  Twice you’ll rise,

  Twice you’ll fall,

  Lest you can

  Change it all.

  Or perish by day,

  Perish by dawn.

  The world believes

  You’re already gone.

  So darken your heart,

  My shadow king,

  And let us see

  What war will bring.

  —The Prophecy of Galleghar Nyx

  Chapter 1

  Wings.

  I have wings.

  The iridescent black feathers glint under the dim lights of Des’s royal chambers: now black, now green, now blue.

  Wings.

  I stand in front of one of Des’s gilded mirrors, both horrified and transfixed by the sight. Even folded, the tops of my wings loom well above my head, and the tips brush the back of my bare calves.

  Of course, wings aren’t the only difference about me. After a particularly nasty skirmish with Karnon, the mad King of Fauna, I now have scaly forearms and claw-tipped fingers too.

  And those are just the changes you can see. There’s nothing—except maybe the wounded look in my eyes—that I have to show for all those parts of me that were altered in different, more fundamental ways.

  I spent the better part of a decade fighting the idea that I was a victim. I’d done a damn fine job of it too—if I do say so myself—before I came to the Otherworld. And then came Karnon. A small shiver courses through me even now as I remember.

  All those cleverly crafted layers of armor I wore were shucked away by a week of imprisonment, and I’m not quite sure how to deal with it.

  To be honest, I really don’t want to deal with it.

  But, as bad as I have it, the Master of Animals got it worse. Des vaporized the dude so completely that all that’s left of him is a bloodstain on the remains of his throne room.

  Apparently, one does not fuck with the Night King’s mate.

  Mate.

  That’s another thing I’ve acquired recently—a soul mate. I’m bound to Desmond Flynn, the Bargainer: one of the most wanted criminals on earth and one of the most powerful fae here in the Otherworld.

  But even that—matehood—is more complicated than it appears.

  I still have so many questions about our bond, like the fact I never knew I had a soul mate until a few weeks ago. Other supernaturals find out this kind of thing back when they’re teenagers and their magic Awakens.

  So why didn’t I?

  There’s also the fact most soul mates can feel the bond that connects them to their mate like it’s a physical thing.

  I place a hand over my heart.

  I’ve felt no such thing.

 
All I have is Des’s word that we’re soul mates—that and the sweet ache in my bones that calls for him and only him.

  I drop my hand from my chest.

  Behind my reflection, stars glitter just beyond the arched windows of Des’s Otherworld suite. The hanging lanterns dangle unlit, and the sparkling lights captured along the wall sconces have long since dimmed.

  I’m stuck here in the Kingdom of Night.

  I doubt there are all that many supernaturals who would complain about my situation—mated to a king, forced to live in a palace—but the simple, sobering truth is that a girl like me cannot waltz back onto earth with giant wings protruding from her back.

  That sort of thing wouldn’t go over well.

  So I’m stuck here, far from my friends—okay, friend, but, in all fairness, Temper’s got the power and attitude of at least two people—in a place where my ability to glamour, a.k.a. seduce, others with my voice is essentially useless. Fairies, as I’ve learned, cannot be glamoured; my magic is too incompatible with theirs.

  To be clear, that’s not a two-way street. They can still use their powers on me; the bracelet on my wrist is proof enough of that.

  My eyes return to my wings, my strange, unearthly wings.

  “You know, staring at them isn’t going to make them go away.”

  I jolt at the sound of Des’s silky voice.

  He leans against the wall in a shadowy corner of his dark bedroom, his expression irreverent as usual. His white-blond hair frames his face, and even now, even when I’m bashful and exposed and oddly ashamed of my own skin, my fingers ache to thread themselves through that soft hair of his and pull him close.

  He wears nothing but low-slung pants, his muscular torso and sleeve of tattoos on display. My heart quickens at the sight. The two of us stare at each other for a beat. He doesn’t come any closer, though I swear he wants to. I can all but see it in his silver eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” I say quietly.

  “I don’t mind being woken,” he says, his eyes glittering. He doesn’t move from his spot.

  “How long have you been there?” I ask.

  He crosses his arms over his bare torso, cutting off my view of his pecs. “Better question: How long have you been there?”

  So typical for Des to answer a question with a question.

  I turn back to the mirror. “I can’t sleep.”

  I really can’t. It’s not the bed, and it’s definitely not the man who warms it. Every time I try to flip onto my stomach or my back, I inevitably roll over a wing and wake myself up.

  There’s also the little matter of the sun never rising in this place. The Kingdom of Night is perpetually cast in darkness, as it draws the night across the sky. There will never be a time when the sun glances into this room, so I never know when exactly to wake up.

  Des disappears from his spot against the wall. A split second later, he appears at my back.

  His lips brush the shell of my ear. “There are better ways to spend long sleepless evenings,” Des says softly, one of his hands trailing down my arm.

  My siren stirs at his words, my skin taking on the faintest glow.

  His lips graze the side of my neck, and even that lightest of touches has my breath hitching.

  But then I catch sight of my reflection and see the wings. The glow leaves my skin in an instant.

  Des notices the moment my interest wanes, moving away from me like he was never there. And I hate that. I feel the distance between us. But I don’t want him to give me space—I want him to pull me closer, kiss me deeper, make me extinguish this new insecurity I have.

  “These wings…”

  Des comes around to my front. “What about them?” he asks, blocking my view of the mirror.

  I lift my chin. “They’d get in the way.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “In the way of what?”

  As if he’s unaware of exactly what we’re dancing around.

  “Of playing chess,” I say sarcastically. “Of…intimacy.”

  Des stares at me for several seconds then his mouth slowly curls into a smile. It’s a smile full of tricks and mischievous things.

  He steps in close, only a hairbreadth between our faces. “Cherub, I assure you, your wings will not be an issue.” His gaze dips to my lips. “But perhaps your mind would be better eased with a demonstration?”

  At his suggestion, light flares beneath my skin, my siren immediately ready to go. Whatever my insecurities are, she doesn’t share them.

  I look over my shoulder at my wings, and my worries come roaring back. “Aren’t they a major turnoff?”

  The moment the words leave my lips, I wish I could catch them and shove them back down my throat.

  The only thing I hate worse than feeling like a victim is airing my insecurities. Normally I don all my emotional armor to hide them—sometimes so deep, I forget they’re there—but after my ordeal with Karnon, that armor is lying scattered somewhere around my feet, and I haven’t yet had the time or the will to refashion a new set for myself. I’m horribly raw and painfully vulnerable.

  Des raises an eyebrow. At his back, his own wings, which I haven’t noticed until now, expand. The leathery silver skin of them pulls taut as they extend to either side of him, blocking out most of the room.

  “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 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. 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 speeds 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 known around these parts as the King of Chaos. Just because we’re mates doesn’t mean he’ll 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 positi
ve 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 Des gave me leathers and a sword several hours ago, 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 ground. 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 constellations 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 death blow 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 weren’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 he’s actually enjoying this.

  Gah, training sucks balls.

  Big ones.

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

  “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 damn it, it’s a good answer. I don’t want to be defenseless either. If only training weren’t so bruising, both for my body and my ego.