Rhapsodic (The Bargainer, #1)

by Laura Thalassa

I killed one of the wealthiest, most untouchable men alive. It doesn’t matter that it was self-defense. Even in death, men like him get away with the unthinkable all the time.

The truth is that I’m a connoisseur of addictions, and this is one of my favorites.

Connoisseur of addictions is FIRE.

That is the heart of my addiction. Power. I was once crushed under the weight of it, and it almost swallowed me whole. But that was a long time ago. And now I’m the formidable force.

I wonder if any of them were like me—whether their beauty made them victims long before it gave them power. Whether some sailor somewhere abused those women before they had a voice at all. Whether they grew angry and jaded like me and used their power to punish the guilty as payback.

I prey on bad men. This is my vendetta. My addiction.

It’s his eyes that have always captivated me the most. They’re every shade of silver, darkest at their edges where a thick band of charcoal gray rings them and lightest near their centers. The color of shadows and moonbeams.

I’ve never been free of him. When the sun hits my face, it’s his shadow I see on the pavement. When the night closes in on me, it’s his darkness that blankets my room. When I fall asleep, it’s his face that haunts my dreams.

He looks comically out of place with his big, manly muscles and the faded Iron Maiden shirt he wears.

Big, manly muscles...? 😐

“This is not how you solve your problems,” the Bargainer says, shaking the now-empty wine bottle at me.

My brows furrow when I see two Venetian masks hanging along the wall. I used to have an identical pair back at Peel Academy. I feel goose bumps break out along my skin.

A series of panoramic photographs line the entryway and spill into the living room, each one taken from a different corner of the world. The bright bazaars of Morocco, the austere mountains of Tibet, the red tile roofs of Cuzco. I’ve seen them all in person, thanks to the man at my side.

The twinkling fireflies circle me before—horror of horrors—they descend on top of my head. “I have bugs in my hair,” I tell him, my shoulders tense. “You have a crown,” he corrects, smirking and leaning against the stone wall.

“Cherub, have you ever considered the possibility that there are things about me I don’t want you to see?”

“I would be if you weren’t wearing your hair in a girly little ponytail,” I say, reaching for the ends of his white hair.

“Cherub,” he says, his voice serious, “I will always come for you.”

“You have over three hundred favors to repay me. By the time we’re done, you will realize that Eli and all those other men were just a dissatisfying dream. That this, and only this, is real.”

Absently my eyes move to the two Venetian masks hanging on my wall that Des and I picked out in Venice—one with the beaked bill of a plague doctor and the other with the painted face of a harlequin.

Interesting...

“I just want to be around you.” “Why?” he says, his eyes searching mine. Because I can’t control you. Because you know my secrets. Because you make me feel normal. Because in spite of all logic and reason, I think I might be in love with you.

The thing’s filled with all my favorites—samosas, pizza, pasta, pie, fried rice, macaroni salad. Out of curiosity, I open the freezer. Ice cream, mini quiches, ice cream cake—what?—taquitos. I throw the Bargainer a squinty glance. “You so prepared for this.”

😍

We tread water like that for almost a minute, neither of us saying anything. I drift to my back and stare up at the dim stars. His world is above us, and mine is below. There’s something very satisfying about that.

“I missed you. Every day.” It was an ache that lasted seven years. It should’ve dulled, but it never did. He’s quiet for a long time. Finally, he confesses, “I missed you too.”

“You continually disprove the theory that sirens are graceful creatures,” Des says from behind me.

😂

“Why, hello, love,” he says, giving me a smile that he saves for just my siren. These two have a major thing for each other.

But instead of kissing him, I say, “I’m going to make you ache and ache and ache, and I will do nothing to alleviate it. I’m going to make you pay for leaving me.”

Icon.

“Gods, did I miss your siren,” Des says. Typical that a fairy would miss the most sinister, mischievous part of me.

“I’d prefer not to find him chopped up into tiny little bits.” “That’s too good a death for the bastard,” the Bargainer says darkly, tossing his tablet onto the table.

“The clothes were always there waiting for you. Last night, I just wanted to see you in mine.”

Jesus. He looks like an assassin—a bangable one.

All the old stories of fairies come back to me. Monsters that lurk under mountains. The tooth fairy that built herself a palace of children’s teeth. The wild fae that, with one look, can enslave their prey. And then there are the fae that aren’t so humanlike. Things that eat humans whole and wear their innards like jewelry.

He crosses his arms, his leather jacket groaning. “Who do I have to hurt?”

It’s only later that I learn Mr. Whitechapel has disappeared. And that, when he resurfaces a week later and countries away, most of the bones in his body are broken, several teeth and toes are missing, and the Bargainer’s calling card is on his person. No one can get him to talk about what happened to him. But he is apparently quite eager to discuss his gross misconduct with his students.

“Of course I’m back,” he says by way of greeting. “No, I didn’t bring any candy, and yes, she is pretty.” I feel a gentle tug on my hair and hear the sound of high-pitched laughter. When I glance over my shoulder, I see several of the little fairies diving through my hair, playing what appears to be hide-and-seek. One of them has latched onto a lock of it that billows in the breeze, squealing with excitement.

This is very cute 😍

Of course I’m embarrassed. Who wants to tell the guy who ripped her heart out that hey boy hey, I still want your babies.

I look over my shoulder at him like he’s crazy. “It’s not like I want this!” For my mind to suck me back into the worst parts of my past. To feel dirty and tainted and unlovable.

His room. The one he hadn’t been willing to show me before now. My eyes sweep over my surroundings, over the framed photo of Douglas Café and another of Peel Castle.

😳😳😳

“What did you miss the most about me while I was gone?” he asks. I have to breathe several times to collect myself. His question is like cold water dousing a flame. His magic encircles me, forcing the answer out. “Everything. I missed literally everything about you while you were gone.”

I like that he’s taught me how to play poker and that I’ve made him watch the Harry Potter movies…and read the books. I like that I get to travel the world with him every time he decides to take me on one of his bargains, that my room has become a collection of knickknacks of us. I like that he drinks espresso in tiny little cups and that I can share my secrets with him, even if he keeps most of his to himself. He’s the highlight of my evenings. Scratch that—he’s the highlight of my life.

😭

We’re beginning to sound like a broken record. I push him too far, and he flees. The scariest thing of all? The more distance he puts between us, the more desperate I am to close it, and the more I try to close it, the further away I push him.

His gaze follows mine to each detail of the café. “Did you miss this place?” he asks. “Not as much as the company,” I admit.

Des is my moonlight.

Are you bobbing for this guy’s bananas?

💀

Hard to imagine that this man—this thug—commissioned someone to design his dining room like this. It looks like ovaries exploded all over it. Sleek, sophisticated ovaries, but ovaries nonetheless.

Uhhh...What? 😐

“How did you feel, leaving me?” I ask. He holds my gaze. “Like my soul was ripped in two.” I still. Is he serious? I feel like my world’s being overturned. “And the seven years that followed?” I breathe. He stares at me, unwavering. “A nightmare.”

And now we’re afraid of each other. That’s what the two of us are. Afraid of hoping when all hope’s ever done is break us. Afraid of getting exactly what we want.

“We never got to finish the series together, so…I thought we might watch the last two movies.” This is what he always wanted to do with me? My throat constricts. I hadn’t realized he’d enjoyed our movie nights as much as I had.

“Are you…crying?” he asks. Cat’s out of the bag. I sniffle. “Dobby was such a good friend.”

She's so real for this...😭

“I don’t make the rules, cherub. I just bend them.”

“You want to know a real secret?” he rasps. I nod against him. “I want to wake up to you every single morning.”

He presses his lips close to my ear. “Do you want to know a truth of mine?” “Always,” I say, turning my head to better face him. He takes my hand and presses it against his chest. Beneath my palm, I feel his heartbeat racing. My eyes move from his chest to his face. “It does that whenever I’m around you,” he says.

Oh my godddd 😭

“That also happens to be why the Night Kingdom is considered the most romantic of realms. Not only do lovers meet under the cloak of darkness, darkness is the most eternal of all things. To declare your love until the end of night is the most sacred and undying of vows.” More quietly, he adds, “It’s the oath I will take when I bind myself to my queen.”