“Hmm,” Des murmurs as he absently swirls his drink, his gaze distant.

I don’t know what he’s thinking, only what I would be—that my parents sound like shitty people. My mother, who was interested in giving me a good life, but didn’t want much to do with it; my father, whose greatest contribution was his sperm; and my stepfather, who starred in all my most vivid nightmares.

“Why don’t you tell me about your parents,” I say, eager to take the spotlight off of me.

Des leans back and squints at me, a slow smile curling his lips. I can’t stop staring at him.

“We share similar tragedies, cherub,” he says, still smiling, though now it seems a bit bitter.

My eyebrows rise at his words. A fae king sharing anything in common with his human charity case?

I find that doubtful.

He pushes himself to his feet. “I’ve got work to do. Keep the Scotch—and for the love of the gods, practice drinking without wincing.” He turns to the door.

I don’t bother trying to convince him to stay, though I want to badly. I already know he won’t. Especially not after our—my—little heart-to-heart. Sometimes I imagine the Bargainer’s mind is a vault. Secrets go in and they don’t come out.

He pauses, then gives me a look over his shoulder, and his expression says it all. I may not have told him about how my stepfather abused me, but he knows.

“For the record, cherub,” he says, “if your stepfather were alive, he wouldn’t be for long.” There’s steel in his eyes.

And then, like magic, he disappears into the night.

Present

I spend over an hour cleaning my place up. There’s stuffing and wolf hair everywhere. Not to mention the claw marks. My coffee table and a side table have to be thrown out. At this point, they’re nothing more than kindling.

Should’ve asked Des to magic the rest of this mess away.

But then, he’d been so broody; I hadn’t wanted to push my luck.

Des. It’s been less than two hours since he left, and I’m already restless to see him again. I miss his house, his macaroons, his fluffy guest sheets.

I miss his smell and his touch. I miss him. It takes being back in my empty house to remember just how lonely I am. I’d forgotten that while I’d been with Des.

I do what I can to straighten my house up, trying really, really hard not to think of the man who seemed like he didn’t want to leave me earlier—not to mention the one who destroyed this place fighting for me.

I should just swear off men. Nothing but heartache comes of them.

Heartache, and trouble. Now, on top of hiding from the supernatural authorities and an Otherworld monster, I have to buy new furniture because my ex broke one of the most important pact laws and visited me when he was on the shifter equivalent of the rag.

Once I clean up the bulk of the mess, I turn my attention to my cracked cell phone, biting the inside of my cheek nervously. I’ve been putting this part off, but I can’t any longer.

Plugging it in, I check my messages. Thirty-one texts and twenty-five missed calls. Some from Eli, a couple from various interested parties, but most from Temper.

I don’t bother checking any of them before I tap on Temper’s number and, taking a deep breath, call her back.

She answers on the first ring. “Where the fuck are you girl?” she says, panicked.

“I’m back at home.”

“Home? Home?” Her voice rises. “Your house was ransacked, there’s a bounty out for your capture, and you’re home?”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“I thought you were dead.” Her voice cracks and I hear her sniffle. “I couldn’t find you.” Temper’s a pro at tracking people with her magic, but I never thought she’d use it to look for me.

“Are you … crying?” I ask.

“Fuck no, I never cry,” she says.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I really am okay,” I say softly.

“What happened to you? You just fell off the map, and Eli’s been blowing up my phone, but he won’t tell me anything.”

I press three fingers to my temple. “Um. It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

I sigh.

She huffs, her voice hiccupping a little. “Don’t you sigh, you skinny bitch—I spent the last twenty-four hours thinking my best friend died.”

“Temper, I’m sorry. I’m alright—I’m sorry and I’m alive.” Obviously. But sometimes with Temper it’s important to reiterate the obvious.

“Girl, what happened?” she repeats. I can tell she’s pacing by the subtle jangle of her jewelry. “I mean, the best possible scenario I could come up with was that you had some angry-as-fuck make up sex with Eli and that ohmygod-he-probably-went-beastie-on-you-that’s-so-goddamn-nasty.” It all comes out in a rush. “And yeah. He shredded shit up—and you in the process.”

I wince at that.

She lets out a breath. “Don’t tell me he turned you. Please don’t tell me that. I remember how much the thought frightened you. And if he has, so-help-me-black-Jesus, I will smite that hairy little shit and make a coat out of his fur. Ya feel me?”

The line goes quiet, and it’s just the sound of Temper’s heavy breathing.

“Holy shit,” I finally say. I clear my throat. “Um, no, we didn’t have angry animal sex; no, Eli didn’t turn me; and good lord woman, please don’t make my ex into a coat. He didn’t hurt me.”