Dark Harmony by Laura Thalassa
Epilogue
7 years later
Des and I land in our backyard, our wings folding up behind us. Overhead, the stars glitter down, and far below our yard, the Pacific crashes against the beach.
Twining my fingers through Des’s, I start towards the house. My eyes go to the moss-lined shingles and the weathered exterior. The paint is peeling off a little, but I’m hesitant to redo it. When I bought this house a decade ago, it’s imperfections were what I cherished most about it—well, that and the ocean in the backyard.
Our house on Catalina Island can be the pretty one. This is our homey bungalow.
I lead Des to the sliding glass door. With a snick, it opens, revealing our bedroom beyond.
The walls are covered in photographs of faraway cities. The only thing consistent about them is the smiling couple in each—Des’s light features pressed closely to my dark ones.
Scattered among the photographs is the Bargainer’s artwork—most depicting Otherworld cities we’ve been to that my camera conveniently can’t capture. Of course, there are a few embarrassing sketches of me, a couple which are borderline inappropriate.
That’s what I get for still being a sucker that makes deals with the Bargainer.
And the rest of the room is filled with kitschy trinkets—some from this world, some from another. Most are the result of one of Des’s rigged dares—like the enormous sombrero pinned on the wall that he got me to wear for an entire evening. But some, like the Cycladic figurine sitting on our bookshelf, are gifts we’ve given each other.
But all of it is a testament to the incredible life we live.
Ahead of us, the comforter slides back from the bed.
I give Des the side eye. “That’s a bit presumptuous.”
“No, cherub. This is presumptuous.”
The top button on my pants pops open, and my zipper slides down. My shirt begins to tug itself up.
My skin brightens with interest because even after all these years, my siren is still a hussy when it comes to Des.
The King of the Night laughs and scoops me up, tossing me lightly onto the bed. “Phew,” he says. “I’ve still got it.”
He drapes himself over the lower half of my body, his torso conveniently nestled between my legs.
Des smooths his hands down my inner thighs, his gaze caught on mine. I feel the cool brush of his bracelet against my skin. I wear its twin on my own wrist.
Favors we owe each other.
Des still moonlights as a Bargainer, and I join him on his deals probably more than I should, especially considering that I still do part-time work with Temper at West Coast investigations … and I help rule a kingdom.
I feel a brush of magic, and the Metallica shirt Des wears now slips off. My fingers trail over his tattoos. I trace the rosary of black beads twisting up his arms. If I took the time to count them all, I’d find there were 322 of them, the exact number of beads that first bound me to him.
“You owe me a few favors, cherub.” He punctuates that declaration with a kiss to the hollow beneath my throat. His pelvis moves against me, and my core flares to life.
I thread my fingers through his white hair, tilting his head back so our gazes meet. “You owe me a few favors yourself.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Is that right?” I feel the faintest breath of his magic as my shirt melts off of me. “Lucky for you, I think I know just the thing to clear me of my debts …”
The Bargainer begins to move down my torso, his lips skimming my skin. He kisses my belly button, his hands gliding to my hips, before continuing down …
I feel his breath fan across my flesh, and it raises goosebumps along my arms.
Too good to be true.
All that hoping and wishing and yearning. Life is never supposed to give you what you want, and if it does, best to not assume it’s forever.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about the Bargainer, about us, it’s that we’ve paid our dues and then some. And now we get to have this for the rest of our very long lives.
Suddenly Des pauses, his mouth poised in that tantalizing space between my abdomen and my pelvis.
He turns his head to the side, pressing his ear into my soft skin, as though my very flesh was whispering secrets to him.
His grip tightens on my hips. Ever so slowly he lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine.
I can’t read his expression. I can’t read his expression and I really, really want to know what’s running through his mind because the look he’s giving me is not normal.
“What?” I finally say, breaking the weird silence between us.
Des smiles, and it’s so bright, so heart wrenchingly beautiful that it’s physically hard to look at him.
He leans down and kisses my flesh.
“What?” I say again.
“I have a secret.”
