The next time I surface, I look to the beach. Des watches me from shore, several strands of his white hair whipping about his cheeks. The expression on his face is so familiar; I’ve seen it on mine a thousand times. An outsider’s expression.

I swim to shore, dragging myself out of the ocean. He steps forward, probably thinking I’m ready to go back. Instead, I grab his hand, tugging him back towards the frigid water.

Des stares at me, looking bewitched, as I drag him into the waves. And he doesn’t resist. That’s the oddest part of all.

The ocean has always been the place where sirens kill men.

“Callie, what are you doing?” He finally says when the water rises above his waist.

Isn’t it obvious? “Making you join me.”

We move out far enough that our toes no longer touch the seafloor. Des dips his head underwater and slicks his hair back.

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.

“You know,” I say, “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.”

It’s not until late that evening that, soaked to our bones, we make it back inside. The Bargainer leads me to my room, and when I see the giant four poster bed waiting for me, I belly flop onto it, quickly ruining the sheets with sand and ocean water.

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

I bury my face in the sheets. “I have no clothes.”

“I have a pretty loose no-clothes policy,” he replies.

“Des.” My voice is muffled by the sheets.

He gives a rumbly laugh, then comes over, dropping a large faded Kiss T-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs next to me. “This is the best I got at the moment.”

I stare at the clothing items.

He places a hand on my back, and every single cell is aware of that touch.

He leans in close to my ear. “Shower quickly enough, and I might just tuck you into bed.” He punctuates the thought by nipping my ear.

I give him an annoyed look, but it’s no use; my skin’s glowing like it used to when I was a teenager and my hormones ran wild.

“Only if you take away a bead.”

“Callie, Callie, Callie,” he tsks, “I thought we were beyond paying for each other’s company.”

I grimace, remembering all those days I bought his presence, using him to drive away my loneliness.

“Try to stay out of the bathroom this time,” I say, sliding off the bed and heading over to the bathroom in question.

“Try not to think about me,” he says.

I flip him the bird over my shoulder.

Twenty minutes later, the Bargainer manages to stay out of the bathroom.

I don’t manage to avoid thinking about him.

Toweling off, I slip into the shirt and boxer briefs Des gave me. They smell like him. I hadn’t realized he had a smell, but he does. It’s smoky, like wood fire, and masculine.

When I walk back into the bedroom, the Bargainer has already made himself comfortable on my bed. He catches sight of me, and the shadows in the room deepen. Amidst them, his eyes glint.

There was a time when I would’ve happily given away my firstborn to see him give me that look from my bed.

Now I’m legitimately scared. The Bargainer could ask for anything as repayment.

Anything.

And I’d be bound to give it.

And with that hungry look on his face, I know where his thoughts are. It’s not that I’m against doing more with him. It’s that I’m really not against it, and I should be. I can be intimate with most men and feel nothing. But not with Des.

Not with Des.

“I don’t bite, cherub,” he says, noticing my hesitancy. He pats the space next to him. “I even left you room.”

Warily, I climb onto the bed. I lay on my side, facing him. “I thought you were big on not crossing boundaries, Des.”

He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me in close. “When you were sixteen. Now—” he runs his hand down my arm, “I’m looking to expand my territory with you.”

My breath catches. “Are you saying … ?”

He leans in close, brushing a kiss against my forehead, and steps off the bed. “Goodnight, sleep tight, and don’t let any monsters bite.”

And with that, the Bargainer leaves.

The next morning, I pad into Des’s kitchen, rubbing sleep from my eyes.

“Morning, cherub.”

I shriek like a banshee at the Bargainer’s voice, clutching my heart. My skin glows, making the tail end of my shout harmonize as the siren slips in.

The fae king leans back in one of his kitchen chairs, sipping coffee. His shirt’s gone, and I clearly see his sleeve of tattoos that runs the length of his left arm.

He raises his eyebrows at me like I’m insane.

I finally catch my breath. “You-you scared me.”

“Clearly.” His mouth twitches.

“Don’t laugh.” I pat my hair absently. It feels like it’s defying gravity at the moment.

“It wasn’t funny,” Des says. His eyes move over the shirt and the boxer briefs I wear, and his expression heats.

When he looks at me like that, the siren refuses to go away.