I shift a little on his couch, uneasy by the odd intensity in his eyes.

“That’s not what I said.”

He prowls closer to me, tilting his head like he can divine my secrets from my face. “But you mean to.” He reaches the couch, looking down at me. “Helping me any more than you already have will place you in danger—danger that even my protection might not save you from. We can find other ways for you to repay your debts.”

“This isn’t about repayment,” I say.

His eyes deepen. Almost reluctantly he tears his gaze from mine, rubbing his chin. His shadows have lovingly wrapped themselves around my legs.

“I should say no,” he muses aloud. “There are so many reasons why I should say no.” His eyes slide to mine. “Even knowing the danger, you’re still interested in helping me?” he asks.

I hesitate, then nod, squeezing my thighs. Am I frightened? Of course. But that’s never stopped me in the past from taking on a case.

“Alright, cherub, we’ll figure this out. Together.”

Chapter 17

March, seven years ago

My stepfather is alive.

I stare in horror at him as he picks his bloody body off the ground, his neck wound still gushing.

I knew it. I knew he’d come back. Hugh Anders was too big, too terrible, too powerful to be killed.

I stumble back as his eyes focus on me, and there’s such murderous rage in them. He’d never looked at me like that when he was alive. There was a different sort of sickness to his gazes then.

But now that I killed him, things are a little different.

“No,” I breathe. I’m covered in his blood and still edging away from him. My heel slides in a puddle of it, and I lose my footing.

My elbow hits the ground first, the impact making my teeth click.

The monster is alive. It’s not over. It’s never going to be over. He’s been killing me slowly since I was twelve. He’s simply here to finish the job.

He stalks towards me, blood still pouring from his neck wound.

I scramble backwards as he keeps coming at me.

“You thought you could kill me?” he says, “Me?”

Oh God oh God oh God.

He’s going to lay his hands on me. I’m not going to escape this house, not ever.

There are drumbeats in the background. Or maybe that’s my pulse.

He reaches for me.

The noise swarms around me. Louder, louder, louder. It’s all I hear.

And then it shatters.

“Callie, Callie, Callie,” he says. “Callie, Callie, Callie—”

“Callie, wake up!”

I gasp, my eyes snapping open.

Gazing down at me, the Bargainer looks half mad, his jaw clenched impossibly tight and his brows sitting heavily above his wild eyes. His pale hair hangs loose around his face.

I suck in a heaving breath, wiping away the moisture on my cheeks.

A nightmare. It was nothing more than a nightmare.

Des’s hands grip my upper arms, and now I reach out and squeeze his hard forearms, just to make sure he’s real.

I’m breathing heavily, and now we search each other’s eyes. He’s seeing everything in mine—all the dark little pieces of me that I lock away during the day. Deep in the night, they get stripped away.

I hate it, that he’s seeing how scared I am of my past.

But I’m also seeing things I shouldn’t be seeing in his expression. Like fear, concern. He’s all raw edges right now.

“He’s gone, Callie,” the Bargainer says. “He’s gone and he’s not coming back.”

I don’t bother asking how he knows any of this. I simply nod. It’s the thing he and I don’t talk about.

Then awareness seeps in. Des’s is mostly on my bed, and our hands are all over each other. If he were anyone else, his presence would scare the living shit out of me.

But Des is … Des is my moonlight.

A chilly breeze raises my gooseflesh, and I look past him, towards the window above my desk. Only a few jagged pieces of glass are still lodged in the frame. The rest of the window pane is scattered in shards on my floor.

I blink a few times, then turn back to the Bargainer.

He lifts a hand to the mess, and the shards of glass rise into the air. Piece by piece they fit themselves back together until the pane of glass is whole once more. “I used the window.”

“You flew?” I ask, skeptical and a little curious. I’ve still never seen what his wings look like.

He gives a slight nod.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” he says, and I hear a thread of concern in his voice.

I don’t usually wake up. Not when I’m that far under the pull of my nightmares. I have to let them play out.

“How did you know?” I ask. “About the nightmare, I mean.”

He’s still searching my face, like he’s trying to make certain I’m okay. “It doesn’t matter.” He releases my arms. “Scoot over.”

I do so, and he settles in next to me, his back resting against my headboard. “The guy was a real asshole, wasn’t he?”

I know he means my father.

I work my jaw, then nod.

I swear the shadows in the room deepen, and I remember all over again who’s next to me, hogging all the room on the mattress. For several seconds we’re both quiet as the darkness lays claim to my dorm room.

My pulse is pounding, partly from the aftertaste of my dream, and partly from Des showing up out of nowhere like some kind of dark savior. And now he’s a hairsbreadth away from … something. Anger, madness, retribution—I still can barely read the man.