Des is a romantic.

Ugh.

That’s so not what my heart needed. It’s not like there’s any turning back at this point, but still. It wounds my ego a little to know how easily I can be done in by a few thoughtful gestures.

Close to an hour after the two of us get in the tub, I step out of it, my stomach full of macaroons and coffee as I dry myself off. I watch Des—wings and all—as he saunters out of the room, a towel wrapped low around his waist.

Once he gets to the far side of the bed, his towel drops to the ground, and holy virgins and saints, that backside is everything.

I wrap my own towel the best I can around myself, accidently plucking a few of my feathers in the process, my eyes fixed on the Bargainer. I am absolutely creeping on this man right now and I have zero regrets.

He glances over his shoulder at me, his pale hair slicked back. I should be embarrassed that he caught me blatantly ogling him, but his own expression heats at whatever he sees in mine.

We still haven’t done anything together—naked espresso-drinking and macaroon-eating aside—and the need to rectify that situation is beginning to grow.

I ring out my hair as I pad into his bedroom, the hanging lanterns above us glowing softly.

I’m about to head over to the fancy armoire already stocked with a million fae outfits for me when Des reaches into a dresser drawer near the bed and tosses me a black piece of clothing. I catch it, the material soft beneath my fingertips.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“A concession prize. It’s the next best thing to earth I can give you.”

I furrow my brows.

He nods to the garment in my hand, and reluctantly I tear my gaze from his to shake the faded material open.

A huge grin spreads across my face when I see the giant lips and tongue printed across the faded T-shirt. It’s one of Des’s vintage Rolling Stone’s shirts.

“That’s on loan to you,” he says.

“On loan?” I say, raising my eyebrows.

Des steps into a loose pair of pants. “Just because I love you doesn’t mean I’m going to give you one of my most prized possessions.”

He just made it official: I now fully intend to keep this shirt.

Taking my cue from Des, I let my towel drop to the ground and drag the shirt over my shoulders. My light mood wipes away the moment the hem of the shirt comes in contact with my wings.

I forgot all about them. Now that I have wings, I can’t just pull clothing over my shoulders.

Before I can consider throwing myself a pity party, the T-shirt’s soft material, which was bunched just above my wing joints, now slips down my back as if there were no obstacle in the way, the hem of the shirt falling to mid-thigh.

My head snaps up to Des, who’s smirking a little. “How did you—?”

“Magic, love.”

I reach around my back, feeling for where my wings connect to my back. The edges of the shirt split around my wing bones.

I’m so focused on the logistics of Des’s shirt that I fail to see the way he stares at me. It’s not until he disappears, reappearing at my side, that I take notice.

He fingers the hem of the shirt. “This looks good on you.”

I freeze.

Des is all coiled purpose. His eyes flick to mine. We’re just moths circling a flame.

It’s right then that a yawn slips out.

Worst—timing—ever.

I’m not tired—I mean, I am—it’s been a long day, from waking up early to the hours-long training session, to watching a man get eaten by a living nightmare—but I’m not tired enough to miss out on this.

Des’s eyes drop to my mouth. Whatever passion took him over a moment before, he tucks it away.

I want to cry out when I see him slip on the respectful mask he used to wear back when I was in high school. For all his wicked tendencies, he can be surprisingly chivalrous.

He tugs the edge of my shirt. “We’re not done with this yet,” he says, his voice still rough with promises of sex.

He drags me to bed, and I almost think that the man hasn’t been deterred by my yawn.

Des’s wings disappear so he can roll on his back. A moment later, he pulls me half onto his chest. The way he holds me … the dude has definitely shelved getting frisky for the moment.

I could probably make him reconsider, but damn, there might literally be nothing comfier than being curled up against Des.

“Tell me a secret,” I whisper.

“Another one?” He looks so legitimately put out that I laugh.

I can’t even remember the last secret he told me—was it about his friendship with Malaki?

“Yes, another one,” I say.

He groans and pulls me tighter. “Fine—but only because I like you.”

I smile a little against him.

Can’t believe asking him actually worked.

Des smooths a hand over my feathers. “The only thing I dislike about your wings is that they hide your ass—and I really like your ass.”

The room is silent for all of three seconds, and then I can’t contain my laugh.

“Des, that’s not what I meant when I asked for a secret.”

“And yet you received a secret nonetheless. Consider yourself indulged.” He squeezes my backside for emphasis, and I let out a little shriek, which causes him to chuckle. And that rumbly chuckle leads to kissing … lots and lots of languid, delicious kissing.

When I finally break away, I lay my head against his chest. The room falls to silence, the only sound the thump of Des’s heart beneath my ear. I close my eyes.

I can get used to this.

What a terrifying thought.

“For two centuries you’ve been nothing but a whisper of a possibility,” Des says, breaking the silence. “And then I met you.” He pauses, like an entire story begins and ends with that sentence. Like life was one thing before he met me, and it became something else afterwards.

It’s enough to make me ignore the fact that he’s all but admitted to being over two centuries old.

“You were everything I never knew I wanted. You were chaos. You were desperation. You were the most mysterious secret I’d ever come across. Everything about you drew me in—your innocence, your vulnerability, hell, even your tragic life. You were the most captivating creature I’d ever come across.”

My throat works at his words. There’s a gravity not just to what he’s saying, but that he’s saying it at all. I asked for a secret and he gave me a revelation, something that I can hold close to my heart late at night.

“Seven years apart,” he continues, “and the woman you became was a world away from the girl I met.” He tilts my head so that he can look me in the eye. “That only made me want you more. You were both old and new, familiar and exotic, within reach and forbidden. And I wanted you so badly for so long I was sure it would kill me.

“And when I look at you even now—especially now—I see one simple truth.”

He stops speaking.

I sit up a little. “What was the truth?”

In the darkness, I can see him staring back down at me. “You are magic, love.”