A second later, the arm around my upper stomach disappeared and so did the hand. Without hesitation, I spun around and looked up into a pair of startling emerald colored eyes.
Chapter Four
It was him. Green Eyes. Ren. That was his name. Now I remembered. I started to step forward, but he beat me to it. Moving as quickly as a damn snake striking, he caught my wrists. He didn't yank my arms to my sides. All he did was hold my fists away from his face.
A lopsided grin appeared on those full lips. "Can't say I'm entirely surprised you took a swing at me."
"Then I guess this won't surprise you either." Leaning back, I shifted my weight onto my left leg, but again, Ren outmaneuvered me with a quickness that was sort of embarrassing.
He stepped into what would've been a fantastic kick and forced me back against the wall. Then there was nowhere to go, no space whatsoever. My back was against the building, and the entire length of his hard body was pressed against mine.
Son of a bitch.
As if he could read my mind, that grin spread and the dimples played peekaboo. "Now I think we can have a conversation without me ending up bloody."
I blew out an aggravated breath. "I wouldn't bet on that not happening."
He chuckled, and the sound rumbled through me. I couldn't even remember being this close to a guy since . . . since Shaun. "Look, I'm sorry for snatching you off the street like a kidnapper, but you were about to make yet another huge mistake."
His apology was lost on me. "Make another mistake?"
"Yeah, like the one last night that ended with you getting shot." He dipped his chin, and the yellow glow of the light attached to the wall above us glanced off his broad cheekbones. "I know what you were about to do."
"I didn't make a mistake last night. I was doing my job," I spat. "And I doubt your job includes grabbing chicks off the street."
"That would be a hell of a lot more entertaining, but the moment you thought you could engage that fae last night, you made a mistake. And you were about to do it again, you little ass."
"Little ass?" I sputtered. "You grabbed me off the street like a serial killer!"
"And I've apologized for that even though you should be thanking me. I just saved your life, sweetness."
Floored, all I could do was stare at him for a moment. "You're insane."
"I'm a lot of things, but today I'm your fucking saving grace."
"Wow. You're so incredibly modest," I said. "Let me bake you some damn cookies."
That grin spread into a smile that I could easily see stopping hearts across the nation. "I like sugar cookies. With extra sugar sprinkled on top."
"Oh, go fu—"
"You were about to get your ass handed to you by an ancient, Ivy. I stopped you," he said, proving that he knew my name wasn't Merida or whoever the hell he called me. "And I know you're one bundle of kick ass hotness, but you're not ready to face off with one of them."
I opened my mouth, but two things struck me into silence. First off, he called me a bundle of kick ass hotness, and that really did sound like a cool compliment. But more importantly, he called that fae an ancient more than once, and that got through the haze of fury.
Staring up at him, I simmered down. "He really is an ancient?"
"Yes."
My heart rate jumped. "How . . . how do you know?"
"I know."
"I don't know you enough to even begin to trust you or what you're saying," I told him. "So a little detail would be nice."
"I didn't ask you to trust me." He tilted his head to the side as his thumb moved on the inside of my right wrist, gliding in a small circle in a way that was distracting. "What I am telling you, is that fae you met last night and were following tonight isn't a normal one. He's an ancient, and he's not the only one here."
"How do you know?" I repeated.
A muscle thrummed along his jaw and a moment passed. "Aren't you supposed to be taking time off? What are you doing out here? Because I cannot believe you came out here to hunt, not more than twenty-four hours after you almost bled out on my boots."
"You didn't answer my question." I paused. "And I didn't almost bleed out on your precious boots."
"You were bleeding pretty bad. How are you feeling?" His thumb was still moving.
"Obviously, I'm not dead," I snapped. "Tell me why you're saying that's an ancient. David said—"
"Let me guess, he said it was highly unlikely that it was an ancient because none have been seen in decades, if not centuries? Of course he said that." His gaze darted to the sidewalk as a scream sounded from off in the distance. "You wouldn't believe me if I did tell you."
Frustration snapped at my heels, but without warning, he let go of my wrists and stepped back. The whole front of my body tingled from the contact or lack thereof. As he stood in front of me, I realized his entire right arm was covered in tattoos. Nothing like what each Order member had inked on their skin. There wasn't enough light to check out the detail, but it looked like a vine curling down his forearm, over the top of his hand, and disappearing between his thumb and pointer.
Ren widened his stance as if he expected me to attack, but I managed to refrain from doing so. "You need to go home, Ivy."
My mouth dropped open. "You need to get your head checked if you think you can tell me what to do."
That slow curve of his lips happened again, forming a rather devastating smile that showed off his dimples. "If you don't go home, I'm going to call David and tell him you were out here hunting."
Now my jaw was on the ground. "You wouldn't."
"Hmm. I wonder how he'd react. He doesn't seem like the kind that seems cool with people disobeying his orders."
David would probably throw a fit. Hell, he might already be in the process of throwing a fit if Trent had called him. And if he got another call from Ren? He'd probably suspend my ass, maybe even fire me, and I . . .
I really didn't have anything if I didn't have the Order.
And I hated Ren for using that against me. "You're a dick."
Some of the humor slipped out of his eyes. "You know, I've been called that a time or two."
"No big surprise." Without saying goodbye, I turned and walked toward the sidewalk. I started to turn back toward Bourbon, but stopped when I remembered the damn beignets I promised Tink.
If I came home without beignets, Tink would probably cut my hair off while I slept. Sighing, I spun in the other direction and headed toward Café Du Monde. At this time of night, the place was going to be packed.
"Where are you going?" Ren asked from behind me.
I cursed under my breath. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm going to get some beignets."
"Right now?" He fell in step beside me. "Are they really that good?"
Sending him a disbelieving stare, I shook my head. "You haven't tried them yet? That's like the first thing everyone does when they come to New Orleans."
"No." He scanned the sidewalk, frowning as he passed a couple that looked like they were about to make a baby on the sidewalk. "I haven't had a lot of time."
I wanted to ask him what he was doing, but then again, I really didn't want to chat with him either. He wasn't going to tell me how he was so sure that fae was an ancient or anything of real value, and I wasn't sure I even believed him.
If David didn't think it was a real threat and Trent obviously thought a brick in my foundation was loose, then why would Ren, a complete stranger, be the only person who believed that the ancients were around?
Ren didn't talk as he followed me to the Café, and I did my best to ignore him, but it was hard to pretend he didn't exist when he was a six foot four prime specimen of a man walking beside me.
He also waited in the long ass line, under the bright ass lights, a quiet presence behind me. At least I was able to see more of the tattoo. What traveled down his arms was a network of intricate vines, shades of deep greens and grays. The ropey design twisted together, reminding me of a Celtic knot.
The vine curved over the top of his hand and between his fingers. I couldn't think of a time I'd seen a tattoo like that before. When I placed two orders and stepped aside, Ren looked at me curiously.
"I'm super hungry," I muttered.
He grinned.
Our orders came around at the same time, and it was weird as we walked out together, as if we really were together. Part of me wanted to see his reaction when he had his first bite of the sugary beignet. The first time was always an experience to treasure.
But we weren't friends. We barely knew each other, and he practically kidnapped me off the street. Curling my fingers around the bag, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other then glanced over at him. "Well, I'll see you around."
He didn't say anything but tilted his head to the side. For a moment, I wondered what it would be like if he and I met under . . . well, under normal circumstances. Like if we shared a class at Loyola. I probably would've been thrilled to get to know him better, to see how far that tattoo traveled, but we weren't normal, and this was just awkward. Sighing, I turned away.
"Ivy?" he called out.
As if compelled, I turned to face him again.
Ren stood mostly in the shadows, just outside the light spilling out of the café and across the sidewalk. "Don't do anything stupid. Go home. Be safe."
Then he was gone, disappearing into the group of people crossing the street.
~
With only a few hours of sleep before my morning class at Loyola, I was Cranky McCranky-Pants, especially since I skipped the pain pill so I didn't risk the chance I'd start drooling on myself any more than normal.
On days like these, when I was recovering from a bullet wound and had little sleep, I wondered the same thing Val did. Why in the world was I going to college? I could be in bed, all cuddled up and shit, dreaming about hot men with abs covered in powdered sugar.
Okay. That just sounded weird.
But I had two classes on Friday—Philosophy and Statistics. The first I didn't mind, and I actually found it interesting. When it came to Statistics, I'd prefer plucking my eyelashes out with a rusty pair of pliers.
I was able to grab a sandwich before Statistics, and forced myself into my seat. As I waited for the professor to find his way, which would be a while because even he seemed to dread attending the class, my thoughts drifted back to last night—to Ren.
One thing that had kept me up almost all night was the fact that I hadn't asked him what he was doing following what he claimed was an ancient—what had to be an ancient. I'd been so wrapped up in the fact that he'd grabbed me and known the fae was an ancient that I hadn't thought to question what the hell he was doing.
The only thing I could figure out was that Ren was hunting the ancient, but what made him—
"You look like crap today."
I turned to the left, watching as Jo Ann Woodward dropped into the seat beside me. "Thanks. I feel even better now."
She laughed softly as she pulled the massive Statistics text out of her bag and tucked thick, almond colored hair behind her ear. "That was mean of me." The text thumped off the desk—the book was so big and thick, I was sure I could turn it into a deadly weapon. "Seriously, are you feeling well?"
I really liked Jo Ann. I met her my first year at Loyola in one of my Intro to Psych classes, and I'd immediately hit it off with the curvy brunette. She was genuinely nice and as sweet as a strawberry dipped in sugar. Like one of those rare people that honestly didn't have a bad word to say about anyone, she was the kind of person I really wanted to be best friends with, and when I hung out with her, I felt . . . normal.
That feeling was rare and priceless.
Although Jo Ann and I had shared many late night study groups and we'd even gone out a few times, she really didn't know what I did or who I was. Keeping the Order a secret put up a huge wall between us that no matter how close we got, would never breach.
And that sucked.
Glancing at my notes I'd taken from Wednesday, I shook my head. "I think I might've had a stomach bug yesterday or something." Such a lie. "I'm feeling better." Kind of not a lie. I wasn't dying from pain, but my stomach was tender.
"Oh no, do you need anything?" she asked as her brown eyes grew to the size of mini spaceships.
For some reason, Jo Ann labored under the belief that I needed mothering. Not in an overbearing way, but it worried her that I lived alone in the city and she knew my immediate family was gone. Unable to tell her the truth of how they died, I'd gone with the trusty and tragic car accident.
"I'm okay. I promise," I told her as I glanced at the clock. Two minutes past the start of class. Maybe we'd get lucky, and the professor would be a no-show.
Jo Ann watched me as she twirled a pen between her fingers. "Are you sure? I can make a mean bowl of chicken noodle soup. Straight out of the can."
I laughed. "Yeah, I'm sure."
She grinned. "You want to grab something to eat before I head into work?"
Jo Ann worked at a halfway home in town, proving she was near sainthood. I almost said yes but remembered I had to head to the Quarter for the weekly meeting. Disappointment surged. "I can't. Maybe this weekend?"
Her lips split into a big smile. "Yeah, just text me. I'm off on Sunday."
Finally, our professor found his way to class, and again it appeared as if he dozed off mid-lecture. I wasn't sure I actually learned anything by the time class wrapped up, and I still hadn't figured out why it was a prerequisite.
I walked out of class with Jo Ann, ignoring the stitch in my side as we tried to navigate the packed hallway. "By the way," she said, nudging my arm with hers, "I like your hair like that."
"Huh?"
"You have it down," she pointed out. "You never wear it down. It looks good like that."
"Oh." Feeling self-conscious, I reached up and my fingers tangled with the curls as we hit the stairwell. "I really didn't do anything with it this morning."
That part was true. I'd showered and let it air dry while I shoved my leftover beignets in my mouth.
She laughed. "Then you should do nothing more often. You . . ." Trailing off, she nearly walked into the railing as we headed down the steps.
"Whoa. You okay?" I asked.
Her naturally tanned checks turned red, and she seemed unable to form a word. A moment later I understood why. Coming up the stairs was Jo Ann's future husband.
Except Christian Tran didn't realize that.
I hid my smile as he rounded the landing and looked up. Black baseball cap twisted on backward, a shock of black hair curled out from under the band. His dark eyes were warm and friendly as they landed on Jo Ann.
"Hey," he said.
Jo Ann beeped. That's what her response sounded like, and that was all she was able to do as Christian continued up the stairs. The two of them worked at the halfway home, but on alternate schedules. She didn't know a lot about him. Hell, she didn't even know if he was single or if he even liked the ladies, but she was madly in love with him.
I grabbed her hand, pulling her down the stairs. "You really need to talk to him."
Her eyes were wide again, panicked. "I can't. You just saw that. It happens every time I try to talk to him. I sound like Beaker."
Tossing my head back, I cackled like a cracked out hyena. "Oh my God, you totally did sound like Beaker."
"I know," she lamented. "He probably thinks I can't talk."
"He knows." I wanted to somehow give her better, more useful advice, but I was so out of it when it came to dating that last night was the closest I'd been to a member of the opposite sex.
The moment I thought of Ren, I was simultaneously angry and . .
Wicked Page 6