I froze as my heart skipped a beat.
Something was there, something that was way too big to be Tink, and then it moved, no longer resting against me. Instinct shot to the surface, and I shifted onto my back and sat up.
Déjà vu smacked into me, except this time I wasn't in an alley, but somehow unexpectedly staring into a pair of eyes the color of spring grass.
Son of a bitch.
Chapter Five
Part of my brain couldn't fathom what he was doing in my apartment—in my bedroom, sitting on my bed, giving me a half grin that revealed one deep dimple.
Was I dreaming?
He tilted his head to the side, and several dark, russet colored curls fell across his forehead. "You do this a lot? This stare at me and not speak kind of thing?"
Yeah, not dreaming.
Instinct was still firing within me, and I pulled my legs out from under the bedspread as I rolled back. I was more of a kick ass first and ask questions later girl. Ignoring the pull of the stitches, I planted my feet into Ren's chest.
He was knocked back, but caught himself before he fell. On his feet, he rose to his full height as I slid off the bed, landing in front of him. How did he get in here? Had he found Tink? Oh my God, what if he'd done something to Tink? Concern blossomed.
Not giving him time to recover, I spun on one foot and caught him in the stomach with my other foot. Ren's grunt told me that it hurt, and I snapped forward, aiming my fist for his face—his really nice face. What a shame I was going to have to bloody and bruise it.
He moved like lightning striking, catching my wrist and using my momentum to spin me around. An arm gripped tightly just below my breasts. "Whoa, Ivy, you need to chill."
I so didn't need to chill. I shoved my free arm back, catching him in the stomach again, but this time I could feel exactly how hard that stomach was. His abs didn't even budge. I went to do it again, but he did something that was going to piss me off until I took my last dying breath.
He shoved one leg between mine, hooking his foot around my ankle. One second I was struggling against him and the next I was falling forward.
"Crap," I muttered.
Ren didn't let me freefall. Instead, he controlled my weight and where I was heading. Before I knew it, I was on my stomach and he was above me, his knees on either side of my hips, and his hands wrapped around my wrists, pinning my arms to the mattress. My cheek pressed into the bedspread, and from my not-so vantage point, I could see that the bedroom door was open.
How quickly he incapacitated me yet again was humiliating, and I was too damn angry to be that afraid. "If you don't let me go, you're going to regret it."
"Jesus, is this going to happen every time we meet?"
"If you keep doing shit like this, then yes!"
He shifted so that his breath danced along my cheek. "I'm not trying to hurt you."
"You're practically crushing me." I tried bucking my hips, but he squeezed his knees in, stilling me. "I swear to God, if you don't let me go, I'm—"
"You're really feisty, aren't you?" He chuckled, and that ticked me off even more. "Look, I didn't come here to fight you. I need to talk to you."
"This is a really funny way of talking." I tried to twist my arms, but all I managed to do was make the position even more uncomfortable. "How did you find me?"
"Looked at your file in David's office."
My fingers curled into the bedspread. "He's going to kick your ass."
He chuckled again. "Nah, I don't think so."
God, he was so lucky I couldn't get my hands on him right now. "If you looked at my file, then you would've seen my phone number. You could've tried, I don't know, calling me like a normal person."
"I did call you," he replied, and again his breath stirred the hair along my temple. I hadn't been close to a guy since . . . since Shaun, and go figure, it was a dude breaking into my apartment that was the one. "You didn't answer."
For a moment I couldn't remember where my phone was, but then I remembered it was in the kitchen, next to my laptop. I started to fire back, but Tink suddenly appeared in the open doorway, and what the? He had one of those skillets just large enough to cook an egg in, and he was holding it over his head like a battle-axe. I was kind of surprised that he could carry the pan, but Tink was buff for a little guy. He had a six-pack—a brownie six-pack. His face was contorted in a silent battle cry as he started into the room.
Wide-eyed, I shook my head. As much as I appreciated the effort, his interference would not end well. That small as hell frying pan was not going to do any damage. Thankfully, Tink froze and lowered the pan. A second passed then he zoomed out of the doorway.
"Are you calm yet?" Ren asked.
Calm enough to shove a spike through his startling green eyes. "Okay. So you admit to being creepy and looking at my personal information, but how did you get in here?"
"I don't think taking a tiny peek at your file is that creepy." His hands shifted, and I jerked as his thumbs moved along the insides of my wrists. God, if he started that thumb thing again, I was going to lose it. "But to answer your question, the balcony doors off your living room were unlocked. So, technically, I didn't break in."
Unlocked? Dammit. That had to be Tink. "You didn't break in, but you had to have scaled a wall to get to that balcony,"
"Actually, I scaled the vines."
Damn, that . . . that took talent. I refused to admit I was any bit impressed. And he was doing that thumb thing again, slow tracing circles that created a deep, unsettling feeling that had to do with him being a creeper. "So you looked at my stuff, scaled my wall, let yourself into my house, then came into my bedroom and sat on my bed. And watched me sleep? That's got creep factor written all over it."
"I thought girls liked being watched by some random dude. Here I had it wrong this whole time," he replied.
Tink appeared in the open door again, his wings rapidly moving, and in his hands he held a . . . slingshot? Oh sweet baby Jesus take the wheel. Where did he get a slingshot? Off of Amazon? That didn't matter. The brownie had taken the time to paint his face. One half was red, the other blue. He looked like he wandered off the set of Braveheart. I mouthed the word no at him.
He threw up a hand, and I think I saw a middle finger.
"Are you talking to someone?" Ren's grip loosened as he rocked back and turned to the door. My heart stopped, but Tink zipped away before Ren could see him.
"No," I said.
Ren paused. "Huh."
His knees widened, letting up on my hips, and with the lax grip on my wrists, I took advantage of the distraction. Yanking my arms free, I rolled as Ren cursed. I sat up, wincing as that really pulled at the stitches, sending a bite of pain across my midsection. Gripping Ren's shoulders, I flipped him onto his back and straddled him as I reached under my pillow, grabbing the iron stake I always kept there.
Before he moved, I placed the very pointy end against his throat, right over a very important artery. "Role reversal, bitch."
Ren let his arms fall to the mattress as he stared at me through impossibly thick lashes. "That move was really kind of hot."
I narrowed my eyes.
"You really are Merida."
"Who in the hell is Merida?"
One side of his mouth kicked up again. "The chick from the movie Brave with—"
"The frizzy red hair. Got it. Thanks. I'm seriously going to stab you."
"She didn't have frizzy hair," he argued. "And besides, she was hot."
I stared down at him. "You think a Disney character is hot?"
"Have you seen some of those Disney characters?"
"She was not hot. She's like the least hot of all Disney characters." I hadn't seen the movie, but I remember catching glimpses of it. The chick didn't even have boobs. Why couldn't he say I reminded him of Ariel or something?
Then again, Ariel was kind of stupid, giving up her voice for a dude.
His brows lifted. "She could kick ass, therefore she was h
ot."
My fingers tightened on the stake. Okay. So Merida was a badass, and I guessed that was better than saying I reminded him of Belle, the Stockholm victim, and now I was oddly flattered. "This conversation has taken a weird turn."
"Yeah," he drawled lazily, and then moved his arms. I tensed, but he didn't move to grab me. He lifted his head and pressed the vulnerable section of his neck against the stake, carefully folding his arms behind his head. "It has."
Annoyed at his lack of fear and concern, I scowled at him. "Comfy?"
His grin spread, turning downright wicked. "Very."
"Don't call me Merida anymore." Using my other hand, I pressed down on the center of his chest, then kind of wished I hadn't. Good Lord that was one hard chest. Did he have pecs? He totally had pecs. My gaze darted to his right arm, to the extraordinary tattoo for a brief second before I met his stare.
Ren appeared to consider my order. "Since you asked nicely, I won't do it again, but you can call me whatever you want."
"Are you hitting on me?" Shocked, I shook my head. "Are you for real?"
"My momma probably thinks I'm real."
I ignored that. "While I have a stake at your throat?"
"You're also sitting on me, and sweetness, if you slide about an inch or so down, things are going to get real awkward."
Holy shit.
"Or fun," he added, and his lips did that slow curl again, like he savored the whole process of smiling. "I told you I found that move you made to be fucking hot. But I don't think you're going to be down for that."
That unsettled feeling returned, and I didn't like it, didn't even know what to do with it, so I dismissed it and his comment. Needing to pull this conversation back to what was important, I focused. "Why are you here, Ren?"
"I told you. I needed to talk to you, and I didn't really want to wait." He wet his lower lip, and that action, for a second, snagged my attention. "I probably should've. I can see you didn't like my impromptu visit, but I'm going to be a good boy and just lay here."
Based on the way his green eyes glimmered, I doubted he knew how to be a good boy.
"I know you're pissed at me," he added, and I frowned at him. "Not just over this, but because of tonight."
I curled the fingers of my free hand around the collar of his black shirt. Pissed wasn't an accurate description of how I felt. "I know what I saw Wednesday night."
"I haven't said you didn't."
"You were all chatty Thursday night, but you didn't say anything to David. You made me look like a fool."
"I also didn't make you look like anything," he replied. "However, I do remember clearly telling you that David wouldn't think there was an ancient here."
"You did absolutely nothing to back me up last night."
He tilted his head to the side, completely unfazed by the dagger I had at his throat. "Why would I?"
Whoa. Startled by his blunt honesty, my grip on his shirt loosened. "Wow." That was all I could say. "You are something else."
He blinked those damn lashes, surprised, and finally that cocky smile faded. "You don't understand."
"Of course not. It's okay that almost the entire Order thinks I overreacted or made it up. Worse yet, they probably think I'm losing my mind or something," I said, and no sooner had those words left my mouth when the truth of my expectations smacked me upside the head.
I knew exactly why I expected Ren to have my back earlier tonight. Because Shaun would have. No matter what craziness I'd get myself involved in, he had my back. Thinking that Ren would, because of Shaun, was the height of ridiculousness. I'd known Shaun for almost all my life and Ren only a handful of hours. I just didn't understand why I thought a stranger would be like Shaun, but I did recognize that was a huge flaw inside me.
"Whatever," I finally said. "It's not your responsibility to step in. I lost my cool with Trent and ran my mouth. That's my fault."
"But you said Trent already knew," he challenged. "Don't you find that strange?"
I shook my head. "No. I think Harris has an even bigger mouth than Trent and me combined."
Ren didn't respond to that.
A moment passed. "Wait. How do you know that Trent knew?"
His gaze met and held mine. "You said something about it last night after I stopped you from getting yourself killed."
Had I said something about Trent? Searching through my memories, I couldn't really recall if I had. Wary, I stared down at him. "Why would I trust you?"
"You don't have a reason to trust me, Ivy. But you know what? I never asked you to," he said, repeating the same words he said to me last night.
Then he moved.
Snatching my wrist, he pulled the hand holding the stake away from his throat and flipped me on my back before I could take another breath. He tossed the stake on the bed beside me, and then moved away, stopping in front of my dresser.
I popped up, swiping the stake off the bed. Breathing heavily, I moved so that his back was to the door just in case Tink tried another rescue.
Ren opened his mouth, but his gaze dropped and he snapped his jaw shut. I might have been experiencing an epic dry spell when it came to fun times with guys, but I wasn't blind. Those bright, forest green eyes were checking me out in a slow, appraising way. It was then that I realized I was in my sleep clothes. Both the shorts and the tank top were thin, especially the top. I didn't have to look down to know he was noticing that a certain area of my body thought the room was chilly.
Immediately, I wanted to cross my arms over my chest, but I refused to show him that I was at all bothered by his blatant stare. Warmth crawled across my face. My arms practically shook with the control required to keep them away from my breasts.
"See something you like?" I asked.
"Oh yeah." His voice had deepened in a way that sent a tight shiver over my skin. "I bet your boyfriend is one happy man."
"My boyfriend is dead," I snapped before I could stop myself.
Ren's eyes met mine. For a moment he didn't speak, and I felt my cheeks burn even hotter. "I'm truly sorry to hear that."
I pressed my lips together.
"Was he a part of the Order?" he asked quietly.
For some reason, I found myself nodding.
His lips parted slowly. "Was it recent?"
I shook my head. I didn't even know why I was nonverbally answering his questions. Val was the only person I really talked to about Shaun. My tongue started moving. "It was three years ago."
Something flickered across his face, and before I could figure out what it was, it was gone. "You're twenty-one, right?"
"You really took more than a peek at my file."
He ignored that. "You turn twenty-two in December if I remember correctly."
I lowered the stake a fraction of an inch. "Wow. Okay. How old are you?"
"Twenty-four. My birthday just passed, but I accept late gifts." He flashed a quick grin that didn't reach his eyes. "He was your first love then."
Drawing back like I'd been kicked in the chest, I blinked. What he said wasn't a question but a statement, and I wondered if I had an announcement of such information written across my forehead . . . or my breasts.
A new wave of anger rushed through me. "That's none of your business, and I also doubt that it's relevant to any reason why you're here."
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