Wicked

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  Standing on the corner of Canal and Royal, he cocked his head to the side. "True."

  I really had no idea how to part ways from this point, and I felt like I could give a class on awkward. I could see the cab coming and I glanced at Ren. "Well, I guess I'll . . . see you on Monday then?"

  A slight smile appeared. "Sure."

  My eyes narrowed as the cab pulled up to the curb. Opening the back door, I stopped. "Where are you staying?"

  "I'm renting a place over in the warehouse district."

  I was relieved to hear he wasn't sleeping on the streets. Not knowing what else to say, I waved goodbye and climbed into the cab. I gave the driver my address, and not a minute afterward, my cell dinged.

  I pulled it out of my back pocket, noticing that it was from a number I didn't recognize, and all it said was thank you.

  Curious, I typed back who is this?

  The response was immediate. Ren

  Oh. I'd forgotten he'd seen my number in the file and honestly hadn't considered that he saved it even though he said he'd called me. I hadn't even checked to see if he had, so I did just then. There was a missed call Friday night from the same number. I typed back what are you thanking me for?

  No response came by the time I made it to my apartment, but I saved his number, and it was a little weird entering his name when I realized I didn't know what his last name was.

  UPS must've been to my house after I'd left, and I stopped to pick up two boxes. Carrying them inside, I placed them on the chair just inside the door.

  Tink was in the kitchen when I walked in, nibbling on a praline that was the size of a pizza compared to him. "Hey! You're back. And you didn't get shot." Lowering a chunk of candy that he held, he frowned up at me as I dropped my keys on the counter beside him. "You weren't shot again, right?"

  "No."

  He raised the piece of candy as if he was toasting me then shoved it in his mouth. How he stayed in shape was beyond me. Jumping to his bare feet, he placed his hands on his narrow hips. "You know what I've been thinking?"

  "Yeah?" I yawned, reaching up and tugging out the bobby pins.

  "That guy that was in here last night?" He picked up the pin I'd placed on the counter and twirled it like a baton as he marched back and forth. "I think you want to get it on with him."

  "Uh. What?" Moving my fingers through my hair, I eased the knots of curls. "What in the world makes you think that?"

  "You left the house with him even after he obviously broke in. I'm telling you what, you females are freaks. Guys break in and you all swoon like B&E is a desirable trait," he ranted, still twirling the hot pink pin. "Females of my kind? If you did that they'd eat you for dinner. And not in the fun way. They'd start off by eating the man parts." He grabbed his junk as if I needed a visual aid. "And then they'd—"

  "Okay. I get it. First off, I don't think breaking into my apartment is something to swoon about. I don't think most girls do. Secondly, Ren didn't break in, because someone," I pointed at him, "left the French doors unlocked."

  His eyes widened. "I did no such thing."

  I arched a brow.

  "Okay. I might've done that, but he climbed a wall to get in, and that's kind of . . . well, that's actually kind of impressive." He lifted the pin, shaking it at me. "I bet that means he could pick you up and—"

  "Oh my God, Tink, really? He's a member of the Order. He's new to the area. And he's apparently impatient and didn't want to wait for me to return his call. Does that mean we're going to get naked and pretend to make babies? No." An odd sense of disappointment washed over me, and I pushed the sensation away. "So not going to happen. And I'm not talking about sex with you."

  The pin clattered when he dropped it on the counter, and he rose into the air so I was eye level with his bronze chest. "Let's talk about sex."

  "No." Rolling my eyes, I walked away.

  "Sex is good!"

  "Shut up, Tink."

  "Sex is fun!" he continued to shout.

  I shook my head. "The only thing you're having sex with is inanimate objects, so what do you know?"

  He ignored me. "Sex is best when it's one on one!"

  Stopping in the hall, I turned to where he was doing a pelvic thrust. "Isn't that a George Michael song?"

  "Maybe. But he was wrong. I like to think sex is best when it's like three on three or something. Seems more adventurous."

  "Whatever. Goodnight, Tink."

  I closed the door as he broke out in a Salt-n-Pepa song. "You're living in the wrong decade, Tink!" I yelled through the door then giggled when it sounded like he kicked it and went into a fit of curse words.

  After getting ready for bed, it took a while for me to get to the point where I could doze off, and when I finally did sleep, I dreamed I wasn't alone in the bed, that there was a hard male body pressing against the length of mine. Hands were everywhere, touching me softly, caressing me in places that were far too intimate, and in ways that I had little experience with. I heard my name, the voice sounding familiar, and I thought I caught a glimpse of deep brown waves, but I couldn't be sure, and I was too lost in the dream to really pay attention or care. My lips were kissed. My body was kissed in the way I was touched, and I could feel silky hair between my fingers as I grasped his head, holding him to me, guiding his mouth to where I wanted—

  I woke suddenly, thrust out of the dream and into the real world. An empty bed. No hands or mouth doing decadent and delightfully naughty things. No soft hair gliding between my fingers. I was alone as I stared up at the ceiling, seeing the thin slivers of dawn sneaking through the small gap in the curtains, but my body hadn't recognized that. I felt feverish. Sheets were twisted around my waist. My breasts felt heavy and the tips hard, sensitive against the thin cotton of my shirt. Between my thighs, I ached in a way that felt entirely unfair, and dimly I realized I hadn't been this aroused since Shaun.

  Honestly, I didn't think I was ever this turned on by anything we'd done. Not that there had been anything wrong between us, but we were young when we took our childhood friendship and turned it into something more. We fooled around a lot in the first two years, but he . . . Shaun had been a good guy, and he respected Holly and Adrian to the point where I was the one to push the issue. It wasn't until we were eighteen when we had sex, and that was only once. It was good and nice, sweet and awkward in all the ways first times could be when you were with someone who cared so strongly about you. I imagined if we'd been given more time, it would feel like this—like my body was aflame and I'd go crazy if I didn't find release.

  I slipped my right hand under the sheets, hesitating as my fingers brushed the band on my shorts. I hadn't done anything since Shaun, not even this. I hadn't been enticed to do it, and on the rare occasion when I wanted to, it hadn't felt right. Like I was betraying Shaun somehow, and I realized how dumb that was. But grief twisted things. I knew that.

  I bit my lip then let it pop out. Drawing in a shallow breath, I slipped my hand under the band. My stomach fluttered, softly at first, and then deeper. I closed my eyes as I extended my arm.

  My breath quickened then caught as the tips of my fingers glided through the wetness and unerringly found the bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs. A shot of pure electricity lit through my veins as my hips jerked. A soft cry pushed past my lips. I knew what to do. I'd done this before. I'd actually done it with Shaun while we'd existed in the no-sex zone.

  But it had been so long.

  I ran a finger up my center, and my back arched in response. My toes curled. Without warning, an image of Ren appeared in vivid detail, bright green eyes and a full, sinful mouth. I didn't want to think of him and I attempted to wash his image from my thoughts, but it lingered in the background, and my hips were moving against my hand. The fire inside me was flaming and I was burning hotter and hotter. I tried to keep his image at bay, desperate to not think of him as the ache built and the pressure coiled inside me. My hips rocked, and I pushed my head back against the pillow, los
ing control of my thoughts. In my fantasy, my hand wasn't my own. My thighs weren't tightening around my hand—but his. They weren't my fingers. The tension broke; like a cord pulled too tight, it snapped, the release whipping out through me. I barely swallowed the cry as my body and thoughts shattered into blissful little pieces.

  I collapsed back on the bed, my thighs relaxing and my heart rate slowing from its frantic pace. I was staring at the ceiling again, but this time I was wondering why I hadn't done this in three years.

  If I woke up every morning like this I'd probably be a better person.

  Breaths shallow, I closed my eyes and let the peace drift through my muscles as I told myself I hadn't been thinking of Ren on purpose while I did that. It was purely accidental it was him that appeared in my thoughts. After all, it made sense since he was the last dude I'd seen, not counting Tink. Seeing him in my mind while I . . . while I did that didn't mean anything.

  Not a damn thing.

  ~

  I texted Val in the morning, knowing we needed to talk, and I met her at Lafayette Cemetery at noon. The location was her choice. She claimed the peace of the tombs helped her think. She was weird like that, but I loved her enough to make the twenty-minute walk to the oldest of the cities of the dead that existed in New Orleans.

  Most people knew not to venture into the cemeteries once night came, but it was usually fine to roam about during the day, especially since they were typically staffed at that time and there were tours in and out.

  Plus, she wanted to go to the bookstore around the corner, and I was so down for that. I needed to get another Marked Men novel.

  Val was waiting outside, near the archway that led into the cemetery. Today she was wearing a black skirt and a teal green off the shoulder peasant shirt with more ruffles than a wedding gown. Only she could look that good.

  She pushed off the wall, coming forward and wrapping her arms around me. "Chéri, you're here!"

  Pulling back, I laughed at the French term she only broke out once in a while. "You're calling me darling. What do you want?"

  "Nothing." She threaded her arm through mine. "I'm just glad we're finally getting to chat about what the hell is going on." Then in uncharacteristic seriousness she added, "You have me worried, Ivy. Some of the members are talking and . . ."

  "And they're not saying great things?" I surmised as we stepped under the iron archway.

  She patted my arm. "Well, depends on how you look at it."

  I gave her a wry grin. "They're saying I'm crazy, thanks to Trent."

  We passed tombs on either side of the pathway. The walkways formed a cross. I wasn't sure if that was on purpose, but I assumed it was. "Trent said you told Harris the night you were shot that it was . . . an ancient that did it," she explained softly as she guided me to the left, and I knew where she was leading us. "And he said you confirmed it Thursday night."

  Thursday night seemed forever ago. Straightening my sunglasses with my other hand, I gave myself a moment to change my mind. I hadn't planned on telling Val anything until I talked to Merle, but I needed to talk to someone.

  We passed under a large tree with gold and red leaves. The smell of autumn was heavy here. "I did see an ancient, Val."

  She didn't respond immediately. "How can you be sure?"

  I told her what happened with the ancient. "As you can see, that's not something that would happen with a normal fae." I paused as we passed a group crowding a tomb. "I stabbed him. He pulled the stake out like it was nothing. And I told David, but I . . . I don't think he really believes me. I know he doesn't. He thinks I missed or something."

  "God," she said, slipping her arm free from mine.

  My stomach dropped and I stopped walking. "I'm not making this up."

  Her tight curls bounced as she shook her head. "I know you're not, but . . ."

  "But it's hard to believe?" I asked as I stared at her straight back. "I know it is, but he was an ancient, Val. And he's not the only one I've seen. I saw another Friday night in the warehouse district. His name is Marlon St. Cyers, or that's what he's calling himself. He's a freaking huge developer. I'm sure you've heard his name. Fae don't make themselves public like that, but this one—there's no way he cares about someone snapping a picture of him and it resurfacing twenty years from now, proving that he's not doing the whole aging thing."

  A moment passed and Val faced me. She was so vibrant amongst all the decaying, gray tombs, but her skin was paler than normal as she stared back at me. "You really did see them."

  I nodded, drawing in another shallow breath. "I did."

  She walked back to where I stood. "Why do you think they're here?"

  "I don't know if they ever left the city or what, but I think . . . I think it has to do with the gates." I glanced as two people strolled passed us and stopped a few tombs down, snapping pictures. I kept my voice low. "I think they might be planning something with the gates."

  Her eyes widened, and when she spoke her voice was tense. "Ivy."

  "I don't know what, but I'm not . . ." Words left me. Could I tell her about Ren—about the Elite? It wasn't that I didn't trust her, but it seemed wrong to betray his trust.

  Val toyed with the bangles along her wrist. "What?"

  I'd known Val longer than I'd known Ren, and I trusted her. "What I'm about to tell you cannot go any further, okay?"

  "Honey, I'm a vault of secrets." She waved her hands around her midsection. "I could blister your ears with the things I know about some of the members, but I keep them to myself."

  I kind of wondered what she knew. Walking past her, I made my way to where we always ended up when we came to the cemetery. The tomb of the first Order member to be killed by a fae in New Orleans was marked by a praying angel that somehow was still a pearly white and almost luminous. The symbol of the Order, the three interlocking spirals, was carved into the center of the tomb. Reaching out, I ran my fingers over it.

  "Ren knows about the ancients," I said as Val stopped beside me. I looked at her and forged on. "He's a part of the Elite."

  She blinked once and then twice. "What in the fuckity fuck is the Elite?"

  A brief smile crossed my lips. I told her what Ren had explained about the Elite and why he was here. She had a suitable expression of puzzlement on her face, and I was sure that was how I looked when Ren told me everything.

  Val needed a few moments to soak all that in. She passed in front of the tomb of the fallen member. I stared at the once pristine tombs that had faded to a dull gray, my gaze tracking over them, stopping on one with the entire top exposed down to the worn bricks. The place really was beautiful in an eerie and sad way, but my heart pounded unsteadily in my chest as I waited for her to process everything.

  Had I made the right decision?

  Unease blossomed deep in my belly as I shifted from one foot to the next. Maybe I shouldn't have told her about Ren and the Elite.

  Finally, she stopped and planted her hands on her hips. "You believe him?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay," she said, exhaling roughly as she scrunched up her nose. "If you believe him, then I believe him. I'm probably more certifiable when it comes to craziness than you could ever hope to be."

  Relieved, I felt the tension bleed out of me. The tendril of unease was still there, but that was understandable. I had just told a huge secret.

  "So what's the plan?" she asked.

  I blinked. "Oh, I don't really have one. David isn't going to say anything if he knows anything. I was thinking about seeing Merle today. If anyone knows about the gates, it would be her . . . depending on her mood."

  Her features sharpened. "I'll go with you."

  A laugh burst out of me. "The last time you visited Merle and Brighton with me, she called you a harlot."

  "Oh yeah, she did." She grinned. "I'm sure she's forgotten."

  "Ah, no. Every time I talk to her she asks if I'm still hanging out with the 'slut of Satan' and all that jazz. She hasn't forgotten."

/>   "Slut of Satan? Wow. That's an impressive title."

  "It is." I grinned. "Anyway, I think it's best if I do that alone."

  She pursed her lips. "Is Renny boy going with you?"

  I laughed as I stepped away from the tomb. "No. I told him I might know someone but didn't tell him who."

  "Smart girl." She looped her arm through mine again and rested her chin on my shoulder, her curls tickling my cheek. "Thank you for trusting me. I was worried. Well, now I'm really worried, but for different reasons."

  "I feel you." As we started to walk back through the cemetery, I asked her, "What do you think the ancients are up to?"