Releasing the Hunter (Harlequin Nocturne)

by Anna, Vivi

  She cocked one eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes, unfortunately.”

  “And you’re getting paid to do this? How much are they paying you to screw me?”

  He dropped his gaze and looked at the floor. “Enough.” He didn’t want to tell her what he was really doing it for. Let her think the worst of him. It would be easier that way.

  “Oh, don’t be so hard on him, my dear. He’s just doing what he’s always done. Survive. It’s really what we all are doing, don’t you think?”

  She glared at Reginald. Ronan could see something glinting from her cupped hand. He was up off the sofa and grabbing her arm before she could cross the room and bury the hidden blade into the sorcerer’s chest.

  She tried to struggle out of his hold, but he used his demon strength to keep her still. “Don’t be foolish. Killing him would only bring the cabal down on your head.”

  “I wasn’t going to kill him. Just hurt him a little.”

  Reginald chuckled. “I can see why you’re smitten, Ronan. She’s charming.” The sorcerer made his way back to the door. “Well, I should be off. Thanks for the visit, Ronan. It’s a pleasure, as always.” He opened the door, and stepped out, then paused. “Oh, and please start answering your phone. I really don’t want to come back here.” He slammed the door shut.

  When he was gone, Ronan let Ivy go. She moved away from him, but didn’t make any move to disarm herself. He imagined that she thought of sliding that knife into him.

  “I’m sorry you had to find out like this,” he said.

  “Were you planning on telling me you’re using me to get to my brother and steal this key from him?”

  He looked at her for a long moment, cautious with his next words. “Not at first.”

  She turned on her heel and headed back to the bedroom, most likely with the intention of getting dressed and getting the hell out of his apartment. He couldn’t let her go, and not just because he needed to find Quinn.

  Ronan chased after her. “But I was planning to before Reggie showed up. Things have changed between us, and I wanted to be truthful. Before you were just a job, but now...”

  She swung around and poked him in the chest with the hilt of her blade. “Now, what? Now, we’re in love?” The sarcasm dripped from her voice like venom from a snake’s fang. “We had sex, Ronan. That’s it. Mindless, thoughtless sex. I had an itch and you scratched it.” She lowered the knife. “So thanks for that.”

  He never thought another human being could hurt him again. But he was wrong. Ivy’s words sliced him to the bone.

  Nodding, he took a step back from her. “Right. Great. You’re welcome. So shall we continue this arrangement, or do you want to bail?”

  Her eyes widened. He suspected she thought he would say something different, respond to her icy demeanor with maybe pleas for forgiveness, but that’s not how he played. He didn’t supplicate anyone.

  “I’m not bailing.”

  “Fine. Then we’ll reconvene in the living room once you get dressed and get your moods under control. Then we’ll work on finding your brother.” With that, he turned and walked out of the bedroom, leaving her gaping at him like a fish.

  * * *

  Appalled, Ivy watched him leave the room. She itched to chase after him and tell him what he could do with that last statement. But she knew if she did she might do something she would regret later. She was feeling sore and hurtful and she wanted to lash out at Ronan.

  He’d hurt her in more ways than one. In ways she didn’t even realize she could feel pain. Quinn had been right. She couldn’t trust any other man in her life. She was way better off alone.

  The sex had been cathartic for her, though. She’d needed to feel something other than the confusion and hurt that pounded in her head and heart. She took Ronan’s presence in the bathroom as an offering to help her ease her pain. Instinctively he had known she wouldn’t have accepted kind words and a gentle hug. She needed physical contact with someone. She’d wanted it from Ronan.

  She couldn’t deny it had been fierce and passionate and explosive. Even now she could feel his flesh in her hands and between her thighs. Her gut clenched at the thought of having sex with him again. It had been a long time since she’d been with a man. And even longer since she’d had any romantic feelings for one.

  She was the love-’em-and-leave-’em type. She didn’t have room in her life for anyone. She couldn’t worry about someone else’s welfare. She had to look after herself, physically, mentally and spiritually. She needed to be fully intact to do the job she did. Having feelings for someone just opened up those avenues. Avenues where pain could sneak through and attack. She had enough creatures attacking her on a daily basis; she didn’t need her own thoughts and feelings doing the same.

  She grabbed her bag, zipped it open and took out a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. As she dressed, she thought about how angry she was at Ronan for lying to her, for keeping his true motives a secret. But truth be told, it really didn’t change anything. Not in the big picture. He wanted to help her find Quinn. That hadn’t changed. He had resources she didn’t have access to. That hadn’t changed. So what was the real issue here?

  And why did it still sting right in the middle of her chest?

  She finished dressing, determined not to show any more emotion. Her dad had been the one to drill it into her head about the weakness of showing emotions. They slowed a person down. Sometimes even stopping them from doing what needed to be done.

  She wouldn’t let that happen. Her goal was to find Quinn, and nothing from this moment forward was going to stop her from doing that. No matter what came her way, she would keep her resolve and do what was required. Even if that meant leaving Ronan behind.

  Chapter 13

  The tempting smells of hot food drifted to Ivy’s nose as she made her way out of the bedroom and back to the living room. Ronan was already seated, eating something that smelled delicious out of a white cardboard box.

  He gestured toward the rest of the smorgasbord spread out on the table. “It’s from this Thai restaurant down the block. Eat it. It’s good.”

  She was hungry enough that she didn’t see the point of arguing. She grabbed a box, some chopsticks, secured a comfy spot on the floor and dug in.

  They ate in silence and she didn’t look at Ronan until she was done her food. She tossed the empty box onto the table, then pinned him with her gaze. He glanced up at her from shoveling noodles into his mouth.

  “I want to know more about this key.”

  He nodded and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve set up an appointment with a contact of mine. She’s a demonologist and knows everything there is to know about King Solomon and his grimoire.”

  “When?”

  “In an hour.”

  She stood and started back toward the bedroom. “It’ll give me time to sharpen my knives.”

  “Ivy...”

  She stopped but didn’t turn around to face him. “We don’t need to talk about it. It doesn’t matter.”

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I lied to you. And I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

  “You didn’t.” Then she kept going into the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. She leaned against the wood and fought back the hot prickles at the corners of her eyes. She wouldn’t let the tears fall. And she’d be damned if she ever let Ronan see her cry, especially because of him.

  She balled her hands tightly, digging her nails into her palms, and took in a few deep breaths. She would put on her mask and show him it didn’t matter, that he didn’t matter. It would be one of the hardest things she’d ever done, but she’d do it, just as she always had.

  Forty-five minutes later, they were back in the truck, racing down the highway toward San Francisco State Univer
sity. Ronan’s contact was a woman named Quianna Lang who was a professor in the humanities department. Supposedly, she was a guru on all world religions, with a slant toward demonology.

  They parked in visitor parking and crossed the campus to the gray humanities building. They went in and up to the fourth floor to Quianna’s office. Ronan knocked on the closed door.

  “Come in,” a youngish female voice sounded from within.

  Ronan opened the door and he and Ivy stepped into the cramped office. The woman behind the desk stood and came around to them. She was a petite woman, with a warm smile but cold, hard eyes. Ivy wondered what she’d seen in her life to give her that fierce gaze.

  “Ronan.” She embraced him with a familiarity that almost grated on Ivy’s spine. She shook off the feeling and met the woman head-on.

  “This is Ivy Strom,” Ronan said. “Ivy, this is Quianna Lang.”

  The little woman held out her hand to Ivy. She shook it and Ivy noticed Quianna had a firm, solid grip even with her dainty-looking hand. “It’s a pleasure, of course, to meet you, Ivy. I’ve heard a lot about you and your family.”

  Ivy just nodded, unsure how she felt about the woman. She gave Ivy an unsettling feeling. Like she’d just walked through a cold spot or someone’s restless spirit.

  “I met your father once.”

  “Really?” Ivy cocked one eyebrow.

  “Yes.” Quianna sat on the edge of her desk, and then turned to regard Ronan. “So why the meeting?”

  “We need to know all you know about Solomon’s grimoire and the key to the chest that supposedly holds it.”

  Quianna’s face paled. “Are you serious?”

  Ronan nodded. “Supposedly Quinn Strom has the key.”

  “And?” She looked from Ronan to Ivy and back to Ronan.

  “And the Crimson Hall Cabal have hired this one—” she gestured to Ronan “—to find it and bring it to them,” Ivy added, loving that the little demonologist just fixed Ronan with a lethal stare worthy of any deadly hunter. She was impressed.

  “You dumb ass.” Quianna slid off the desk and went toe-to-toe with him, although she was a good seven inches shorter. “You can’t give them the key. If they find the chest and open it, you can’t even imagine the power that will be unleashed.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a bit overdramatic?” he asked.

  Quianna swatted Ronan on the side of the head. “Don’t you think you’re the dumbest man on earth?”

  Ivy broke out into laughter. To see the little spitfire cuff a big man like Ronan had tickled her silly. Because the look on his face, one of astonishment, was priceless to see.

  Quianna turned to Ivy. “You seem like an intelligent woman. Can’t you talk some sense into him?”

  Ivy put up her hand in defense. “I don’t own him. He’s his own person. I just want to find my brother. I don’t really give a shit about the rest of it.”

  “Well, you should.” She sat back on the edge of her desk. “Did you ever stop to think why your brother disappeared? Maybe it was to hide the key. To keep it from evil hands, like the Crimson Hall Cabal.”

  “Do you know where he went?” Ivy stepped toward her, suddenly frantic to know something, anything. Any tiny straw would do to grasp.

  Quianna shook her head. “I don’t. And even if I did, I don’t think I’d tell either of you.”

  Ronan sighed. “Qui, just tell us about the key. Let us deal with the morality of finding it.”

  She looked at him, then at Ivy and shook her head. “I don’t think either one of you would know morality even if it hit you in the face.”

  Ivy had to admit she was probably right, but she certainly didn’t like to hear it so simply stated. As if it was obvious just by looking at her. “Look, lady, you don’t know me, so keep your opinions about my character to yourself.”

  Quianna frowned, then shrugged. “Fair enough.” She slid off the desk again and went around to slump into her high-backed leather chair. She spun it around to her bookcase, pulled out a huge black-encased tome and slammed it down on her desk. She flipped through the pages. Then, settling on one, she turned the book around and slid it toward them. “This is what the key looks like.”

  Ivy and Ronan gazed down at the open book. On the left page was a pencil drawing of an elaborately decorated key, not unlike something from the past. A skeleton key. On the opposite page was a drawing of a plain wooden chest.

  Quianna tapped the paper. “This chest supposedly holds the grimoire that King Solomon used to conjure his demons.”

  “Where’s the chest?” Ronan asked.

  “Nobody knows.”

  “So essentially the key is useless unless you know where the chest is,” Ivy stated.

  Quianna met her gaze, and there was something inside her cold gray eyes that sent a shiver down Ivy’s back. “Theoretically, yes.”

  “Thanks for the info, Qui.” Ronan looked at Ivy. “Let’s go.”

  Ivy nodded and followed Ronan to the door. Before they crossed the threshold, Quianna gave them a warning. “You don’t know what you are messing with, Ronan. You think you know what real evil looks like? You have no clue. Those who open the grimoire will be cursed for life.”

  Both Ivy and Ronan looked over their shoulders at the professor. She’d risen from her chair and was staring after them with a look of determination on her thin pale face.

  “Give the key to the cabal and you risk your immortal soul.”

  “Too late,” Ronan said. “I lost it the night I was turned into a demon.” He swung back around and left the office.

  Ivy watched him go, not fully realizing until this very moment how damaged he was from being turned into a cambion. She knew he struggled with it, but had no clue how much he loathed his very existence.

  And now she understood his motives for wanting to find her brother. He was going to trade the key for something that would turn him back into a full-blooded human. She didn’t blame him for it. She’d likely do the exact same thing.

  “He’s going to need your help, Ivy,” Quianna murmured. “At the end.”

  “What? Have you seen the future?”

  “Yes, actually, I have.”

  Ivy frowned. “I’ve never met anyone with that ability before.”

  “Yeah, well, now you have.” Quianna sat back in her chair and cocked one eyebrow at her. “Believe me, if I could turn it off, I would. The future isn’t looking too good. I can’t tell you more than that.”

  Unnerved, Ivy nodded to Quianna, then walked out of the office to follow a man she was just beginning to understand but couldn’t be more confused about.

  Chapter 14

  They didn’t talk as they made their way back to the truck. Ivy claimed the driver’s seat, and as they pulled out of the parking lot she glanced at Ronan. “Your friend is a bit intense.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, but she knows a lot.”

  “She may have a lot of information, but she doesn’t know everything.”

  Ronan turned and looked at Ivy. She gave him a half smile. And right there he knew she’d accepted his apology and that they were back to being on an even keel.

  He returned her smile, then looked out the side window. Quianna had been right about him, though. His morality would be in question if he gave the key to the cabal. He had heard rumors about the grimoire but never thought it was real. Just an old myth to scare people. And he admitted it worked. The thought of that book being in the hands of immoral beings like Reginald Watson frightened him to the core. But it wasn’t the book he was supposed to deliver, it was only the key. A key that was useless without something to unlock.

  This was his one and only chance to be normal again. The cabal had a cure to his cambionism, a cure for the blood poisoning him every second of every day. Exc
hange the key for a cure. He’d do anything for that opportunity. He’d do anything to be human again, including stealing the key from Quinn Strom. They just had to find him first.

  As Ivy pulled out onto the major highway that would lead them back toward his place, her cell phone jingled from her jacket pocket. She retrieved it and flipped it open. “Yeah?” While she listened, she nodded, then glanced at Ronan. It must’ve been the call they were waiting for.

  “Okay, see you in a few.” She flipped the phone closed and slid it back into her pocket. “That was Jake. He has a lead. We’re going to meet him down in the Castro.”

  “The Castro?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Didn’t ask. Don’t care.”

  Ivy parked the truck on Market Street and they got out and walked up to Castro Street and to the historic Castro Theatre. Ronan normally didn’t visit the area, famed for its diverse gay community, but he had been to the theatre once before when they were playing the director’s cut of Blade Runner, one of his favorite movies.

  He loved the look of the theatre—old-school movie going with elegance and extravagance. The chandelier in the main movie hall made him think of the nostalgic era of Hollywood when movie stars were untouchable, classy and cool. Not like today, he thought.

  Ivy bought two tickets to the show at the round ticket booth out front and they went in. She nodded toward the left staircase. “He said he’d meet us on the balcony.”

  As they ascended the stairs, Ronan said, “Seems like a strange place for a meeting.”

  “It’s dark, it’s private and no one would ever think to look for us here. So I think it’s damn near perfect.”

  He chuckled at that. She was right.

  The balcony was empty save for one person near the overhang. As they approached, Ronan could see that Jake was a pretty big dude—bulging muscles under a tight black T-shirt and denim jeans. He looked like an army commando; he even had the buzz cut to go with it.