Wicked (A Wicked Saga, #1)(57)

Marlon reached out, curving his hand around the nape of the woman's neck. He said something too low for me to hear as he held her gaze intently. The woman's hand slipped between his thighs. Jesus. I quickly averted my gaze.

"We don't have much more time," I heard Marlon say. "We cannot let him down. Not this time."

Him? My little ears perked way up.

"We know the location," Roman said, his upper lip curling. My chest squeezed. Could they be talking about knowing the location of the gate? "I told you that. The bastard broke, and we will not fail this time."

"And we aren't the only ones who know, either." Marlon's grip on the woman's neck tightened, causing a whimper to escape her lips.

Roman's response was lost in drunken laughter from a nearby couch, but a horrifying notion blossomed in the pit of my stomach. The bastard broke? Trent had been tortured. If what Ren and I suspected was true, that the fae were hunting those who might know the location of the gates, had Trent known and told the fae before they killed him? God, none of this was good, especially if they knew where the gate was.

A human waitress appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying a serving tray full of shot glasses; however, three of the drinks were a strange, vibrant purple color. Was that nightshade? My suspicions were confirmed when she delivered those three drinks, one to the ancient and the other two to the fae. As the waitress doled out the rest to the humans, she glanced up. Her gaze was a clear brown, not muddied or glazed over like the others. She wasn't glamoured, but as she straightened, the blond fae who sat to the left of Marlon snaked an arm around her waist, tugging her back.

Tottering off balance, she dropped her empty tray and landed in his lap. Startled fear flashed across her pretty face as the fae gripped her chin, wrenching her head toward his. She grabbed his arm, her knuckles turning white.

She knew what they were.

Grasping the waitress's face, he moved his mouth over hers. It looked like a kiss—it was a kiss, but a fae's kiss was poisonous. That was how they fed off of mortals, how they hooked them in.

The waitress's hands slipped away from the fae's arm to rest limply at her sides. I stepped forward but stopped myself before I did something stupid. Not intervening was one of the hardest things I ever had to do, and part of me withered, turned black and stale as I stared at her bare arm, saw the veins darken under her pale skin before fading to a faint blue as the waitress was finally let go. She stumbled to her feet, swaying as she reached for her tray. Those brown eyes weren't so clear anymore.

My hands curled into helpless fists, but movement caught my attention. The brunette fae was suddenly prowling around the couch, heading toward me. The look on his angular face was what I imagined a lion looked like when it spotted a gazelle. My heart thumped heavily, but I kept my expression guileless, which meant I probably looked half stupid as he stepped around me, leaning into my back like a total creep.

"Little one," a deep, cultured voice spoke directly in my ear. "You look a bit lost."

Wrapping a curl around my finger, I forced what I hoped was a na?ve, harmless smile. "I was looking for the restroom. Do you know where it is?" I added a giggle for extra effect.

The dark haired fae was stunning, the contrast of the silver skin and hair appealing. He stepped closer, his hip brushing mine, and I forced myself not to move, to not even react when he wrapped his cool fingers around my wrist, pulling my hand away from my hair. "This is not the restroom."

No shit, Sherlock. "I see that now."

He tilted his head to the side, the movement snakelike. "What is your name?" When I didn't answer within a reasonable timeframe, which appeared to be a second, he curled his other hand around my jaw, roughly forcing my chin up. Pain shot down my neck. His gaze locked on to mine, those blue eyes unnaturally bright. "What is your name?"

"Anna," I lied, maintaining eye contact.

He dropped my wrist, but his arm circled my waist. He didn't blink, not once, and I knew he was attempting to glamour me. I forced my body to relax, for my arms to hang limply at my sides when what I really wanted to do was gouge out his eyes and force them down his throat. He drew himself up against my body, his shrewd gaze locked on to mine.

"Anna? That's a silly little name." He lowered his head, his breath icy on my cheek. There was a good chance I might hurl in his face. "Perfect for a silly little human."

My heart stuttered to a stop as his cold breath moved closer to my mouth. No incantations or four leaf clovers prevented a fae from feeding. If he got any closer, he would, and I had a feeling that was where he was heading with this. My mind raced. I couldn't let this happen. He could feed, and like the waitress, I would stumble away in a daze that would last for minutes, maybe hours, and if I was lucky, I would come out of it okay. Or he could feed and take everything. No way could I allow that to happen, but if I did anything, he'd know I hadn't fallen under the glamour and he'd know what I was.

Shit.

I let my right hand drift to my thigh. There was no way I was going to let this thing feed on me. If I had to fight my way out of—

Suddenly, a loud piercing wail went off, blaring over the music. The fae released me and stepped back, wincing as he glanced up at the ceiling. "What the hell?" he snarled, placing his hands over his ears.

I was jostled to the side as one of the humans staggered to their feet, knocking into me. As if the roof had been peeled open and the sun was exposed, the overhead lights clicked on, casting the club in a harsh light.