Wicked (A Wicked Saga, #1)(80)

"All the gates have been destroyed?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I guess that's not something the Elite knows then?"

"No. Never heard that in my life." He dropped my hand, thrusting his fingers through his now dry hair. "How does she know this?"

"I don't know," I said quietly. "But if it's true, then . . . what if the fae know that?"

He shook his head. "I hate to say this, but I don't know, Ivy. That doesn't make sense. Not at all."

How could I convince him without telling him about Tink? There was no way around it. "Did he tell you where the second gate is?"

Ren nodded. "We're standing right in front of it."

I jerked, looking around. "What?" My gaze fell to the gray, three-story building. Understanding sunk in. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Wasn't this one of the houses that TV show used on their horror show?" Ren asked.

I stared up at the famous haunted house on Royal Street, reputedly the most haunted house in New Orleans. A place that harbored a terrible, brutal history. What Merle had said came back to me. The second gate was located in a place where no humans or spirits could rest.

In other words, a haunted house, but ninety percent of New Orleans was rumored to be haunted. "Is this the…?"

Ren shook his head then placed two fingers under my chin, turning my gaze to the brick building beside the grandiose home. "That's where the gate is."





Chapter Eighteen





Monday night was dead. Not a single fae was roaming the streets of the Quarter or hanging out in the club in the warehouse district. Instead of that being a thing of relief, it brought forth a great sense of foreboding. Monday nights weren't hopping by any means, but not a single fae? Something was very wrong with that.

As our shift drew to a close, we ended up back in the Quarter, on Phillip Street, where Ren had stowed his bike. My head was in a thousand different places—the location of the second gate, the possible traitor, what would happen on Wednesday—when Ren asked, "Come home with me."

Standing on the corner of the street, under the faint flickering glow of the streetlamp, I frowned. "What?"

Ren smiled faintly. "Come home with me tonight, Ivy."

I shifted my feet, taking a step back. The request thrilled me . . . and frightened the holy hell out of me. With everything that happened today, I hadn't had much time to think about what Ren and I were doing, even with the panty-dropping hot kiss he unloaded on me at headquarters or the way he held my hand as we walked to the old brick home on Royal Street.

My heart kicked around in my chest as I stared at his shadowed face. "I'm not sure if that's a good idea."

"It's a great idea. Possibly the best idea I ever had."

Off in the distance, someone howled with laughter. "I don't think—"

"Stop thinking." Ren took my wrist, gently unfolding my arms. "You do that too much."

"I don't think you can possibly think too much," I reasoned as my gaze dipped to where he held my wrist between us. Truth was, I didn't want to go home yet. Since I had no idea what to do with Tink, my apartment above the lovely courtyard was a very lonely place to be.

Ren sighed as he smoothed his thumb along the inside of my wrist. "I'm not going to take you to my place and ravish you, Ivy."

My mind was full of images of him stripping my clothes off, holding me down and doing whatever he wanted to me, and parts of my body got really excited about that prospect.

"Unless you want me to, then I'm all for it," he continued, his tone light. "I'll do whatever you want, just . . . come home with me."

I lifted my gaze to his, and his stare was unflinching, open and honest. The laughter was drawing closer. "If you don't want that from me, why do you want me to come home with you?"

A look of confusion flashed across his face and then he gave me a half grin. "First off, Ivy, I do want that from you. Always. Hell, it's what I've been thinking about since the first time you took a swing at me."

"That's . . . kind of demented."

He ignored that. "But it's not the only thing I want from you. I like hanging out with you. I like spending time with you."

Weirdly, that never really occurred to me, which made me feel kind of stupid, like why wouldn't that have ever crossed my mind? Sometimes I felt like I had the experience of a fifteen year old. To be honest, I liked hanging out with him. These last couple of weeks working with him had made my shifts more enjoyable. Not that I didn't like doing my job, but he made things . . . different.

Looking up at him, I almost said no—almost. "Okay."

The slow grin spread into a full smile that showed off those dimples, and the urge to stretch up and kiss each of them was hard to ignore. The ride home was as uneventful as the evening, but it was strange walking into his apartment at night, as if we were going there to engage in some naughty behavior.

I was nervous as he flipped on the overhead light then headed into the kitchen, grabbing us something to drink. With a beer in one hand and a soda in the other, he swaggered over to the couch, placing both on the coffee table.

As he toed off his boots and socks, he eyed me through his thick lashes. "You know, you can sit on the couch."