Torn
Page 13

“I’ll be careful.” I turned the knob and glanced over at the brownie. “I promise, Tink. I’ll be home in a little bit.”
He opened his mouth, but I stepped outside and closed the door behind me. A second later, something smacked into it, and my brows rose. I doubted it was Tink. Probably something I didn’t want him throwing at the door.
Shaking my head, I went down the staircase and out into the courtyard. The purple and blue periwinkles and bright pink hibiscus flowers were multiplying like rabbits along the stone walkway. Leafy green vines covered the fencing and the wrought-iron cornstalk gate. That stuff was going to take the whole place over, but I kind of liked it wild and out of control.
The weather wasn’t unbearable, probably in the mid-seventies with the sun behind the clouds, but I fished out my sunglasses anyway and slipped them on. Walking down Coliseum Street felt a little weird. With every step I took, I expected the prince to pop out from a courtyard or from behind the heavy moss. It was ridiculous, this ball of nerves weighing in the center of my stomach, but I put one foot in front of the other as I headed toward Perrier.
First things first. Find out where Val’s parents were and somehow, I didn’t quite know how yet . . . Wait. Change of plans. I needed to make a pit stop at Cafe Du Monde on Decatur. I needed a beignet—a fresh beignet. It had been forever since I had one that was still all warm and toasty, and hadn’t been brought home to cool off.
I caught a cab, because there was no way I was waiting around for one of the damn trolleys, and rode over to Royal. I hopped out, making my way toward Decatur as I kept my eyes peeled for fae.
It felt good to be out, to be walking, which was something I never thought I’d say, but being cooped up in the apartment had me yearning to just be out in the fresh air and get my muscles working.
The streets were busy even for a late Sunday afternoon. Tourists were everywhere, snapping pictures of buildings. Drunken stumbling was at a minimum, but I knew in a couple of hours there’d be someone, most likely multiple someones, who would be sitting down on the narrow sidewalks because they simply couldn’t walk any longer.
A wry grin tugged at my lips. Most locals stayed far, far away from Bourbon, staying off the known streets and into the lesser parts of the French Quarter or hanging in the business district. There were times I’d rather take a swim in the muddy Mississippi than walk on Bourbon, but when I was gone for a while, I missed the craziness. Probably because I hadn’t lived here my entire life, and in many ways, I was still a newbie to Nola.
Cafe Du Monde was about five minutes from the heart of the Quarter, but the space under the green and white pinstriped awning was always packed, as it was today.
Sighing, I sidestepped a couple who’d apparently decided holding hands while walking at the speed of a three-legged turtle was an appropriate thing to do. The line up ahead was ridiculous, but I’d come this far, so I was getting a damn beignet—
A cold draft stirred my curls. Goosebumps raced across my skin as I stopped under the covered walkway. My right hand floated to my side as I whipped around, ignoring the startled curse from the boy in a waiter’s white uniform. My heart jumped into my throat.
The prince stood behind me.
Chapter Five
Holy shit.
I took a step back, bumping into someone. The person said something, but I didn’t hear them or care. Part of me couldn’t believe I took an actual step away, like I was afraid, but I was beyond caught off-guard.
The prince of the damn fae stood in front of me, and he looked like he belonged in the Otherworld.
Or in an Anne Rice novel.
His raven-colored hair brushed broad shoulders cloaked in a white linen shirt. Like before, he must’ve forgotten to button it completely. Unlike normal fae, his skin wasn’t silvery, but bronze, and stood out in stark relief against the whiteness of his shirt. He’d ditched the breeches, though. He was rocking some leather pants now and . . . combat boots.
Actually, the prince looked like he belonged in New Orleans.
Snapping out of my surprised stupor, I became aware of the hum of conversation around us and I felt the warm breeze return. The sugary scent of beignets filled my nostrils, and I saw a middle-aged brunette openly gawking at him, and even though I found his very being to be disturbingly unsettling, I could admit that his perfectly symmetrical, angular face was beautiful. It was the kind of beauty that was almost hard to look upon. Like if he was just a picture on the Internet, you wouldn’t believe he was real. But he was, and there wasn’t a flicker of warmth or compassion in his features.
I lifted my right hand, reaching for my iron stake out of instinct, even though I knew it would do no good against the prince.
“You shouldn’t do that.” His voice was deep with what reminded me of an English accent. “I know you want to, but it would be very, very unwise of you, Ivy.”
My hand twitched.
Creepy Prince smiled slightly. “Your friend has been very helpful.”
That got my hackles up. I slid my sunglasses onto my forehead and forced my tone to stay calm and level. “I’m sure she has. Speaking of Val, happen to know where I can find her?”
His lips curled in a semblance of a smile as he stepped closer. The prince was tall, taller than Ren, who was pushing six foot two. My entire back stiffened as I forced myself to hold my ground, even though every instinct demanded that I run and run super fast, because he had almost killed me once before. Correction. He would have definitely killed me if he hadn’t realized what I was and had, I guessed, healed me.