Wicked
Page 56

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.
The fire alarm continued to roar, and as the fae turned away, I made a break for it. Hurrying toward the stairs, I darted down them, gliding between others who moved much slower due to the glamour, the feedings, or too much to drink.
At the bottom of the stairs, Ren waited. Without saying a word, he gripped my hand, and we joined the crowd stampeding the exits. We were tossed back and forth, and I was sure if we hadn't been holding hands, we would've been torn apart. The scent of sweat and liquor was overpowering as we were packed in.
Shouts rose from behind us, and a shiver coursed down my spine as panic became a real, tangible entity in the club. Someone slammed into my back, pitching me forward. My heels slipped, but I caught myself before I fell. Shooting a look in Ren's direction, I saw his jaw set hard and his gaze fastened ahead. Finally, after what felt like forever, we poured out into the street, into the night air. We didn't wait with those who wandered the sidewalk in front of the club or had stopped, forming small huddles. Sirens blared in the distance. Quickly turning to our left, we made our way to the parking garage.
I waited until we had crossed the street before I spoke. "You pulled the fire alarm, didn't you?"
"How else was I going to get your ass out of there?" he responded without looking at me.
"I totally had it under control."
He snorted. "Didn't look like that from where I was standing. Looked like you were about to become a pop tart."
Irritation prickled from the inside out, mainly because he was right, and because I realized I was still holding his hand. What the hell was up with that? I wiggled my fingers free and resisted the urge to smack the smirk right off his lips. "I think they know where the gate is."
That got his attention. He glanced down at me as we continued to march forward. "What makes you think that?"
I told him what I'd overheard, and he let out a low curse. "If they know where the gate is and we don't, we are fucked."
"Well, don't you sound like a Negative Ned," I muttered, squinting as a cop car raced by. "Let's go ahead and stock up on water and canned beans."
He cast me a sidelong look. "Let's just say that the members they killed were guardians of the gate. That means they are down people, and those the Order promotes won't be as skilled or prepared when—not if—the fae launch their attack. If they open that gate . . ."
We entered the dimly lit garage. "I get it but . . . can't we go to David? I mean, I think we have enough evidence at this point. Together, we can make him understand. He's the sect leader. He has to know where the gate is."
Ren didn't answer for a moment. "What if David is the one working with them?"
I gasped as I stopped near a large cement beam. "Are you serious?"
He turned to me, features shadowed. "We don't know, Ivy. It could be anyone."
"It could be me," I challenged.
"They shot you. For some reason, I don't think they'd shoot the person helping them. At least not yet," he replied dryly. "Plus, you are . . . too strong for that."
Now I was gaping at him for a different reason.
"And don't say how do I know you're too strong. I'm a fucking great judge of character," he continued, and my brows flew up. "It's not you, and I don't trust any other member of the Order, except maybe Jerome."