Wicked
Page 7

The guy's extraordinary emerald gaze flicked away from mine and up the stairs. "She's alive."
That voice. Whoa. Deep. Smooth. Cultured sounding. Yummy.
"And she's staring at me really intensely. Kind of unnerving. Like the blank stare of a sociopath."
I frowned.
"Who is it?" asked another voice, and yeah, that was Harris. "I can't tell who it is on the monitor and I ain't got my glasses on."
Harris couldn't see two feet in front of his face without his glasses.
Green Eyes met my gaze again, and that grin spread across his face. Dammit. He had a matching set when it came to dimples. "How would I know? But she kind of looks like that chick from the movie Brave. You know, the one with the really curly red hair."
What. In. The. Hell.
"She's got really pretty blue eyes, though."
Though. Though? As if that somehow made up for the fact that I had frizzy red hair like a Disney character.
"Shit," said Harris. His footsteps thudded down the stairs. "That'll be Ivy Morgan."
Seriously? That's how people know me? They could say I looked like the chick from Brave and they were like oh, that's Ivy?
I needed to dye my hair stat.
Wait, why was this dude watching Disney movies?
Green Eyes hovered over me, his head tilted to the side as his gaze drifted off my face. "She's bleeding along the stomach." He reached between us. "I think she's—"
I snapped out of whatever stupor I was in, and with a burst of energy I managed to catch his wrist before he got very far. His skin was warm and smooth. "Don't touch me," I gritted out.
His eyes met mine again, and for a moment, he didn't move, and I was struck again by his handsomeness. It wasn't often one saw a mortal male that rivaled the beauty of the fae. Then he easily slipped his hand free and rocked back on the lower step, kneeling. He raised his hands to his sides. "Not something I usually hear from the ladies, but your wish is my command."
I would've rolled my eyes if I wasn't concentrating on not seeing double. "That's . . . original."
A deep, rolling chuckle rumbled out of him as he rested his hands on his bent knees. "If it works, don't fix it is my mantra."
"Classy," I rasped, planting my hands on the step.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he commented helpfully.
Ignoring him, I pushed up into a sitting position, and a harsh burst of air parted my lips as the dull ache fired to life.
"Told you."
My narrowed gaze swung to the guy, but before I could say anything, Harris was at my side, his large body swallowing the stairwell. "What happened to ya, girl?"
"Got shot." I lifted my chin, my mouth dry as a desert. Since Green Eyes was with Harris, I took a leap of logic and assumed he was with the Order. "A fae shot me."
Harris bent over, settling a hand on my shoulder. The deep wrinkles around his eyes increased. "Girl, the fae don't use guns. Not sure why. They just never did it, and I ain't gonna look a gift horse in the mouth."
I gestured at my stomach with my bloodstained hand. "Obviously, I've . . . been shot, and it was a fae—a fae that didn't need any glamour."
"What?" Green Eyes asked sharply, and I looked at him.
His face started to get a little fuzzy around the edges, but that didn't detract from his attractiveness. "This fae didn't have silver skin. I couldn't . . . see his ears, but he had fae eyes. There was no glamour that I could tell.  And he . . . conjured a gun out of thin air."
Green Eyes' brows flew up.
"Okay. Imma thinking ya might have hit ya head," Harris said, gripping my upper arm. "Let's get ya upstairs and take a look at ya."
"I didn't hit my head. I'm  . . . telling you what I saw. He was a fae and he . . ." As Harris hauled me to my feet, Green Eyes rose, and the stairwell blinked out for a moment like a switch was thrown. "Whoa."
Harris said something, but all I could hear was this strange roaring sound, like the ground was shifting underneath and reaching up to grab me. I opened my mouth, but my tongue felt heavy and foreign, and utterly useless.
The entire building seemed to spin, and the last thing I heard before the world went black was Green Eyes sharp curse, and the last thought in my head was if I was going to be number four to die.
~
When I opened my eyes, particles of dust danced in the daylight streaming through the windows across from me. For a moment, I had no idea where I was or how I got here, but as I watched those tiny particles shimmer and fall, my memories slowly pieced back together.
I was at headquarters of the Order, most likely on the third floor, away from all the meeting and training rooms that thrummed with activity during the day. It was a huge infirmary room, outfitted to handle several patients at a time. There was another room, next to the bathroom that I'd never been inside of. I didn't think anyone except David went into that room. Val and I were convinced they were hiding a nation's worth of treasure in there.
The cot I lay on wasn't the most comfortable, but it was better than having the edge of the step pressing into my back, and someone had tucked a thin blanket around me.
Probably Harris. He was a big bear of a man, but he had a soft spot in his chest the size of Lake Pontchartrain.
I'd been shot.
Oh God—shot by a fae that didn't have silvery skin and could conjure a gun out of nothing.  This was major news, and it changed everything. If the fae no longer needed glamour, how could we tell them apart from everyone else? It's not as if they were the only ones with pale eyes, plus there was a thing called contacts. And even more important, what I forgot to tell Harris was the fact that I stabbed the fae and it had done nothing.