Brave (A Wicked Trilogy 3)

rsation has veered off into very pointless territory. Everything is fine. Moving on.” I struggled to remain patient. “Look, I have a couple of questions I want to ask you about the Prince.”

A fae walking near us stopped and gasped. Her silvery skin turned a paler shade of gray.

Grabbing Tink’s arm, I pulled him into a nearby room. It was small, with just a round table and two chairs. “Take a seat.”

Tink sauntered over to the one furthest from the door and dropped down, stretching out his long legs. “Being in here with you feels naughty.”

I shook my head as I closed the door behind me. “There’s something wrong with you.”

He grinned. “I could say the same thing about you.”

“Touche,” I muttered, sitting down across from him. “But let’s analyze each other later. You once told me that killing the Prince was impossible, but nothing is impossible.”

Tink tossed an arm over the back of his chair. “Well, yeah technically it’s not impossible.”

“Right.” I rested my arms on the table. “We know a thorn stake will weaken an Ancient—”

“So you can chop their head off,” he finished for me. “You can do the same with the Prince, but as you know firsthand, even cutting him with a stake isn’t easy.”

“No, it’s not.” The Prince had whipped my ass each time we’d fought, and the last time I’d had a thorn stake. “So the only way to kill the Prince is to weaken him enough to fight him.”

Tink nodded slowly.

“Okay, so there has to be something out there that weakens him, right? That will make it easier to kill him.”

“Yeah. A thorn stake.” He squinted. “But you already know that.”

I tapped my fingers on the table. “There has to be something else that doesn’t require going toe to toe with him. I need you to think about this, Tink.”

His head tilted. “I have thought about this.”

“Think hard,” I insisted. “I need you to really think about it. Maybe it’s something small. Maybe not. You were in the Otherworld while the Prince was there. Maybe you saw something—heard something.”

His nose wrinkled. “The only thing I saw was him feeding and screwing. A lot. I heard a lot of moans and screams. Not pain-filled screams. You know, the Prince was always a dick, but not as big of a dick as he is now. Oh! Maybe sex is a weakness for him.”

My brows lifted.

He raised a shoulder. “Probably not. I mean, as much as he was doing it, I doubted it weakened him. Probably gave him strength. Like every time he came, he powered up like Mario—”

“All right, let’s move on from the whole sex thing.” I was going to need a Brillo Pad for my brain later.

He kicked a huge foot up on the table. “Why are you even asking about this? I thought some fae were coming that could help locate the Crystal?”

“They are, but I’m trying to plan ahead in case they don’t find the Crystal,” I explained. “Plus, we’re going to have to get his blood. None of that is going to be easy when fighting him in combat is nearly impossible.”

Before Tink could respond, the door swung open without warning, revealing Faye. “Our visitors are here.”

Chapter 13

Tink and I followed Faye down the hall, toward Tanner’s office, which I was guessing was now the official meeting place. I had no idea where Ren was, if he was already in the room, or coming. I didn’t like how separate we were, but I tabled that problem to deal with later.

My hand brushed the dagger at my hip as Faye stopped in front of Tanner’s office. Her gaze followed my hand. “Our guest means you no harm.”

Noting how guests went from plural to singular, I glanced at the door. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Can’t blame her for that,” Tink chimed in, folding his long arms over his chest.

Her lashes lowered. “No. I cannot.” There was a small pause. “How are you feeling, Ivy?”

“Fine.”

The look on her face said she didn’t quite believe me, but she didn’t push it. Turning, she opened the door, and having no idea what to expect, I slowly followed her in.

“Holy yummy in my tummy,” Tink murmured, stopping behind me.

I knew immediately what had provoked his reaction.

Sitting in one of the wingback chairs was a stranger who looked like a . . . well, a Viking. Not the historically accurate kind, but like the ones that graced the old romance covers I read. He was tall and broad, his thighs wide and like tree trunks. His hair was a glorious mane of blonde waves, reaching far past shoulders that stretched the plain white T-shirt he wore.

The stranger was stunningly beautiful and he was definitely no ordinary fae. The fae had the air of an Ancient, one of the most dangerous fae. Up until recently, we’d believed that there were no Ancient fae left in our world.

We must have been wrong.

I had a feeling we’d been lied to by the Order.

But there was something uncomfortably familiar about this fae’s features—about the angular cheekbones and expressive mouth. It was the brow, too. Something about his face and his shape reminded me . . .

A chill ran down my spine.

He looked like Drake—a warmer version of the Winter Prince. I glanced at Faye, but she looked unperturbed as she took a seat on the couch by the window. She had to see the similarities. A warning that the stranger could pass for the cousin of Drake would’ve been nice.

Air stirred around my left arm. My head whipped to the side. Ren was there, as quiet as a damn ghost. Our gazes met, and my heart stuttered. Breaking contact, he focused on the stranger. The only emotion he showed was the tightening of his jaw.

Did he see what I saw?

“Who is this?” the stranger demanded, staring at me like an insect under a microscope.

Tanner rose from behind the desk, but before he could introduce me, Tink stepped forward, coming to stand next to me. “She’s Buffy with the bad hair.”

Slowly, I turned and looked up at him. “Buffy with the bad hair?”

He nodded eagerly, glancing at the stranger. “Yeah, like it’s a combination of Buffy and Beyonce, the two greatest females of all time. You’re like Buffy. Bad ass. But you’re not Becky with the good hair. You have bad hair. We all know that.”

I stared at him. “My hair isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, it’s bad.” Tink’s eyes glimmered. “You definitely aren’t a Becky.”

“I think it’s a compliment to not be a Becky,” Ren chimed in, and when I looked over at him, amusement danced in his eyes. “But I’m pretty sure that being a Becky isn’t just about hair.”

I hated all of them. Seriously.

The stranger lifted his chin and then rose, his nostrils flaring. “You’re the one who belongs to the Winter Prince.”

Wait.

What?

Ren tensed.

Did he really just say that?

Hearing that ranked right up there with hearing you had air cabin pressure issues while on a plane, thirty-some-thousand feet in the sky.

“I don’t belong to him.”

One blond eyebrow rose. “You are the Halfling.”

“And you are a fae five seconds away from getting throat punched.”