Wicked (A Wicked Trilogy 1)

into next week, but it was Ren. I lowered my hands. "What the—?"

Ren was on me before I could finish whatever it was I was about to say. His hands landed on my hips, and he picked me up as he pushed me back against the stone. My body's reaction seemed immediate. Legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck, a strangled gasp parted my lips seconds before he was kissing me again. I could feel him against the center of my legs, and in spite of the cold rain, it heated my skin.

Ren's hips pressed against mine in all the ways that were fun and naughty and totally led to lewd and lavish acts, but I wasn't thinking about possible jail time or fines as his hands cupped my face.

Lightning split the sky and thunder crashed, but all I could hear was my pounding heart. All I could feel was Ren pressed against me as our lips melded together. I was so ready to lose myself in him. Our bodies rocked and our hands became slippery. I don't know how long we kissed, but our clothes were soaked and my body was trembling by the time we came up for air. His lips skated over my cheeks, and his hands drifted to my throat, tipping my head back.

Hair plastered from the rain and rivulets running down his face, he looked like a god of the sea. "Thank you for today. You have no idea how much you being there meant to me." He kissed the tip of my nose, pulling back and gently setting me on my feet. "Tomorrow."

Then he was gone, disappearing into the rain like some kind of phantom lover.

"Jesus," I whispered. Lightning cut the sky open, quickly chased by a thunderous boom.

I ended up stumbling into my apartment half out of it and totally drenched. Tink was in the living room, and he took one long, strange look at me and said nothing, fluttering into his room. And that was fine by me. My head was in a thousand places, and I didn't have the mental fortitude required to engage with Tink.

I slept like the dead Sunday night. Actually, I slept like someone who just experienced an orgasm that wasn't self-induced for the first time in years, which was totally accurate. Either way, I woke up quite refreshed, but as I did my morning run and got ready for school, something nagged at me, a shadow of a thought that lingered just at the fringes of consciousness. I couldn't quite grasp it each time I reached for it.

Before I headed to class on Monday I managed to sway Tink into baking a cake by promising to provide him with a buffet of beignets when I got home from my shift. I hoped the baked goods would warm Jerome up enough so he would be of some help. It was a long shot assuming that he knew anything, but there weren't many other options left.

Tink flitted from the small pantry to the cabinets, grabbing flour and brown sugar. "You're lucky I always demand we keep a stash of baking powder and baker's chocolate."

"That I am." I backed out of the kitchen, my thoughts tiptoeing over the recent events. I remembered something I'd forgotten while I'd been at Merle's yesterday. The first time I tried to visit her, something had been in her garden. It could've been a sparrow for all I knew, but what if it were another brownie? How long had it been here? Better yet, how in the world had Tink gotten here without us knowing something had come through the gate? It's not like I never thought about this question before, but now knowing everything that I did, the flaws in Tink's story seemed more visible.

I think he lied to me. It was difficult to believe that, but there was a lot I just discovered recently that one would think a creature from the Otherworld should know.

Not paying attention to me, Tink lugged a mixing bowl out of the cabinet as I watched him. I hesitated at the entryway to the kitchen, wincing as the metal bowl clanged off the counter when he dropped it. For some reason, I thought about how he got here—the location of the cemetery. "Tink?"

He didn't look over at me as he pulled a spatula from the drawer and buzzed around the kitchen. "You're interrupting my me time. And you know baking is my me time."

Leaning against the doorframe, I didn't rise to the bait like I typically would. My thoughts were too conflicted. Did Tink not know about the halflings? Because if he did, why hadn't he told me? And what about the gates? I glanced at the clock, seeing that I needed to leave soon so I would make it to class on time. "When I found you in the cemetery, do you remember how far away from the gate you were?"

Tink turned around, clutching the spatula close to him. "No. I told you before, I don't even remember coming through the gate. I woke up in the cemetery, my poor wing snapped, my leg broken, beaten like an orphan kid in regency England. I was a pitiful wee creature."

"Um, okay. Anyway." I straightened the strap on my bag and shifted my weight. "Did you know there were two gates in the city?"

The spatula slipped an inch between his hands as his pale eyes widened to the size of nickels. "What?"

"Remember Merle?" When he nodded, I continued. "She said there were two gates in the city—one in an old sanctuary, and the other in a place where no spirits or humans could rest."

A frown marred his face as he placed the spatula on the counter instead of dropping it. Hovering in the air, his translucent wings moved silently. "No. There have never been two gates."

"Could there just be two gates and you never knew? I know the fae only know the gate they come through, so maybe there are more cities with more than one gate."

He shook his head. "No. That can't . . . well, nothing is impossible. I mean, look at you. You spent all of Sunday with a guy, and I never thought that would happen."

I started to scowl.

"But two gates? That would be . . ." His gaze drifted to the window, his brows furrowed. "That would be very bad."

"Yeah," I said, pushing off the doorframe. I started to leave but stopped. Tink was still focused on the window, expression surprisingly serious. "Do you know about halflings?"

His head swung toward me sharply, and he didn't have to say a word. I knew that he was fully aware of halflings. It was written all over his face, in the way his jaw had dropped, and the slight flare of understanding in his big eyes.

My stomach sunk like it was full of sharp stones. Our eyes met, and I found it hard to breathe around the knot in my throat. "Why . . . why haven't you told me about them before?"

Tink stared back at me wordlessly.

"Having that kind of information would've been helpful to know because I'm assuming you're aware of what could happen if the prince or the princess gets a hold of a halfling." My voice was strangely thick. I tried to tell myself I didn't care if Tink hadn't been forthcoming with information, but I was angry. Angry because I willingly brought him into my house and I never really questioned him. I blindly accepted what little information he'd told me, and I don't even know why I had done so. Looking back, there was no simple justification as to why I never pushed Tink.

God, the answer to why was so glaring and right in my face. Ever since I'd lost my adoptive parents and Shaun, I'd closed myself off to everyone in a distressed attempt to never feel that kind of hurt again. Val had wiggled her way in, and so had Jo Ann, but that hadn't been enough. Deep down, I knew that. I'd still been so desperate to be close, to forge a bond to anything, and I still was. Look at Ren.

And as Tink continued to stare back at me helplessly, I knew—dammit, I knew he wasn't being upfront with me.

He lowered his gaze and heaved a great sigh. Floating down to the edge of the counter, he sat, his wings drooping on either side of his bent back. "You would not understand, Ivy."

Closing my eyes, I took a second before I reopened them and responded. "Why don't you try me, Tink? For once?"

His face flinched. "I haven't lied to you. Not really." As I cocked my head to the side, he pressed his hands together under his chin. "I just haven't been entirely communicative."

"Do not try to act cute right now," I warned him, letting my backpack slip off my arm and land against the door.

"I'm not. I swear." He lowered his hands to his lap, his shoulders slumping. "I had one job. And I failed."

"You're not an Internet meme."

He shook his head. "My job was to destroy the gate

in New Orleans."

I stiffened. "What?"

Tink lifted his chin. "Your guardians basically only guard those gates—their positions are virtually useless except for the fact that they hold knowledge of the location, and that makes them only valuable to the fae. One does not simply walk to a gateway and open it."

All I could do was stare at him.

"If the blood of an ancient is shed on the doorway from inside the Otherworld, it destroys the door. If the blood of an ancient is shed on the outside, it opens the door," he explained. "We knew what the fae would do if the ancients ever crossed over to this world en masse. They would destroy it like they've been destroying the Otherworld. You see, our world . . . it's dying, because of what they're doing. They need to get out, but we . . ." He balled up a fist, pressing it to his chest. "My kind have done everything in our power to stop them, and two and a half years ago we believed we had succeeded in destroying the gates from the inside. It's a suicide mission to do so, but one we gladly take."

"Wait. Are you saying all the gates have been rendered useless?"

Tink lifted his wings and stood. "We found all of them in the Otherworld, and we destroyed them by luring ancients to the gates and killing them. Or being killed. A lot of us have died that way, and we would have to send another." He frowned as his arms hung limply at his sides. "I should've died that day. I wasn't lying when I told you I don't even remember coming through the gate. I