Wicked(35)

Tipping his head back against the wall, he exposed the masculine length of his neck. I never thought a guy's neck could be sexy before, but I realized just then that it really could be. His eyes were closed, and the long fringes of his lashes fanned out, dark and spiky. The soft grin continued to play along his lips. "I'm sure there are places you can show me."

The tips of my ears burned. For some reason, with that smile and that deep voice, his words held a different meaning. I shifted, smoothing my hands over my jeans as a gaggle of older women teetering on heels stumbled passed us. "Louis Armstrong Park is a great place to hunt at night."

He looked at me then, eyes narrowed. "I think you're trying to get me killed."

I cracked a smile. The park could be a wee bit on the dangerous side, which was a damn shame, because it was beautiful as were all the sculptures inside it. "You could feed the ducks."

Ren laughed then, and I liked the sound. It was deep and infectious. "Next you'll suggest I head out to the Lower Ninth Ward and wander aimlessly while holding several hundred dollar bills."

"Make sure you head east of Frenchmen Street while you're at it. Check out north of Rampart also."

"You're terrible," he murmured, shaking his head. "You know, New Orleans is really no different than any other large city. It has its good and bad parts."

"True," I agreed, watching the group of ladies cross the street. Two young guys were tailing them. I hoped those women kept a close hand on their purses. "Except we have a lot more fae here."

"That you do." He pushed off the wall, turning to me as he pulled his hands out of his pockets. "I like your hair like that."

Tilting my head back, I frowned in confusion. "Huh?"

"You have it pulled up." Reaching out, he caught the end of a stray curl along my temple. "It's cute, but when it's down? Fucking hot."

"Um . . ." I snapped my mouth shut, and for a moment I stared at him. "Thanks?"

He chuckled as he tugged on the curl until it was straight, and then let go, watching it bounce back into place. "I could play with it all day."

I blinked slowly. "Wow. You don't get out much, do you?"

Ren grinned. "So you have a game plan in mind for tonight?

"Not really." I started walking down the already congested sidewalk.

Not surprisingly, he caught right up and fell in step alongside me. "Why not?"

Keeping an eye on the cluster of people at the corner of Bourbon, I stepped around a young woman with a bright green drink container. She was eyeing Ren like she'd rather be slurping him up through a straw. "Saturday nights are usually crazy. You can make all the plans you want and it's all going to go to hell in a matter of seconds."

Ren didn't respond.

I glanced at him quickly. His gaze was trained ahead also, but that grin had faded like a ghost. "You have a problem with that?"

"Nope," he replied, surprising me. "But I think we might have a problem up ahead."

The crowd had grown in the last couple of seconds. You saw a lot of strange things on Bourbon. People wore wings. Some people walked around in nothing but body paint and tiny shorts. Others dressed like vampires that crawled out of an Anne Rice novel. If you were naive enough to try and snap a picture of them, they expected you to pay. Then there were the tourists who couldn't handle all the decadent indulgence and passed out wherever they stood. There was also the sad, random violence that infested the city and had nothing to do with the fae—simply humans hurting other humans for no real reason. So as we neared the group of people, a mixture of tourists and locals, it really was anyone's guess.

Stepping off the curb, I walked around a parked truck attempting to unload full kegs for a nearby bar. Ren followed me as I made my way onto a street so packed with people it was almost impossible for a car to make it down a block in a timely manner . . . or without clipping a few pedestrians.

I edged around the horde of bystanders, aware of the strained laughter of some and the growing sense of unease that seemed to be hopping from one person to another. Something was most definitely going down at the corner of Bourbon and Phillip.

Over the drifty jazz music spilling out from the bars, a shrill sound erupted from whatever the crowd was blocking from our view, sending chills down my spine. A cross between a shriek of pain and one of rage, it was an inhuman scream.

"That's doesn't sound normal," murmured Ren, his hand closest to me moving to his side.

Pushing through the crowd, I ignored the sharp looks directed at me. Ren was right beside me, clearing a much larger path. A guy in front of us stepped to the side, and I caught a glimpse of disheveled brown hair and a hunched over, broken form, and then the man was shaking his head as he turned.