Wicked(77)

"I don't know anyone else who's been adopted," I persisted.

Several seconds passed. "I don't like the idea of keeping you in the dark, but like I said, I'm not going to put shit in your head that might not need to be there."

Annoyed, I started to pull my hand away from him, but I held myself still as his finger followed a bone up my hand, to my wrist. Behind the irritation was apprehension. Obviously there was something he wasn't telling me, but there was a reason other than him not wanting to put shit in my head. Could it be that I was close to whomever he— and the Elite—suspected? Immediately, my thoughts went to Val, but I dismissed them. She hadn't been adopted, and both her parents were alive and still active within the Order.

"When you find the person . . . you're going to kill them, aren't you?" I asked.

Several seconds passed then he leaned back, his fingers trailing off my hand. Taking a drink of his beer, he nodded. "That's part of my job, Ivy."

A shudder danced across my shoulders. Although I killed fae every night I hunted, to me killing a human—half fae or not—wasn't the same thing. "I've never killed a human."

His gaze flicked to mine but he didn't respond, because deep down, I knew that he had. A lot of Order members had. Not because they wanted to. Sometimes it was a human who'd been fed on too long, like the woman in the Quarter the other day. Other times it was someone who knew about the fae and worked alongside them. Or it was an innocent person who got caught in the crossfire. I knew that sometimes it couldn't be helped.

"David says that makes me weak," I added quietly.

The emerald hue brightened as he said earnestly, "That does not make you weak, Ivy. Not at all. And be glad that you've never had that kind of blood on your hands, and I hope you never do. It may be our duty—my duty—but it's not something I look forward to. It's not . . ." He looked away, a muscle thrumming along his jaw. "It's not something I'm entirely okay with. Not even when they're halflings."

All too easily I recalled the solemn expression that had been carved into his features when the man died in the Quarter. I didn't know what to say to him because I didn't know what it was like to kill someone whose only crime was their mixed heritage, and I wasn't even sure if I was okay with that. How could I be? If what Ren said was true, most of them, if not all of them, had no idea what they were. On the other hand, I understood the risk they posed. Conflicted, I tried to sort out what I thought. The only thing I did know was that what Ren said was true—he wasn't okay with it. Instinct told me that.

I studied the hard set of his jaw, the straight and proud nose, the flat line of his lips that were usually curved in a teasing smile. "Can't you leave the Elite?"

He coughed out a dry laugh. "You could leave the Order, but you can't leave the Elite. They'd never trust us with the knowledge we hold. I was born into this." His gaze found mine once more, and the shadows I'd seen in his eyes before had only increased. "And I'll die in this."

My chest tightened with those words. I didn't like to hear him say that—didn't want to hear him say anything like that. I inhaled, but the air got stuck in my throat, lodged up against the bitter ball of panic.

I closed my eyes.

God, I was so dumb. I'd allowed Ren to get under my skin, just like I had let Val in, and I knew better. Was I some kind of sadist? Hell. Why couldn't I be the fun kind of sadist, enjoying bondage or some freaky stuff like that?

"You are handling this well—better than I thought."

When I pried my eyes open, he wasn't looking at me. He was staring at the bottle of beer he held, at the label he'd almost peeled off. "Maybe I'll freak out later. I don't know. This was a lot of info to swallow."

"It is," he agreed pensively, and I hated that tone—and I hated that I cared enough to feel that way. "We still have to figure out the gates," he added, finishing off his beer. Leaning forward, he dropped his feet on the floor and placed the bottle on the coffee table. "Do you think she was actually telling us where the gates were, in her own way?"

"I think so." Running my hand down my face, I sighed wearily. "Something about the last thing she said, about no spirits or people being able to rest there? It sounds familiar. I can talk to Jerome. He's lived here his whole life. He might know of a few places we could check out."

"Sounds good. Bring him cake." He flashed a quick grin. "Butter him up. But save me a slice."

A reluctant smile appeared. "I still don't know if you can have any of my cake."

"Babe, I'm gonna get a piece of it, all right?"