Wicked(82)

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."