Wicked Game: A Paranormal Romance (Feathers and Fate Book 2) Page 7

  “He’s in that bar,” Ford declares, nodding toward one of the many buildings the line the street.

  “Stick close, beautiful,” Sawyer adds. “We’re not in a good part of town.”

  “I can handle myself.” I straighten my spine and lift my chin. I don’t want him thinking I’m weak—or that his gentleman act is fooling me.

  “I’m sure,” he replies, his amber eyes shining as one corner of his mouth ticks up slightly.

  Darn it. That one was too easy.

  “Stick close, all of you,” Beckett commands. He levels a look at Phoenix and Ford especially. I can easily imagine, with Sloth and Wrath, that it’s very easy for them to get distracted and off-track.

  The others all look at Ryland, then at Beckett, and nod. I wonder what this is like for the two of them. Are they at all relieved or happy to be working together again, or just pissed about it? The guys all seem to be falling in line more easily than they did when it was just Beckett in charge, that’s for sure.

  “When we get inside,” Ryland says, “spread out. Be careful.”

  “And keep an eye on Trin…” Beckett pauses. “…ity.”

  Ryland glances over at him, and I realize once again that Beckett’s trying to hide something from his brother. He doesn’t want Pride to see that he has any kind of rapport with me, even though I highly doubt it’s anything too serious or intimate.

  Why does he want to protect me from Ryland? I mean, I know why I don’t want to get too close to Ryland, but this is his brother, right? Beckett didn’t try to protect me from Ford, the personification of wrath. If Ryland’s somehow more dangerous than Wrath… yikes, what does that say about him?

  I stick close to Remington as we enter the bar, but he shakes his head and gently moves me over to Sawyer.

  “He’ll keep you safest,” he murmurs.

  Uh, really?

  I have no idea what that means.

  As we walk in, the din of voices and music surround us. I’m met with the darkness of the place, the heady smell of alcohol and who knows what else, and I can make out shadows more than proper shapes of bodies. There are a few supernatural creatures here—I’m getting better at picking them out—but there are ordinary humans too. It’s a mix.

  Wow. I had no idea that was even allowed. Is it possible in the United States? Or only here? What’s it like in other countries?

  We all stand near the entrance for a moment, and Sawyer loops his arm around my shoulder. For once, I don’t feel a spike of lust in me when he does it, and I realize his action wasn’t for my benefit—or rather, it’s not him trying to seduce me.

  It’s a signal to everyone else who’s watching us.

  Letting them know they should back off. That I’ve been claimed.

  “Flush him out,” Ryland says, and it’s with such a tone of menace and foreboding that I shiver, pressing myself closer to Sawyer just to get away from his brother.

  Sawyer leans down. “Watch,” he murmurs.

  He leads me to the bar and sits me down, caging me in a little with his body.

  “Watch what?” I whisper, pushing a lock of black hair away from my face as I peer over his shoulder.

  “You think you know how we do what we do?” He shakes his head. “Oh, you sweet little thing. You really have no idea at all. But don’t worry. We’re about to enlighten you.”

  He subtly turns me in my seat, and I feel a brush of heat where his fingers trail over my skin. I shiver, and the heat turns up a notch, as if Sawyer can feel what I’m feeling—can sense my lust—and can’t help but respond to it. But he doesn’t touch me any further, other than to put his hand on my shoulder lightly, as if he’s just reminding everyone that I’m with him.

  And I watch.

  It’s Ford that I notice first. Or rather, the effect of Ford. Two men get into a nasty fight over at one of the pool tables, yelling at each other and throwing punches, fierce enough to break bone, and then one of them whips out a knife.

  Then I notice others fighting—over a girl, or over some job—and I notice that Knight is standing silently nearby.

  Everyone’s acting in horrible, horrible ways, people are downing alcohol like… well, like gluttons, and nobody is moving a hand to actually help anyone or stop anything from devolving into chaos, all of them wrapped up in the grip of sloth.

  Holy motherfreaking crap.

  This is the sins at work. This is what they can create when they really want to.

  Sawyer was right. I didn’t know. I hadn’t truly seen anything until now.

  I know it should concern me, and it does. I’m alarmed and worried. But there’s also this… this odd heat inside of me as I watch them all work their magic. They’re not the focal point, even though I know they’re the ones causing this. It’s so skillful and subtle that the source of the chaos is virtually invisible.

  But I know they’re there. I can see them hovering at the edges of the room, their unique essences filling the space.

  It’s… wow. I can’t even quite articulate my own reaction, but it makes a warm flush rise up my neck and over my cheeks.

  “I’m not causing this,” Sawyer notes. His finger moves back and forth in little circles on my shoulder, and I know he’s referring to the feelings building inside me. “This is all you, little one. You like this. You want my brothers, don’t you?”

  “I—” My voice sounds way too breathy, so I clear my throat and try again. “Nope. No way. I am not discussing this.”

  Sawyer chuckles.

  Someone screams out, and something about the scream is different from all the other noises of chaos that I’ve been hearing. I turn, following the noise, and I see him.

  They’ve flushed him out all right. Henrik the bookie.

  He makes a break for the door—or he tries to, but Ford cuts him off, advancing on him.

  There is nothing but fury in Ford’s eyes, and I gasp as I feel it like an invisible wave of angry heat.

  “He’ll kill him!” I hiss, grabbing on to Sawyer’s forearm.

  The other sins are starting to materialize in front of Henrik too, as if out of thin air. Their eyes all glow slightly as they surround him, but everyone in the bar is too distracted with their own jealousies, desires, and squabbles to pay any attention.

  “Possibly,” Sawyer notes. He sounds rather unconcerned.

  “We can’t let that happen!”

  “I’ll be frank with you, little angel, I would much rather sit here and bask in that delicious lust you’re building while you watch my brothers,” Sawyer drawls. “But if you insist, by all means, go ahead and try to stop him.”

  “I will,” I reply, not sure where the conviction is coming from. Ford hates me, so I don’t see why he would ever listen to me or let me stop him from doing anything.

  But I have to try.

  I get up from the bar and quickly move through the crowd. I’m not sure—I can’t prove it—but as I pass people, they suddenly become much more interested in each other in a sexual way than they are in me. Two men who are fighting, right up in each other’s faces, suddenly grab each other and start kissing. A woman who was smashing a bottle over a man’s head is grabbed by another man who spins her, and she wraps her arms around him in return, the two of them gazing at each other with undisguised desire.

  Wow. Thanks, Sawyer.

  Lust is doing his work now, keeping everyone away from me, keeping me from being swept up into the violent chaos that the other six created.

  I hurry through the bar, shoving past the other sins and reaching Ford just as he’s about to grab the poor corrupted man by the neck. I slide in between them, shoving my hands against Ford’s chest as hard as I can.

  He’s surprised, and that’s the only reason why he stumbles back a half step. “What the hell?” he snarls.

  “You can’t!” I keep my arms raised, hands held out to stop him.

  The other sins are standing behind him, frozen. They all look extremely intrigued by what’s happening, but
none of them are moving to interrupt us.

  “Please,” Henrik begs, his voice wheezy. “I would tell you if I could, you gotta believe me, I would tell you, but I can’t. It’s the spell, I can’t talk because of the spell!”

  “He’s no good to us if he can’t tell us who created the portals.” Ford clenches his hands into fists, his voice a low growl.

  “Some kind of silencing enchantment, I would guess,” Ryland says. “Simple but effective.”

  “Thank you for explaining the obvious, Ryland. We’ve all figured that out for ourselves,” Beckett snaps in return.

  “If he’s no good to us,” Ford growls, his gaze boring into mine, “then he’s better off dead. Otherwise he’ll tattle.”

  “I won’t!” the bookie pleads. “I promise! I’ll be good!”

  “I don’t believe you,” Ford snarls at him over my shoulder.

  “You can’t kill him,” I blurt desperately. “There are still other ways he can be helpful. People can be helpful to you even if you’re not sure how at first! If you kill him, then you’ll lose any chance of him being helpful, in whatever form that might take. Okay?”

  The blond man glares at me, his nostrils twitching with every breath. “You can’t be sure about that.”

  I jump in shock as Henrik drops to his knees and actually throws his arms around my leg. “I knew you would help me,” he enthuses, literally groveling at my feet. Ugh. My skin feels like it’s crawling. Being an angel and touched by a demon is… not pleasant. “I knew you would, you’re so beautiful and magnanimous, of course you would, thank you…”

  “Wow. This is disturbing.” Nix pulls a face. “I’m disturbed. Am I the only one disturbed here?”

  Knight nods his agreement, his brows pulling together.

  “It’s pathetic.” Beckett’s voice is cool. “That’s what it is. There’s really no point in keeping him around.”

  “There can be,” I point out, meeting Greed’s emerald gaze. “Look, he’s clearly grateful to us.” I glance down at the bookie. “Aren’t you?”

  Henrik nods frantically, his head bobbing up and down so fast I think it might pop off his body.

  “Well then. If he’s grateful to us, then that means that he can help us and he’ll do what we say. It’ll be good to have an ally, to have someone like that in a time like this. There’s got to be some other information he can give us that will help us close the portals—a guy with his ear to the ground, one with all kinds of contacts.”

  The bookie keeps nodding. “Yes, exactly! And I’d be happy to tell you whatever you need.”

  Ford snarls at the demon, but I push at his chest again with my hands. This time, my palms stay on his broad chest, lingering there for some reason. I can’t even say exactly why. Wrath looks down at my hands, then up at me, his blue eyes churning.

  “You’re not going to kill him,” I repeat, lowering my voice so my words are meant only for the man in front of me.

  Ford takes a deep, steadying breath, and I’m sure that I’m about to get more snarling and objections, or maybe he’ll just shove me out of the way so he can attack Henrik… but instead, he steps back.

  With his gaze still locked on mine, he takes my wrists in his hands and lifts them away from him so that I’m no longer touching him.

  Then he lets go, as if touching my skin is too much for him, like it burns, almost.

  I blink.

  What was that? What just happened?

  Ford could’ve easily just plowed through me. I felt the strength of his muscles beneath my palms, felt how strong and solid he is. It was… okay, fine, it was really hot, even though I will never admit that out loud. Thankfully, I doubt anyone besides maybe Sawyer noticed my reaction.

  Despite his strength, Ford didn’t run me over, though. He… stepped back.

  Huh.

  “I can’t tell you who’s behind this,” Henrik admits, still clutching at my leg. “But I can tell you of a way to stop the portals from opening.”

  “How?” Beckett demands.

  “There’s this competition, one that I’ve booked people for, helped organize in the past. The Blackfire Tournament. Hundreds of supernaturals come to compete and watch the games every year.” He’s talking fast, like he knows he doesn’t have a lot of time if he wants to prove why he’s helpful. “The prize is a Barakah Crystal.”

  The sins all stare at him.

  Then Phoenix says, with great feeling, “Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  BECKETT

  Greed flares to life inside me like a spark in a dark cavern.

  A Barakah Crystal.

  Fuck.

  No wonder so many supernaturals apparently flock to the Blackfire Tournament to try their luck at winning the prize. That’s a prize worth risking death for. A prize that’s very nearly priceless.

  A Barakah Crystal can grant the user one wish. From what I understand, there are limitations on what the wish can be, but not many. The crystal can’t kill someone, for instance, or erase someone’s existence. And of course, it can’t imbue itself with the power to grant more wishes, although I’m sure there’s more than one greedy fool out there who’s wasted his single wish asking for exactly that.

  Despite those few restrictions, though, a Barakah Crystal is the kind of object that creates kings. That changes the course of entire civilizations—for better or worse, depending on whose wish is granted.

  And it will most certainly fit our purposes.

  But think what else it could do, a voice whispers in my head. My greed burns hot inside me, and I notice Trinity’s gaze dart toward me. I’m sure my eyes are glowing with the power of my sin.

  “Details, Henrik,” I command. “What is this competition? Where is it? When does it take place?”

  “Soon. Soon!” The sniveling demon is still prostrating himself before Trinity, scrabbling at her legs as if he’s touching the robes of a saint, and I have to restrain the urge to kick him away from her. “In just a few days, it will begin. Perfect timing, see? See?”

  “Where?” Ryland speaks the word a half-second before I do.

  A prickle of irritation runs through me. I hate how easily the two of us have fallen into old patterns and habits. It’s been a long time since we were on the same side of any fight, and I don’t like these reminders of how close we used to be.

  Henrik’s gaze darts to my brother, and the demon flattens himself even closer to the floor, as if he’s trying to sink through the ancient floorboards. “Scotland. The Highlands.” He names a location, and then adds, “You should go quickly. The competition only accepts a certain number of competitors. After that, they close the entries.”

  My jaw clenches. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For us to run off in a hurry? Perhaps to just leave you behind in our haste?”

  The darkness in my voice draws his attention back to me, and he licks his lips nervously. “No. No! I’m just trying to help. I swear!”

  “You were right, Trinity.” Ford steps forward. “He did prove useful. And now his use is up.”

  The angel gives a little squeak as my brother hauls the demon to his feet. I can see fear in her eyes, and even pity. She meant what she said to Ford, I have no doubt about that. She’s intelligent and far more cunning than I gave her credit for at first, back when she introduced herself to me as Olivia Pope.

  But she’s not heartless.

  There was true pragmatism in her efforts to spare Henrik’s life, but that’s not all it was. She just doesn’t want to see the demon killed.

  And in this moment, neither do I.

  “Wait.” I hold up a hand, and Ford freezes, breathing hard. I know better than to think he’s obeying my command, but for better or for worse, my brothers listen to me. They trust me.

  Whether or not I deserve that trust or have ever deserved it is something I choose not to dwell on.

  Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my wallet. I had it magically enchanted to be ab
le to contain much more than the slim leather fold should be able to—it’s where I’ve stored the papers with our transport spells. I also keep several important valuables stashed inside. You never know when you might need to appeal to someone’s greed.

  I reach inside and grasp a golden necklace. The delicate chain is embedded with diamonds, and the metal is cold against my fingertips. I draw it out and hold it up before Henrik.

  Like a rat who smells cheese, he looks up sharply, his hungry gaze latching on to the valuable object.

  “You’ve helped us today,” I say, keeping my voice low as I hold the necklace firmly in my grip. “Some might say that the assistance you’ve given us merely settles the balance for your previous betrayal. But I’m not a man who likes owing debts, no matter how small. So in exchange for your assistance, I will give you this.”

  Henrik’s mouth drops open in surprise, and his hand twitches, as if he’s eager to snatch the necklace from my hold. But he wisely remains still.

  “If you find the right buyer for this,” I tell him, “you’ll make a small fortune. But you’d better use that money to disappear forever. Because now that you’ve helped us, whoever created the demonic portals will probably kill you if they find out what you’ve done.”

  Henrik blanches, his throat muscles working hard as he swallows.

  The money this necklace could bring in is enough for the bookie to live comfortably forever, and I can feel his greed flare. Good. Greed often makes people do irrational things, but it can also bring a certain clarity. I trust that Henrik will disappear, preserving his life and newfound wealth, rather than try to play double-agent again and warn the portal-maker that we’re still on his or her trail.

  Ford growls, obviously not pleased with the substitution of valuable necklaces for violent punishments. But just like mine did earlier, his gaze slides over to Trinity, and when he sees the relief evident on her delicate face, he goes silent.

  My hand clenches tighter around the necklace, and I hold it out of Henrik’s reach as I level a hard look at him.

  “But first, demon, you’re going to tell us everything you know about this competition.”