Night Resurrected (29 page)

needed to get it somewhere safe.

Not three steps later she found

herself face to face with Ian Marck.

“Well, well, well . . .” he said,

looking her over. “That is some outfit,

Remy.” Appreciation showed in his

face, and he reached out to touch her

bare arm with a finger, trailing it gently

all the way to her wrist. “You look . . .

unbelievable. Even more difficult to

resist than usual.”

She eased her other hand—the one

holding the crystal—just behind her

back. “Almost makes you want to forget

about Liana, huh?” she said tartly.

His eyes narrowed and the warmth

drained away. “Sorry, Remy, but there’s

not anyone who could do that. Even

you.”

“Then why do you keep trying?” she

returned.

His smile turned hard. “I’m not a

monk.”

“Either you love her or you don’t—”

“Love?” Ian sneered. “I never said

anything about love. And I didn’t tell you

about Liana so you could use her as a

prod. I told you because you deserved to

know at least that much. So consider this

fair warning: don’t bring it up again.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. I don’t have

any intention of having the opportunity.

Excuse me,” she said.

But Ian edged into her path and slid

an arm loosely around her waist. “Not

so fast, Remy. I need the crystal. I saw

you with Wyatt. I suspect he has it, or

knows where it is. You need to get it

from him or I’ll get it myself.” The threat

was clear.

“And why the hell would I do that?”

She looked at him in disbelief, pulling

out of his embrace. But he’d planned

well, for even as she moved away,

Remy realized they were near the

shadow of a tall building just set away

from the crowd. Private and out of

eyesight. Still, he didn’t frighten her. He

just pissed her off.

“Why? Because you owe me for

keeping your secret from the Elites—and

the bounty hunters—for so long. Because

you don’t even know what to do with it,

or what it’s worth. Because you know

I’m not going to let anyone stand in my

way. You’re off limits, Remy, but just

barely. And that can change—” He

stopped abruptly, looking behind her.

“Speak of the devil.”

But Remy had already sensed Wyatt

behind her, and she turned toward him.

She couldn’t read his expression: it was

even more ambiguous than usual.

“I

hope

I’m

not

interrupting

anything,” he said. His voice was ultra

smooth and casual. He didn’t spare even

a glance for Remy; his attention was

completely focused on Ian.

“As a matter of fact, you are.” Ian’s

reply was just as pleasant. “We were

having a private conversation.”

“Were you.” Wyatt’s smile showed a

gleam of straight, white teeth, but not a

hint of humor. His dark hair, in need of a

cut, brushed the collar of his pristine

shirt and he was clean-shaven.

“You two boys chat,” Remy said,

easing away. “I’ll see you later.
Much

later,” she added darkly, pushing her

way back into the edge of the party.

Heart pounding, she clutched the crystal

and navigated boldly through the crowd

—easier said than done on her spindly

heels amid a throng of half-drunk

revelers on rough, grassy ground. Her

only intent was to get far away from Ian

and Wyatt and to find somewhere safe to

put the stone.

But she hadn’t even reached the door

to the New York–New York building

when Wyatt reappeared, directly in her

path.
How the hell did he do that?

“I told you to put that somewhere

safe,” he said, swooping down on her.

He took her arm firmly and directed her

into an alcove near the building. “Or

were you going to hand it over to Ian

Marck at the earliest opportunity?”

“Did you
see
me give it to him?” she

retorted, pulling from his grip. “Don’t be

an idiot.” Suddenly chilly and off

balance, she rubbed her arm briskly.

He snatched her fisted hand and

raised it. “You still have it.”

“He wants it, though,” Remy told

him. “Badly.”

Wyatt’s fingers tightened around her

wrist. “How badly? Did he threaten

you?”

“Not me.”

“Smart guy. I hope like hell he isn’t

responsible for those decorations on

your face,” he added, his eyes glittering

darkly.

“No. It was a bounty hunter named

Lacey. Ian extricated me from the

situation, or I’d look a hell of a lot

worse,” she told him.

As if realizing he had hold of her like

a lifeline, Wyatt released her arm. “I

wouldn’t recommend putting that stone

in your room. There’s no security there.

So what are you going to do with it?”

“Is this your way of trying to steal it

back from me?”

He made a disgusted noise and

stepped back. “I just gave it back to you

thirty minutes ago, and now I’m going to

weasel it away from you again? That

makes sense.”

Remy deflated, surprisingly relieved

to release the anger she’d harbored. “I

know. I’m just confused that you did.

Why bother to take it if you were going

to give it back?” She looked up at him,

trying to read the answer in his face.

But he was half shadowed, and his

expression blank as usual as he looked

at her closely. Even so, when their eyes

met, her heart gave a hard little thump.

“You really don’t have a clue why, do

you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. But thank

you. I mean that sincerely. This makes

three times you’ve given it back.”

“Maybe now you’ll begin to trust me

—us. We’re no fans of the Strangers.

And I think that puts us on the same

side.”

“I think I do . . . trust you.” She was

looking at him, but he pivoted away,

scanning the crowd behind them. For a

moment she was struck by the beauty of

his profile, highlighted by a hint of

moonlight—the strong nose, the thick,

wavy hair, the set jaw. Something inside

her hitched, welling up hot and

powerful.
Those shoulders. All that

dark hair.

That kiss.

He’d be worth it.

She swallowed and looked away,

then down at the crystal in her palm as

she tried to ignore the crazy fluttering in

her belly. The gem was still enclosed in

part of its setting, left over from when

she wore it around her waist. “Where

am I going to put this? I don’t even have

a necklace . . . wait.” She reached up

and around behind her neck, following

the slender silver chain that connected

her two straps until she reached the

dangling part finished by a pendant.

Wyatt turned from his examination of

the crowd, clearly attracted by her

awkward movements. “What are you

doing?” he asked. But his voice was

mild, less abrupt than usual. Almost

affectionate.

“I could replace the pendant with

this,” she told him. “No one would

notice, especially in the dark. For now,

anyway.”

“Unless it starts to glow again,” he

reminded her. Nevertheless, he took her

shoulders and positioned her so her back

was to him. “Which, unfortunately, it did

several times while I had it,” he said, his

fingers deftly working on the chain. “But

it’s as good a chance to take as any. For

now.”

“I’m so glad you approve,” she said,

keeping her voice dry.

But even so, she closed her eyes. It

took effort to keep her breathing steady.

His hands brushed her bare back, light

and warm, as he removed the pendant

Flo had attached. She felt the weight lift

away, then the light tickle as the empty

chain fell against her skin, swaying like

a pendulum. She waited, a very detailed

fantasy of Wyatt pressing his lips to the

back of her shoulder roaring into her

mind. The very thought sent delicious,

expectant prickles over her.

“Remy.”

“Yes?” She heard the husky timbre of

her voice, the breathlessness in the

single syllable.

“Are you going to give me the

crystal?”

Oh.
Her eyes bolted open as she

handed the crystal to him over her

shoulder, relieved he couldn’t see her

face.

Was it her imagination, or did it take

a lot longer for him to twist the links to

attach the stone than it had to remove the

other one? Were his hands slower,

taking their time, brushing against her

spine and scapula more often than

necessary? Did they linger, settling on

her shoulder, brushing a stray wisp of

hair away? She could almost see the

strong, tanned fingers skimming over her

paler skin . . .

“There,” he said after what seemed

like forever. Breathless, Remy felt the

weight of the stone suddenly fall,

bumping her spine at the level of her

shoulder blades. It was heavier than the

one he’d removed.

Wyatt’s fingers lifted away and,

bracing herself, she turned to face him.

“Thank you,” she said.

His hands, still poised as if caught in

mid-touch, fell to his sides. He stepped

back, returning his face to the shadows.

All she could see was a hint of dark

eyes, but she felt them fastened on her.

“It’s only a temporary solution,” he said.

“If you want—if you trust us—I know a

safe place you can put it. Then you won’t

have to carry it all the time.”

With a surprise, she realized it would

be almost a relief not to have to wear it,

or have it with her,
all the time
. To not

have to worry about it constantly. “I’ll

think about . . .” All at once

comprehension dawned and she looked

up at him, startled. “You took the crystal

so the zombies would chase you . . . not

me. On the way to Envy.”

He’d turned slightly, watching the

crowd again, but she could tell he was

still attentive to her. “Bravo, Remy.”

“You took on my burden, you risked

yourself—”

“It’s what I do,” he said, his lips in a

flat line. “I told you.”

“Thank you. Again.”

It must have been the tone in her

voice that drew him to look at her fully,

surprise and a little bit of caution in his

face. And as he did so, as their eyes met,

she took matters into her own hands and

stepped into him.

Her heels made her taller. Easier to

settle her hands onto the tops of his solid

shoulders, to lift her face and find his

mouth.

Wyatt stilled, tall and warm against

her. His lips were still firm with

irritation, but Remy didn’t let that daunt

her as she fitted her mouth to his. It was

a brief kiss—a gentle, tentative, almost-

nibble, and it sent heat swarming through

her as sensitive lips brushed sensitive

lips.

Even through the rush of pleasure,

she recognized that he remained frozen.

She felt the tension in the warm muscles

beneath her hands, felt the way his body

remained immobile, and knew she’d

made a mistake.

“Well,” she managed to say, keeping

her voice light as she stepped back. “I

guess—”

He followed her, his mouth settling

down over hers again. This time hungry

and insistent. A large, warm palm

planted itself between her shoulder

blades, pulling her up to him as the other

cupped the back of her head.

Remy closed her eyes, sinking back

into a kiss that was even better than the

first. Long rolling waves of heat trundled

through her as the passion deepened and

she felt the imprint of his body against

hers: solid, firm muscle and heat

bleeding through her dress, brushing her

bare skin. His mouth was no longer firm

and annoyed but full and sensual,

devouring hers as she melted into him.