Raven (Legends Saga Book 2) (4 page)

She caught her tongue before tagging on
,
as long as there’s time
. Instead that weighty provision hung in the air between them in a rip and pregnant pause.

“He’s coming!”
the receptionist practically sang in a giddy trill as she pushed her chair from her desk to sashay around it, front and center. Flipping her curtain of blonde waves over her shoulder, she soothed her peach pencil skirt into place and adjusted the plunging neckline of her blouse.

An eager smile dawned on her lovely face the same moment the
French doors on the opposite side of the room swung open wide. Sunlight flooded in, haloing his physique in a glowing luminescence. There, framed by the doorway with charisma wafting off of him like the enticing burst of scent from a freshly bloomed rose, stood …
Ridley Peolte
.

2

Edgar

Wings,
as light as wisps of air, tickled across one round, dimpled cheek. The sweet melody of a child’s laugh rose up in a chorus the angels would envy. Plump little fingers moved for the butterfly’s orange and black wings just as they fluttered out of reach. On roly-poly toddler legs, little Edgar hobbled after his new friend.

Colors exploded around him
like an enchanted fairy land. Trees blooming with bright pink pompons. Every color in the rainbow sprouted from the ground in fluffy bushels. Around each turn a new adventure awaited. Magic grew and evolved in the Poe gardens, all of it just waiting for little Edgar to discover each and every time his mother opened the door and invited him to go play.

Edgar rounded the
towering tree that canopied the far corner of the garden with its sweet smelling shade. His tiny white shoes scuffed along the dirt path, laces dragging and flapping behind him. Abruptly, his shuffled steps stopped short. His toffee colored eyes widening the moment his gaze fell upon the blue bird splayed on the path before him. Its head was twisted at the most unnatural of angles. Its black bead eyes fixed in eternity’s stare.

“Pretty birdy,” the cherub faced lad cooed.
Bending into a squat, he waddled closer, leaning his body first one way then the other to maneuver. Baby-fine strands of ebony silk tickled across his forehead with the inquisitive tilt of his head.

“Edgar!”
his mother called. “It’s time for lunch, my darling.”

The toddler didn’t respond
, but scooted one foot forward. In hopes of rousing the sleeping bird, he poked it gently with the toe of his shoe. 

“Edgar? Where have you hidden,
my silly boy? I have berries and cream inside for you.” Mother’s tone was sweeter than the afore mentioned berries, her words slathered in love and adoration.

Edgar turned toward her voice, even started to straighten and go to her, before temptation’s curling, coiling finger encircled his chin and lured his attention back to those bright blue feathers.
With each blink his impossibly long lashes brushed the tops of his cheeks. The birds high overhead sang such a lovely tune. More than anything he wanted this fallen vocalist to rejoin their choir.

Extending one finger,
stained with dandelion butter and grass, Edgar tenderly stroked the velvety breast of the still creature. To his surprise the bird gave an involuntary jerk beneath his touch. Through the pad of his finger Edgar could feel a soft thump begin to beat a steady rhythm within his winged friend. Warmth chased away the cold’s harsh hold. A succession of crackles and pops righted the bird’s twisted neck. Black eyes blinked, focused. Feathers ruffled, the once limp form giving a quick hop, and the bird was on its feet. Its head cocked with an avian twitch, considering the boy crouched over it.

“
Edgar, what have you done
?”

With a hot rush of blood rushing to his cheeks, Edgar whipped around.
Mother had
never
spoken a cross word at him, never looked at him with anything except absolute adoration. Yet, in that moment, she stared at him like a lowly stranger. 

Behind him, the startled bird
’s wings beat against the air, lifting it toward its second chance.

“Mama?” Edgar squeaked
, his heart thudding against his ribs.

Gathering the billowing fabric of her skirts
in her hands, Madame Poe snapped herself from her terrified trance and rushed to her young son’s side. With a palm on each of his cheeks, she turned him this way and that in a cursory examination. “W-we must … we must speak with your father. He will know what must be done. Come now.” Seizing him firmly by the wrist, she dragged her confused and frightened tyke inside.

3

Ridley

The very definition of seductive swagger stood before them
, one hand slung into the front pants pocket of his tailored navy blue suit. “What have we here, Meegan?” Charm exuded from Ridley Peolte’s gleaming white smile. With his free hand he adjusting the knot of his silk taupe, navy, and silver striped tie. One sleek ebony strand broke free from his flawlessly styled hair, casually grazing across his forehead. His eyes, such a deep ocean blue that Ireland could practically see the foam of the white caps swirling in his irises, immediately locked on her.

The receptionist—Meegan, apparently—
blushed bright pink clear down her neckline the second her name passed his lips. “They just wanted a moment of your time, Mr. Peolte, in regards to a piece of art. I hope it’s okay I had them wait?”

“
Again, I must insist you call me Ridley,” he corrected, the faintest trace of an accent Ireland couldn’t quite place curling through each word. “And, of course, I don’t mind. However, you
will
have to walk with me. I have a platter of California spring rolls calling my name and a meeting I have to rush back for.” Waving his hand to the trio in an ‘after you’ gesture, Ridley shot an over-the-shoulder glance back to Meegan. “Can I bring you back anything, my dear?”

“Surprise me
,” Meegan murmured. Biting her lower lip, she attempted a coy shrug. “I have a feeling you’d know
exactly
what I’d like.”

“
I’ll take my best guess.” He winked, prompting an eruption of girlish giggles Meegan hid behind her hand.

Sliding off the couch flanked by Rip and Noah, Ireland
paused to shoot a grimace at their openly flirty interaction.

No sooner did she get to her feet
then Ridley dragged one knuckle along her forearm as he sauntered passed. “Come, walk with me.” 

Watching his occasionally homicidal girlfriend bristle, Noah caught her arm and held her back for a beat. “Easy, girl,”
he soothed, and tapped the iPod in her back pocket as a none-too-subtle reminder. “The sooner we get the information the sooner we can go … preferably without bloodshed.” 

Patting his hand, and dipping her chin in an affirmative nod, Ireland
fixed on the pursuit that brought them there. “We don’t want to take much of your time, Mr. Peolte,” she explained, following him into the elevator. The doors slid shut, followed by that familiar stomach-dropping lurch. “I was just wondering if you’d ever seen this.”

Turning her arm tattoo up, she held it out before him.

“Mmmm,” he muttered in appreciation, one ebony brow hitching with interest. “Your arm? I haven’t had the pleasure. But I do hope more parts will follow.”

The elevator dinged open, allowing Ridley to s
tride out without a moment’s hesitation.

Rip
patted Noah lightly on the shoulder before following. “I am still accumulating myself to modern trends, however am I wrong in assuming that what just happened here was the equivalent to you two ramming antlers?”

“Nah, no worries.”
Noah’s argument to the contrary would have been more convincing had his jaw line not tensed and his octave rose to that of a public speaker. “He doesn’t know we’re
together
.”

“Th
is beautiful siren is yours?” Ridley’s gaze flicked back briefly before being averted to an associate across the lobby that he offered a wave and chin-jerk to. “Well, these things change all the time, don’t they?”

Noah ran his hand over the back of his neck, sucking air through his teeth. “
I may have to borrow your axe.”

“
If I can’t kill anyone, neither can you
.” Ireland curled her chin to her shoulder to hiss. Then, pushing past their banter, she attempted to steer the conversation back on course. “Actually, I meant the tattoo. Herb Mallark from The Richmond Gallery said he saw this same image at a private exhibit in your loft.”

“Mallark?”
Ridley snorted a wry laugh, the heels of his expensive leather shoes clicking across the marble floor. “Not the most original of pen names, is it? But I do have a lot of gatherings, so it may very well have been there. Lupé, my housekeeper, insists all cultures be represented in what we showcase and I never argue with her, otherwise she starches my boxers.”

“I don’t know how to respond to that,” Ireland stated, looking to Noah and Rip for behavioral guidance. The best they could offer were awkward shrugs and tight lipped shakes of their heads.

“Jerry, did you watch that game last night?
” Ridley rose up on tiptoe mid-stride to catch the security guard’s eye over the milling sea of bodies in the ostentatious lobby. “Did I call it, or did I call it?”

“You always do, Mr. Peolte!” The gr
ey haired guard chuckled, brushing the crumbs from his over-sized chocolate chip cookie off the front of his polyester shirt. “I should know better than to bet against you!”

Rip’s beard bobbed as he puffed his cheeks and exhaled through pursed lips. “If pompous individuals brought on my curse
, I could at least have the good fortune to sleep through this.”

Ireland’s hands balled into fists at her sides, mostly to suppress the urge to call forth her sword and hilt slap the information out of him.
“So this Lupé is the one we need to talk to?”

Ridley spun on his heel and walked backwards, his gaze slowly traveling the length of her before he concealed it behind a pair of designer Ray-Ban sunglasses.
“She’ll be at my loft at nine a.m. tomorrow. You’re more than welcome to stop by and speak with her yourself.”

“
All
of us will stop by,” she emphasized the first word to make it clear Noah would be playing the part of her rape whistle.

“Splendid!” Ridley
threw his arms out wide, another blindingly white smile curling across his strikingly handsome face. Plucking a pen from his inside breast pocket, he clicked it to life and seized Ireland’s arm—an act that made her inner beast snarl its outrage. He rotated her sugar skull tattoo skyward to scrawl his address in big, blue letters. The job complete, he dipped his head to blow the ink dry—those raging sea eyes peering up at her over the frames of his lenses.

“
Dude, you had business cards in the breast pocket of your shirt.” Noah pointed out, turning one exasperated hand palm up. “I can see them from here.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ridley smirked
, righting his posture and returning the gold plated pen to his pocket. “Now, you lovely morsel, I must bid you ado. But I shall count the minutes until I’m graced by your magnificence once again.” If he noticed her pained grimace or the way she shrank from his touch as he caught her hand and dotted it with a kiss, he chose to ignore it. Then, without so much as a cursory acknowledgement to the other two men, he caught the next revolving door turnstile out of there.