Web of Lies (Page 65)

If he only knew. I had to work very hard not to reach for my knife again. So not only could Owen Grayson sense a metal weapon in my hand, he could also tell exactly how many I had on me. The usual five, at the moment. Two up my sleeves, two more strapped to my thighs, and one in my purse.

"You know about my interest in metal," Grayson continued.

"I also have one in weapons as well. Making them is a sort of hobby of mine. So you can understand my curiosity about ones as finely crafted as yours. Silverstone’s not easy to shape or purchase."

"The Pork Pit’s in a rough neighborhood," I deadpanned.

"The knives make me feel secure."

Owen laughed. A hint of sarcasm colored his throaty voice. "I’ll just bet they do. But there was one more thing that intrigued me about you, Ms. Blanco."

"And what would that be?"

Owen stopped and disengaged my hand from his arm.

Before I realized what he was doing, he turned my hand over and held my palm up. "This."

We stood underneath one of the antique streetlights. The hazy golden glow covered my palm – and made the spider rune scar embedded in my flesh shimmer a faint silver.

"A small circle surrounded by eight thin rays," Owen Grayson murmured. "A spider rune. The symbol for patience. I wondered what the symbol was."

For a moment, I was stunned. Simply stunned. Not only because Grayson knew about my scars, or at least this one, but also because I never showed the marks to anyone. Only Finn and the Deveraux sisters knew what they really looked like besides me, and I wasn’t crazy about staring at them myself, for obvious reasons.

Oh, sometimes someone in the restaurant would get a quick, accidental look at them while I was working. But the scars had faded over time, and it was hard to tell they were really runes without studying them up close – or that I had one on each palm. Even then, I just passed them off as burns that I’d gotten from working in the Pork Pit over the years.

Still, despite my surprise, I played it cool, as though Grayson seeing the scar didn’t matter to me at all. I shrugged. "So I have a scar. Lots of people do. Hardly worth mentioning."

He shook his head. "Not just any scar. It’s silverstone. The metal is in your skin. When I shook your hand that night, I felt it. And now," Grayson cocked his head to one side. "I can hear it."

I stared at him. He must have more than a small talent for metal, if he could do all that. Once again, the thought struck me that Owen Grayson was someone worth watching, someone to be very careful around. Perhaps even someone to get rid of. But my curiosity wouldn’t quite vanish enough for me to take that final step. Not yet. Not until I knew exactly what he wanted.

"And what does the metal in my hands sound like?"

He gave me a small smile. "It sounds sad. Hurt.

Lonely."

I kept my face blank, even as the emotions and memories raged inside me. The feel of the spider rune medallion burning into my skin, the smell of my own melting flesh filling my nose, my hoarse screams echoing in my ears, the Fire elemental’s cackling laughter drowning out everything else. Somehow, I pushed the memories back and focused on Owen Grayson’s face, on his violet eyes, which were still glowing ever so slightly.

At that moment, I seriously considered hurting Owen Grayson. Even killing him. Because somehow, Grayson had stripped away part of my defenses, part of my anonymity.

He knew too much about me, knew too many things I was so careful to conceal. He could be a threat. To me, to Finn, to the Deveraux sisters. I didn’t like threats.

So I decided to get down to business.

"My scar sounds sad, hurt, lonely? That sounds like a lame come-on to me," I mocked. "Surely, you can do better than that, Mr. Grayson."

Owen laughed – a loud, hearty laugh. I’d amused him. He was laughing in the face of his own possible death. Despite the stupidity of his action, I had to admire his bravado. It, and this little spark of interest, of curiosity I had about him, was all that was keeping Grayson alive.

"So what do you really want?" I asked once Grayson’s laughter had died down.

"From you? I haven’t quite decided. But the possibilities are interesting." His eyes wandered down my body again in a frank, assessing way that told me he liked what he saw. His gaze settled on the heart-and-arrow rune that hung from my black velvet choker. "Although I never would have taken you for one of Roslyn Phillips’s girls."

A hard smile curved my lips. "I’m a woman of many skills."

"I just bet you are," he murmured.

"Let’s get down to business," I said. "Because I have other things to do tonight besides stand out here in the dark with you."

Like killing Tobias Dawson. Five minutes had passed since I’d left Mab Monroe in her own bathroom with Jake McAllister. Since I hadn’t heard any screams or scurries of activity, she hadn’t found his body in the bathtub. Which meant I still had a small window of time left to find, attract, and kill Dawson.

Owen Grayson nodded. "Very well. As I was saying, I was quite surprised to see you here tonight. But once I did, I decided to approach you."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I thought you might like to dance."

I stared at him. He seemed to be sincere. Owen Grayson attracted to me? My eyes narrowed. Or perhaps he’d just seen the rune around my neck and realized what it meant – that I was supposed to f**k anyone here tonight for free. Either way, I supposed stranger things had happened.

"But I wasn’t quite quick enough to catch you before you left the ballroom," Grayson continued. "And then I heard you speaking with Mab in the bathroom. Which interested me that much more, Gin. May I call you Gin?"

"Sure. No need to stand on ceremony at this point. As for what you overheard in the bathroom, I can’t imagine why two girls talking about getting it on would be of interest to a guy like you." Sarcasm dripped from my voice like hot gravy off a biscuit.

His violet eyes glittered in the semidarkness, and he smiled. "Of course not."

"So you want to f**k me then," I said in a blunt tone.

"That’s what this little conversation is all about. The talk about my knives, the stroll on the terrace, the handholding and come-on about what my scar sounds like. Interesting technique. Tell me, what was your next move? Maneuvering me up against the wall here? Or me accidentally falling on your dick?"

Grayson laughed again. "Of course I want to f**k you, Gin."

He stared at me. I saw the desire in his violet gaze, but it wasn’t as lecherous or prurient as the other looks I’d been getting tonight. Oh, Owen Grayson seemed to be as sexual and fond of the female form as the next man.