Appalled, Ivy watched him leave the room. She itched to chase after him and tell him what he could do with that last statement. But she knew if she did she might do something she would regret later. She was feeling sore and hurtful and she wanted to lash out at Ronan.
He’d hurt her in more ways than one. In ways she didn’t even realize she could feel pain. Quinn had been right. She couldn’t trust any other man in her life. She was way better off alone.
The sex had been cathartic for her, though. She’d needed to feel something other than the confusion and hurt that pounded in her head and heart. She took Ronan’s presence in the bathroom as an offering to help her ease her pain. Instinctively he had known she wouldn’t have accepted kind words and a gentle hug. She needed physical contact with someone. She’d wanted it from Ronan.
She couldn’t deny it had been fierce and passionate and explosive. Even now she could feel his flesh in her hands and between her thighs. Her gut clenched at the thought of having sex with him again. It had been a long time since she’d been with a man. And even longer since she’d had any romantic feelings for one.
She was the love-’em-and-leave-’em type. She didn’t have room in her life for anyone. She couldn’t worry about someone else’s welfare. She had to look after herself, physically, mentally and spiritually. She needed to be fully intact to do the job she did. Having feelings for someone just opened up those avenues. Avenues where pain could sneak through and attack. She had enough creatures attacking her on a daily basis; she didn’t need her own thoughts and feelings doing the same.
She grabbed her bag, zipped it open and took out a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. As she dressed, she thought about how angry she was at Ronan for lying to her, for keeping his true motives a secret. But truth be told, it really didn’t change anything. Not in the big picture. He wanted to help her find Quinn. That hadn’t changed. He had resources she didn’t have access to. That hadn’t changed. So what was the real issue here?
And why did it still sting right in the middle of her chest?
She finished dressing, determined not to show any more emotion. Her dad had been the one to drill it into her head about the weakness of showing emotions. They slowed a person down. Sometimes even stopping them from doing what needed to be done.
She wouldn’t let that happen. Her goal was to find Quinn, and nothing from this moment forward was going to stop her from doing that. No matter what came her way, she would keep her resolve and do what was required. Even if that meant leaving Ronan behind.
The tempting smells of hot food drifted to Ivy’s nose as she made her way out of the bedroom and back to the living room. Ronan was already seated, eating something that smelled delicious out of a white cardboard box.
He gestured toward the rest of the smorgasbord spread out on the table. “It’s from this Thai restaurant down the block. Eat it. It’s good.”
She was hungry enough that she didn’t see the point of arguing. She grabbed a box, some chopsticks, secured a comfy spot on the floor and dug in.
They ate in silence and she didn’t look at Ronan until she was done her food. She tossed the empty box onto the table, then pinned him with her gaze. He glanced up at her from shoveling noodles into his mouth.
“I want to know more about this key.”
He nodded and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve set up an appointment with a contact of mine. She’s a demonologist and knows everything there is to know about King Solomon and his grimoire.”
“When?”
“In an hour.”
She stood and started back toward the bedroom. “It’ll give me time to sharpen my knives.”
“Ivy...”
She stopped but didn’t turn around to face him. “We don’t need to talk about it. It doesn’t matter.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I lied to you. And I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“You didn’t.” Then she kept going into the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. She leaned against the wood and fought back the hot prickles at the corners of her eyes. She wouldn’t let the tears fall. And she’d be damned if she ever let Ronan see her cry, especially because of him.
She balled her hands tightly, digging her nails into her palms, and took in a few deep breaths. She would put on her mask and show him it didn’t matter, that he didn’t matter. It would be one of the hardest things she’d ever done, but she’d do it, just as she always had.
Forty-five minutes later, they were back in the truck, racing down the highway toward San Francisco State University. Ronan’s contact was a woman named Quianna Lang who was a professor in the humanities department. Supposedly, she was a guru on all world religions, with a slant toward demonology.
They parked in visitor parking and crossed the campus to the gray humanities building. They went in and up to the fourth floor to Quianna’s office. Ronan knocked on the closed door.
“Come in,” a youngish female voice sounded from within.
Ronan opened the door and he and Ivy stepped into the cramped office. The woman behind the desk stood and came around to them. She was a petite woman, with a warm smile but cold, hard eyes. Ivy wondered what she’d seen in her life to give her that fierce gaze.
“Ronan.” She embraced him with a familiarity that almost grated on Ivy’s spine. She shook off the feeling and met the woman head-on.
“This is Ivy Strom,” Ronan said. “Ivy, this is Quianna Lang.”
The little woman held out her hand to Ivy. She shook it and Ivy noticed Quianna had a firm, solid grip even with her dainty-looking hand. “It’s a pleasure, of course, to meet you, Ivy. I’ve heard a lot about you and your family.”
Ivy just nodded, unsure how she felt about the woman. She gave Ivy an unsettling feeling. Like she’d just walked through a cold spot or someone’s restless spirit.
“I met your father once.”
“Really?” Ivy cocked one eyebrow.
“Yes.” Quianna sat on the edge of her desk, and then turned to regard Ronan. “So why the meeting?”
“We need to know all you know about Solomon’s grimoire and the key to the chest that supposedly holds it.”
Quianna’s face paled. “Are you serious?”
Ronan nodded. “Supposedly Quinn Strom has the key.”
“And?” She looked from Ronan to Ivy and back to Ronan.
“And the Crimson Hall Cabal have hired this one—” she gestured to Ronan “—to find it and bring it to them,” Ivy added, loving that the little demonologist just fixed Ronan with a lethal stare worthy of any deadly hunter. She was impressed.
“You dumb ass.” Quianna slid off the desk and went toe-to-toe with him, although she was a good seven inches shorter. “You can’t give them the key. If they find the chest and open it, you can’t even imagine the power that will be unleashed.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit overdramatic?” he asked.
Quianna swatted Ronan on the side of the head. “Don’t you think you’re the dumbest man on earth?”
Ivy broke out into laughter. To see the little spitfire cuff a big man like Ronan had tickled her silly. Because the look on his face, one of astonishment, was priceless to see.
Quianna turned to Ivy. “You seem like an intelligent woman. Can’t you talk some sense into him?”
Ivy put up her hand in defense. “I don’t own him. He’s his own person. I just want to find my brother. I don’t really give a shit about the rest of it.”
“Well, you should.” She sat back on the edge of her desk. “Did you ever stop to think why your brother disappeared? Maybe it was to hide the key. To keep it from evil hands, like the Crimson Hall Cabal.”
“Do you know where he went?” Ivy stepped toward her, suddenly frantic to know something, anything. Any
