Jennifer Estep - Web of Lies

“And what would you know about the real me?” I asked in a soft tone.

Owen’s smile deepened. “I know you have a silverstone knife in your hand right now.”

There was no way he could have seen me palm the knife. So how did he know I even had one? I stared at him closer and realized the reason his violet eyes were so bright was because they were glowing — with magic. A faint trace, barely noticeable, but I felt it. A cool caress, not unlike my own Stone magic. Which could only mean one thing.

“You have an elemental talent for metal.”

“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid,” Owen said. “It’s a small skill.”

My eyes narrowed. Because with every word he said, I was thinking more and more about stabbing Owen Grayson and taking the chance I could get out of the mansion before someone found his body. But I decided to play it cool — for now.

“What do you want?”

“I just want to talk.” Owen held out his arm to me.

“Shall we?”

I stared at his arm, thinking how easy it would be to brush it aside and bury my knife in his heart. He knew what I was thinking. The knowledge flashed in his violet eyes, but his arm never wavered, never lowered. His gaze never left mine. For whatever reason, Owen Grayson wasn’t afraid of me. Which piqued my curiosity. At least enough for me to slide my knife back up the sleeve of my dress.

Fucking curiosity. Going to get me killed one night.

Maybe even tonight.

I took his arm. “So talk.”

Owen tucked me in close to him, and the heat of his body washed over me. He smelled rich and earthy, almost like… metal, if metal had any real smell. His arm felt like steel, even through the fabric of his tuxedo jacket. For the first time, I was aware of him as a man, as someone of the opposite sex. Owen Grayson was decidedly attractive, with his strong body and chiseled features. But what really set him apart was the fact that he radiated confidence the way that Mab Monroe did magic. That hint of power, that confidence, made Grayson interesting. And definitely someone worth watching.

Especially since I was still considering killing him.

We walked down the hallway back toward the ballroom.

At first, I thought we would go straight there, but Owen Grayson paused and opened one of the doors that led outside. We stepped out onto the stone terrace that lined this side of the mansion, and Grayson shut the door behind us.

The night air was cool, especially since my dress was still damp from where I’d scrubbed away Jake McAllister’s blood. Antique-looking iron street lamps lined the terrace, providing soft, hazy illumination, while wide stone steps led down to a garden beyond. Low moans and sucking sounds drifted up to us, and several dark shapes writhed together in various gazebos in the garden. Other couples stood up against trees or used some of the stone statues for leverage. The party must have livened up a bit, if folks had already come outside to fuck on top of Mab Monroe’s prize-winning roses.

Owen Grayson meandered down the terrace, with me at his side.

“I have to confess I was quite surprised when you strolled into the ballroom tonight,” Grayson began. “I hadn’t expected to see you here, especially not wearing that cheap blond wig.”

“Don’t care for blondes, do you?” I sniped.

“Sassy brunettes are more my style.” He grinned.

I didn’t respond.

“Actually, I have a small confession to make. I’ve been thinking about you a lot these past few days, Ms. Blanco. So much so that I had a friend gather some information on you.”

So Owen Grayson had someone dig into my past. No worries. My cover ID as Gin Blanco was rock solid. It had withstood Jonah McAllister’s scrutiny, and I had no doubt it had passed muster with Grayson as well. But I didn’t understand his curiosity. Sure, I’d saved his sister, Eva, from being burned to death by Jake McAllister that night at the Pork Pit. But most men of Grayson’s wealth, position, and standing would have forgotten all about me by now.

“You checked me out? Why?”

“You saved my sister, you saved Eva,” Owen said. “She’s the most important thing in the world to me. I like to settle my debts. I wanted to find some way to repay you. I wanted to find something you liked, something you wanted or needed, and give it to you. No strings attached.”

“I told you that I don’t want your money.”

Owen waved his hand. “So you’ve said. But then I got close to you, shook your hand that night in the Pork Pit. And I wondered why someone who runs a barbecue restaurant, even one on the edge of Southtown, would carry five silverstone knives on her person. Seemed like overkill to me.”

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.