Turn of the Moon (A Royal Shifters novel Book 1) (34 page)
“Go,” I said, shoving on his shoulder and making him stumble. For a moment, I thought he and Bruno were both going down, but they caught themselves. We all cracked up with inebriated laughter. “You need to get to bed before you forget me or even Bruno.”
I watched as they left with more tears stinging my eyes.
“Ah, finally, I can close up,” Alonzo said from behind the bar as I grabbed my duffle bag.
I hadn’t realized everyone else had left. My eyes automatically glanced over at the table by the window. Of course, the guy was gone. But sitting on his table was my wine bottle with a single white rose in it, like the ones the audience had tossed at me earlier. I said goodbye to Alonzo and grabbed the bottle on my way out.
Back in my room at the little inn, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, the stunning face with the enrapturing blue eyes wavered behind my eyelids. After updating Facebook with tonight’s pictures and seeing if Mira had put up a rare status update—no, she hadn’t—I sat in my bed and stared at the rose in the bottle perched on the windowsill. Of the whole time I’d been in Italy, even the whole week I’d been in this village, why did he show up on my last night? Why not sooner, when we might have had a chance to meet, to get to know each other? He’d been the only person to truly catch my eye and I his.
Well, I thought maybe I’d caught his attention. It was hard to know for sure, the way he kept looking away. Maybe I reminded him of someone, maybe even his wife. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were married, which would explain his strange behavior.
You’re being ridiculous.
I shook my head. It didn’t matter if he was married or not, or if the interest was mutual. I would never see him again and that was that.
So why couldn’t I get him out of my head?
M
y heart grew heavier than the humongous suitcase I lugged behind me as I boarded the train and took a seat by the window. I should have known better than to expect anyone to see me off, even Alberto who probably still snored away his multiple martinis. Although I hadn’t made any real friends besides him, I’d still miss all the people I’d met while here. I’d also miss the beautiful countryside and the quaint little villages with their cobblestone streets and old stone buildings. I leaned my head against the window and pressed my palm to the pane. The train car jolted as the engine began its pull.
Goodbye, Italy. I’ll be back.
The train had barely begun to move when I saw Alberto rush out to the platform. His eyes scanned the train, and I swore they stopped at my window. I wiggled my fingers in a wave. His brow furrowed and he cocked his head, looking befuddled, like he had last night when I’d mentioned Uncle Theo. Was he still drunk? But he’d come out here to see me off, right? Perhaps he didn’t actually see me through the window. Then Bruno and the rest of the company gathered around him, and I realized their train would be coming soon. Maybe he hadn’t come to say goodbye, after all. I waved anyway. Nobody waved back.
But a blond-headed man rushed to one of the cars of my train. Was it
him
? The guy from last night? I pressed my head harder against the window, as if trying to push through it to see if he made it aboard, but I couldn’t see that far down. The train picked up speed, and I sat back in my seat with a snort. I was probably imagining things.
I pulled my phone out of my skirt pocket, hoping to find a reply from Uncle Theo. Still nothing. My mouth pulled down in a frown as worry again niggled its way into my mind. This wasn’t like Uncle Theo. He’d at least take the time to wish me safe travels, knowing I was on my way home. International phone calls were expensive, so I’d been avoiding calling Mira unless it was an emergency. This was close enough.
I dialed her number but her voicemail picked up. I didn’t know if she ever listened to it—she was sixty-seven, quite a bit younger than Uncle Theo, but still not a big fan of technology. So I called Uncle Theo’s house phone, thinking she was probably there anyway. Dread began to weigh my heart down as the phone rang and rang. What if he’d been hurt? He wasn’t as steady on his feet as he used to be.
Oh, God, what if he’s de—
No, I wouldn’t finish that thought.
Dude, relax. Mira’s probably at the store and Uncle Theo can’t hear the phone.
After all, if something was wrong and Mira couldn’t reach me, surely she would have called my parents, and they would have called me. This thought, along with knowing I’d see him soon, calmed me.
Everything’s okay. No news is good news.
I told myself I was tired after being awake for over twenty-four hours, letting my imagination get to me. But I suddenly couldn’t wait to get home.
The rhythm of the wheels on the tracks eventually lulled me to sleep. The two-hour ride was long enough to leave me feeling even groggier than before. I was surprised I found my way through the maze of transfers to get from the train to the airport.
After checking my bags and receiving my boarding pass, I went straight to the airport coffee shop, grabbed a cup of cappuccino and then headed for my gate, only to find I had a three-hour delay. The waiting area was already full, so I made my way down the corridor, looking for a seat. As I passed a bar and considered taking a seat inside, a blond head turned toward me, and this time I wasn’t imagining things.
Our eyes locked, and I halted in my tracks as my breaths stuttered in my lungs. He was even more gorgeous in the light of day . . . but also more dangerous. I could feel that even across the many yards of space between us. The tattoos on his arms didn’t tell me this. Something in the way he held himself, the cock of his head, the gleam in those eyes that were pulling me in.
A movement next to him broke my trance. A dark-haired beauty sat in the chair beside him, although she may as well have been sitting in his lap, her body was welded so tightly against his as she looked over his shoulder at the phone on the table. She was nearly as beautiful as he was—definitely model material. She looked up at me with sharp eyes as a well-manicured, bright red fingernail traced his collar.
I withdrew my stare that by now had to be bordering on rude and ridiculous and hastened my pace along the corridor as the search for a seat resumed. The bar was definitely not an option.
A pounding of feet sounded behind me, followed by someone yelling in Italian. I stepped to the side to move out of the way and turned toward the commotion. Gorgeous guy was running toward me, and the bartender ran after him. I stepped farther out of the way until my back pressed against the wall, but he stopped in front of me. I stared at him, my mouth gaping.
The bartender yelled something about paying his tab, and my eyes widened as I looked over his shoulder. Did he really so blatantly ditch his bill? The guy turned to follow my gaze, then rolled his eyes as he dropped his phone into his t-shirt pocket. His hands moved in front of him—the ASL sign for “sorry” then “hold on.” I only knew this because Uncle Theo and I had learned sign language together when he began to lose his hearing. Was gorgeous guy deaf?
He turned to me as he reached into his back pocket, probably for his wallet. I hoped for his wallet and not something crazy, like a knife or a gun. Yep. Wallet. But he hadn’t been fast enough. The bartender’s hand landed on his shoulder and forced him to turn. Gorgeous guy’s fist went up as though to throw a punch.
“Whoa!” I squeaked, dropping my coffee cup to reach up and grab the tight muscles of his forearm.
My stomach dropped five stories.
I seriously felt as though I’d fallen off the side of a tall building, plummeting in a free fall. My heart took off in a gallop, while my lungs ceased working at all. I looked up and fell into the pools of those deep blue eyes, plunging further and further under. The word “
dyad
” echoed from deep within me, as if my soul itself had whispered it. I didn’t even know what the word meant.
But I did know one thing for certain.
Before last night, I’d never seen this guy in my life—how could I ever forget
that
face?—but in some inexplicable way, I knew him. My
soul
knew him.
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Table of Contents
The Mystic Wolves by Belinda Boring