My eyes peel open and my gaze lands on my arm. I sit up slowly, holding the appendage out in front of me like it’s a foreign object. All the bending and twisting and examining it in a different light doesn’t change what I see.
I cannot look away from the long, thin scar curving from the inside of my wrist to nearly my elbow.
Memories of the party fire off in my head, one after another. Wolves. Glass. Blood. Most of what happened is distorted by a sleepy haze, and I’m positive that I am missing a few vital pieces of information, but I remember.
Unless I dreamt that I hid in a rusty green truck while a pack of wolves fought over who got to eat me? But if I dreamt that, how do I explain the cut on my arm?
Forget that.
How do I explain the fact that the cut looks like a month-old scar if what I remember happened only last night?
“How much did I drink?” I swing my legs to the floor with a groan.
I am still wearing the same jeans I put on last night. They’re about as filthy as I would expect if my memories are correct, and there is a hand-sized, rust-colored stain on the thigh that I assume is my blood.
“It happened,” I mumble to myself.
So how did I get home, and why does my arm look like I have a plastic surgeon who makes house calls on speed dial?
I probe my memories for what I am missing but come up with nothing solid. Only vague, unclear thoughts and distorted images. Nothing that pulls it all together.
What little I manage to grasp on to is pushed away by the chorus of Lorde’s “Royal” coming from my phone. I narrow my eyes on the device as it vibrates on my nightstand, suddenly aware that it shouldn’t be there.
“I lost you,” I accuse it suspiciously. My eyes swing across the room, to my shoulder bag lying on the floor. Not on the peg where I usually keep it, but definitely not on the ground on top of the mountain, where I am positive I dropped it last night. “You too.”
Then I remember that “Royal” is Vienna’s ringtone. She was at the party. She will know what happened, and she will confirm that I am not losing my mind.
I snatch the phone. “Vi?”
“Ugh,” she groans. “I need coffee.”
“Are you okay?”
“No,” she whines. “My head is pounding, my tongue can barely move, and I’m seeing two of everything. I think I’m still drunk.”
“You’re drunk? You . . . you’re not hurt?”
“Define hurt because—”
“You weren’t attacked?”
“Attacked?” Her voice clears a bit. “What are you talking about? Did you make it home alright? Are you okay?”
I stare at the wall across from me. Half of it is covered by a fully-stocked bookshelf; the other half by pictures. Mostly of Vienna and I. She is my best friend. I tell her everything. She knows me.
And she has no idea what happened to me last night.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just woke up from a weird dream.” I swallow the lump in my throat like my subconscious knows the words are lies. “You want to meet up for coffee?”
“Yes,” she sighs. “I’ve never needed a latte more than I need one now.”
I glance at the streaks of dirt on my hands and arms, and suspect my face looks equally bad. I attempt to run my fingers through my hair and get snagged in a nest of knots. Not a good sign.
“Give me time to shower,” I tell Vienna before we disconnect.
I gather a change of clothes and pad into the bathroom that I share with Jill. Her adjoining door is cracked open. Instead of automatically shutting it like I usually do, I peek into her room first.
Something still doesn’t feel right about last night. Jill was there, too. Maybe she can corroborate my memory of events. It’s not like her to let something like that go. Of course, she would fabricate a tale that makes her out to be the damsel in distress, but that’s Jill. I’m used to her antics, and I don’t care for the spotlight. I just need her to confirm that it happened.
I spot a hairy leg sticking out from under her duvet and cringe. Apparently, Steve spent the night. Again. I choke back the bile burning my throat and take a long, hard look at them to confirm that they are asleep and unscathed before I retreat into the bathroom and shut the door with a soft click.
If I know Jill—and I think I do—there is no way she would be asleep right now if wolves crashed the party as I remember. She would have CNN camped in our front yard while she spun some dramatic tale to share with any reporter with a camera.
My gaze lands on my reflection in the mirror, and I stare at my haggard appearance with wide, disbelieving eyes. As suspected, my face is streaked by a combination of dirt and dried blood. My hair looks more brown than it should and is matted to one side of my head. My lips are pale and dry, and there is a crack in the middle of the bottom one. The only part of my face that doesn’t look like it’s been through hell is my eyes. They’re vibrant and green and clearly show my confusion.
“What happened to me last night?”
I have no answers half an hour later when I drive along Main Street in downtown Castien Valley. It sounds fancier than it is. Boasting a grand total of three red lights, and nestled between two mountains in northeastern Washington state, Castien Valley is the quintessential rural town. We have one post office, one school district, one grocery store, one gas station, three family-owned restaurants, and a Main Street lined with one small business after another. Chains are not welcome in this town of three-thousand and change is slow. The café still has a sign on the window announcing the ‘Free WiFi’ they proudly installed last year.
Vienna and I were already frequent customers by then, but since, it has become a favorite of out-of-town hunters and tourists. Hunters come for the many deer, moose, and bear that roam our mountains; tourists come to hike the trails and admire the bountiful nature. The five B&Bs that line Elk Street, and the one family-owned motel outside the town limits, do surprisingly well. Not as well as the two campgrounds—one at the base of each mountain that borders us—but well enough to be icons of the Cascades for fifty-plus years.
Castien Valley is a four-season town, but spring and summer tend to bring more nature-loving families and less camo-clad men with rifles. This morning is no exception.
I park my car in the last empty spot on the street and skirt around a family crawling along at turtle speed as they do some window shopping in the late morning sun. I push through the double doors of the café and spot Vienna already seated at her favorite corner booth. Favorite because it offers an unobstructed view of the street, and Vienna is a “people watcher.” Especially if they’re young, attractive male travelers.
She gives me a weak wave as I approach the counter to order my drink. I go with a large latte this morning. Extra cream.
Vienna’s head is resting on the table by the time I join her. The shoulder length chocolate-colored hair she typically spends an hour on perfecting is pulled into a messy ponytail. I hear her groan as I slide into my seat.
“I should have left early with you,” she mumbles before lifting her head. Her eyes look more gray than their usual shade of blue, and not one part of her face has been touched by makeup. She must feel really lousy this morning. “What did you do? Go home?”
I give her a blank stare. “You got my text?”
“Eventually. I think you were already gone by the time I read it. I got a ride with Sam later.” She sips from her cup. “Don’t tell me you locked yourself in your room for the rest of the night to read.”
“I like to read,” I remind her patiently without answering her questions because I don’t know how to explain what I thought happened last night. The more time that passes with no one corroborating the version of events I remember, the more I am starting to believe I dreamt it.
Surely, a wolf attack of that nature would warrant a visit from the game commission. The news would have spread like a wildfire in a drought. The whole town would be buzzing.
I glance at my arm with a frown. B
ut how do I explain that?
“Anyway,” Vienna waves a dismissive hand. “You missed all the excitement.”
I sit up in my seat expectantly. “What happened?”
“Steve and Jill happened.” Vienna rolls her eyes, and my shoulders sag. “They are the definition of dysfunctional. I don’t know how you live with that girl.”
“I’m good at avoiding her.” I shrug. “What did they do this time?”
“Got into a big screaming match. Want to guess what it was over?” Her lips curve up on one side like they do when she’s sitting on juicy gossip. When she looks at me, my stomach churns.
“Oh, no.” I shake my head.
“Oh, yes.” She nods vigorously. “Apparently, you were seen with one of the mysterious and sexy out-of-towners. Steve didn’t like it, and Jill didn’t like that he cared so much. I never saw the guy, but I heard from multiple credible sources that he was exceptionally hot.” Vienna’s candid face crumbles. “How could you not tell me you hooked up last night?”
“I didn’t—wait.” I stare at the top of the table like the answers to my many questions can be found on the glossy surface. I don’t find answers, but I remember something.
I remember him.
“Luca,” I murmur under my breath.
“Who?” Vienna leans across her seat.
“His name was Luca.”
And he knows what happened to me last night. He saw me. He helped me. Unless I dreamt that part, too. I glance at the marks on my arm and remind myself that something happened last night.
“Sav!” Vienna whisper-yells.
I look up from the table with a slow blink. “Sorry. What did you say?”
“What’s up with you this morning? I asked you three times if he was as cute as everyone said he was.”
I permit a small smile to slip free. “He was cute.”
Vienna shimmies in her seat excitedly. “Where is he from? How long is he in town? Are you going to see him again?”
“Slow down, Vi. We talked for a few minutes, and then . . . I went home.” I look away as I finish my statement, because I know I’m leaving things out—details that no one would believe. I still haven’t decided if I believe them yet.
“That is so . . . not exciting.” Vienna sighs and gives a disappointed shake of her head.
“I’m pretty sure I dodged a bullet. He was . . .”
I forget what I was saying when the door opens and three jean-clad, hiking boots-wearing guys enter the café. They approach the counter with long, confident strides, and their presence fills the lobby.
While I suspect they are travelers, since guys like that don’t grow in Castien Valley, I feel an odd twinge of recognition as I watch them. My gaze is particularly drawn to the last one to enter, with a black Nirvana T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders. He stands an inch taller than the other two and has a few more pounds of lean muscle. A low-riding ball cap conceals most of his face, but there is something about him that feels familiar.
“Sav.” Vienna snaps her fingers in my face. When I shift my gaze to her, she hands me a napkin. “You’re drooling a little bit.”
“Stop it.” I frown at her.
“I don’t blame you.” She surveys the three guys with an appreciative gleam in her eyes. “Those aren’t Castien Valley boys.”
“No, they are not,” I agree.
“I love tourist season,” she sighs dramatically.
“Too bad you’re going to miss most of it,” I remind her.
“Stupid family with their stupid vacation plans,” she grumbles. “What eighteen-year-old girl wants to spend an entire summer jammed into an RV on a cross country road trip with her family?”
“There will be plenty of boys along the way for you to fawn over,” I tell her cheerfully despite the lonely ache in my chest at the thought of spending the entire summer without my bestie.
Vienna looks pointedly at the trio as they order their drinks. “Not ones like that.”
“They’re not that good looking.” I squint at the guys, trying to find something wrong with them to make the words not a lie. It’s not possible.
Vienna suddenly perks. “We should invite them to sit with us,” she suggests and starts to slide out of the booth.
“No!” I lunge across the table to grab her arm.
She settles back with a groan. “Jesus, Sav. You need to live a little. It’s innocent fun.”
I cast a furtive glance toward the counter to find the Nirvana T-shirt guy looking our way after my outburst. His chin lifts a fraction, giving me a glimpse of his eyes hidden under the ball cap. I would say that they’re the most riveting eyes I have ever seen, but that would be a lie.
I’ve seen them before. Last night, to be exact.
I gulp as a grin slowly spreads across his face.
“That’s him,” I whisper to Vienna.
“Who?”
“Luca. That’s him.”
“Which one?” She turns to stare at the group. I’m too stunned to care how obvious she is.
“The one wearing a hat,” I tell her.
“You mean the extra, extra hot one?”
I nod rapidly, unable to look away from him. Even though I can no longer clearly see his eyes, I know they are on me. I am aware of how crazy it sounds, but I feel the power of his gaze. The barista sets a drink on the counter, and he finally releases me from his hold. I sit back in my seat as he claims his order.
Vienna glares at me. “You went home to read last night?”
“Don’t start, Vi,” I groan.
“You should have stayed,” Vienna scolded. “Or better yet, gone somewhere—anywhere—with him.”
I glance toward the lobby, where Luca stands off to one side as he adds a packet of sugar to his drink. His back is to me, and I can’t help but admire how the thin T-shirt hugs his shoulders.
“That”—Vienna thrusts a thumb in his direction—“is the kind of guy you’re supposed to give it to, Sav.”
Luca covers his mouth with a fist and coughs into it. Only it doesn’t sound like a cough. It sounds like a laugh disguised as a cough.
“Vi, shut up,” I whisper.
“Why? Are your virgin ears bleeding?” She grins across the table at me.
Oh. My. God. How long does it take to fix a damn coffee?
“Keep your voice down,” I tell Vienna. “He can hear you.”
“Really? Is he Superman?”
“You’re louder than you think you are.”
“Whatever.” She shakes her head and peeks over her shoulder with a little more finesse. “Look at how tall they are. They look like athletes. All rippling muscles and . . . hard places.” She finishes with a wink.
Finally, Luca replaces the lid on his drink, drops a bill into the tip jar, and joins his buddies where they wait near the door. As he passes, his gaze slides across the room to connect with mine.
I stop breathing. Images play out in my mind’s eye like an old black and white film. Luca, younger than he appears now, hovers above me with a lopsided smile on his lips. Then they touch mine. The warmth of the sun shining high in the sky warms me at the same time the cool sand at my back keeps me from combusting from his touch. My fingers comb through his damp hair as his mouth moves firmly over mine. Somewhere in the distance is the sound of water lapping at a shore. An overwhelming happiness swells inside of me, and I think it must be what love feels like.
I blink and the bizarre daydream vanishes. I’m left staring at Luca’s grin from across the café. He breaks the connection between us first and turns to follow his friends out the door and onto the sidewalk.
He’s gone, but I suspect this will not be the last I see of him.
Chapter 4
I spin across the dancefloor of a grand ballroom beneath a canopy of twinkling lights. The fog at my feet is thick and moves around me as if alive, and while I sense others nearby, I cannot see them. Only one is with me.
Large hands grip my waist over the red blood satin
gown I wear, anchoring me to the solid wall of muscle that moves beneath my hands. My eyes drift up the lapels of a black leather jacket, and over a black button-up shirt accented by a red tie before my head is forced to tip back to continue the rest of the journey.
I find full lips, surrounded by a fine layer of scruff, twisted into a lopsided grin. I’m tempted to stare at those lips all night, but I force myself to keep going. I need to know who I am dancing with.
My gaze collides with a pair of blue eyes, and a gasp passes my parted lips. “Luca?”
He nods his head in a sort of curtsy. “The one and only.”
“Why you?”
With a sudden move that forces a squeal out of me, he spins me around. The dazzling lights above my head surge as a mesmerizing voice sings in the distance. I come to a stop, cradled in Luca’s arms with my back pressed to his chest.
His lips brush the side of my neck when he whispers in my ear. “Who else would it be?”
He doesn’t wait for a response before he spins me again. This time, we collide front-to-front. One hand tightens around my waist to ensure we stay that way. As we glide to the music, I feel every fluid movement of his body against mine.
“We just met,” I try to reason. “I barely know you.”
He peers down at me with another grin. “So it seems.”
“What does that mean? Do we . . .”
“Know each other?” He finishes my question when I am unable. “Yes, we knew each other once. I’m back now. I will make it right again, and in time, you will know everything.”
“Tell me now,” I plead.
He gives a small, sad shake of his head. “That didn’t work out too well the last time. I need to be patient and let it come slowly. You need to trust me first.”
“Last time? I don’t understand.”
“Soon.” One hand cusps my chin, forcing my head back and my eyes up. His head dips, and his breath fans the corner of my mouth a moment before he takes it in a deep and unforgiving kiss.
I should be surprised, or even outraged, but I’m not. His lips feel familiar against mine, as if we belong together and this is only one of a thousand kisses we have shared.
Shifter Crown: Valley of Truth and Denial (The Shifter Crown Series Book 1) Page 3
