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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L.P. Dover
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Books by L. P. Dover
About Turn of the Moon
Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
About the Author
The Mystic Wolves by Belinda Boring
Dire by Alyssa Rose Ivy
The Space Between by Kristie Cook
Copyright Notice