Hunter Moon: A Grazi Kelly Novel #2 (16 page)

I noticed a man sitting against one wall. A
large cup of steaming coffee sat in front of him. His head was down
and his posture appeared casual. But I’m a Werewolf and I could
tell he was tense. His position against the wall was defensive.

He clearly didn’t want any surprise
attackers. He had a view of everyone entering and exiting from
where he sat.
Bingo. Werewolf. Or special ops guy.
Either
way that had to be him.

I tapped Ronan on the arm and he focused
immediately on the man. Tattoos marked his body from his neck down
his arms in full color sleeves from what I could see. I wondered if
there were more.

The most prominent tattoos I could make out
were of a red Fleur de lis topped cross that looked like a dagger
on his right forearm and another similar to Ronan’s Celtic cross,
only smaller, marked his neck. Others were various symbols,
crosses, fish, moons, stars, and some words in various
languages.

I could see he was tall though he was seated,
His long legs spilled out from under the table. It seemed he was
carelessly lounging about, but I knew he could spring up from such
a position easily to defend or attack. Whichever suited his
immediate purpose.

He had yet to raise his head though I could
tell from the change in his breathing that he knew we were there.
Perhaps he was giving us a chance to decide whether or not to
approach.

I shrugged and elbowed Ronan a little. He
nodded and we walked over to the man. I let Ronan step slightly in
front of me. It seemed to be his preference when we were out and
possibly in danger.
My protector.
My Wolf smiled in my
mind.

It should have bothered me maybe that he did
this so often. I mean it’s the 21
^st
Century and I’m a
Werewolf. I was hardly defenseless. But the truth is I
liked
it. I’ve just always been so tall and awkward, not petite and
pretty like my cousins or their friends.

I always felt so clumsy and unrefined next to
Julianna, but not right now. Not with him. I was tall, but he was
taller. And I liked it. Feeling protected. Taken care of even. Some
might call it a weakness, but whatever.
I only felt this way
when I was with him
.

“Sit.” His voice was worn, scratchy. Like he
smoked way too many cigarettes in his lifetime.

“Which one of you is
WolfGirl
?”

“Funny.” I said and had to stop myself from
smirking at Ronan.

The man looked up and I was taken aback by
the pale gray eyes that stared back at me. He looked at Ronan first
who after a moment adverted his gaze in respect to the other man’s
dominance.

Then he fixed his silver gaze on me. I could
see
age, wisdom, and sadness. Tremendous sadness and perhaps
a hint of insanity. I shuddered slightly. This man was a breath
away from being completely unhinged. I looked down.

“Ask me the right questions and I’ll give you
answers.” He took a long slow sip of his coffee and settled back
into his previous pose.

“Well, my real name is Grazi Kelly. My dad
was Patrick Kelly.”

“I knew your father some time ago. Ask your
questions child, I’ve not come here to reminisce.”

“Fine. What do you know about
dreamscaping
?”

“Dreamscaping? Hmm, there are those who can
speak to others in dreams.
Dreamscapers
interpret the
messages. Mostly gypsies practice nowadays. Ask another
question.”

“What if it’s more than messages? Can a
person actually go somewhere else in their dreams?”

“Ah.
Dreamwalking
now, is it? Well,
that is altogether different. There are myths of Dreamwalkers in
almost every culture going back to Ancient Greece and even further
back in aboriginal folklore. In Italy Dreamwalkers are called
Benendanti
. But that was hundreds of years ago.”

“Hundreds of years ago?” I rubbed my eyes.
This was getting me nowhere. I recognized that name, but what did
it
mean
?

“There hasn’t been a living member of the
Benendanti
on record since the 1600s.” SilverWolf continued
and sipped his coffee. It had gone cold, but he passed his right
hand over it and it was steaming once again. I chose to ignore it.
Ronan, however gripped the edge of table so hard I expected it to
crack.

“Nonna called me that once. A
Benendanti
. What does it mean?”

“Did she? Ask her about it then. You’ve got
little time left with me. Ask another question.”

“Can I bring someone back with me? From my
dreams?”

“That’s a tough one. I have heard of
Dreamwalkers who have killed or have been killed during an episode,
but to actually move another physical presence back with you? Now,
that I have never heard. Perhaps if the other was a Dreamwalker
too. Ha! I knew this would be an interesting conversation. I
wouldn’t have come for anything less.”

“How could you have known that? I only posted
messages on the
Wolf Moon
board last night.” Ronan eased his
grip on the Formica tabletop. He was as caught up in SilverWolf’s
explanation as I was.

“You live long enough you know things.” His
pale gray eyes glowed a little and for a second I saw the ages pass
as he had.
But that’s impossible.

That would make him, like
real
old.
Hundreds of years old at least. He rapped once on the table with
his bare knuckles. They too were covered in tattoos of what looked
like ancient glyphs to me. His long, lanky frame looked much more
powerful when he stood.

“I’ll find out more information if you like.
In the meantime look for a Romani, you know, a
Gypsy
, to
talk to. They can determine whether you are actually dreamwalking
or not.”

“Where would I find a Gypsy?”

“I imagine you know a few. Look around,
little princess, you just might
see
what is right in front
of you.” He bowed slightly and Ronan did the same. An oddly
respectful gesture, but I’ve seen Ronan move like that before.
Maybe early training or whatnot.

SilverWolf walked like a gunslinger from an
old Western movie. Not bowlegged or anything like that. But with a
lazy grace that belied his skill and proficiency at dealing death
to his enemies. I had no doubt of that skill. I had seen it in his
pale silver gaze.

Ronan and I left the Chelsea Market a little
while after our meeting. But not before purchasing some spices for
Nonna and Dimitri both. I wondered if we could get those two
together and have like a cook off or something.

“So what did you think?” Ronan interrupted my
wayward thoughts. Good thing too, I tended to jump from topic to
topic when I was stressed. And this definitely had me stressed.

“I think he was
old
, Ronan. Like old
in a way that makes Rolf look like a baby. How can that be?”

“I don’t know but I think you’re right. He
was telling the truth though. Well, however much of it he was
willing to spill.”

“Yeah, I picked that up too.” My phone
buzzed. It was a text from Sebastian. Crap I forgot about him. I
texted back quickly asking how he felt. He answered we needed to
talk. I looked up, Ronan was reading my texts over my shoulder.

“Do you mind?”

“A little, yes.”

“Ronan, come on. He’s probably wondering what
the heck happened to him last night.” We made it to the Port
Authority and hopped on the crowded bus that would take us home.
Ronan lowered his voice to where I was certain only I heard
him.

“Yes, well tell him he should be grateful he
made it home.”

I elbowed him in the ribs and he grunted, but
I knew I didn’t hurt him. I texted Sebby I was shopping and would
call him when I got back. Ronan stared out of the grimy window of
the bus and didn’t speak to me until we got home. Maybe he was
interested in the architecture? I sat quietly, missing the time
before the text.
Cell phones, ugh.

We had been getting along so well. I was
starting to think maybe there was something else going on between
us. Until Sebastian texted me.

Who was I fooling? Why would Ronan care about
me when he was clearly involved with someone like Julianna? Uncle
Sean
made
him tag along with me, it’s not like he wanted to.
Did he?
I wish I knew more about boys to make an educated
guess. Maybe there was a book or blog I could read or
something.

When we got home he watched as I walked to my
door then left without a word.
Boys! Agh!

I headed to my room. The house was dark and
empty. Good. I wanted some alone time.

There was the faint and pleasant odor of
freshly grilled chicken and Ceasar salad coming from the kitchen. I
stopped in to grab the dish of food Nonna had left me and a glass
of ice water before heading upstairs.

I shut the door to my bedroom and sat at the
desk. I needed to sort through what I had learned. One thing was
for sure, I didn’t want to sleep until I could figure out what to
do.

Find a Gypsy.
Where the heck would I
find a Gypsy? Not like they grew on trees. Why couldn’t anyone just
give me a straight answer?

Disgusted, I grabbed my mother’s diary from
my nightstand and flipped to where I had left off. She was in her
senior year and only wrote a few entries. I started eating my salad
and began reading my mom’s neatly penned memoir.
I wish I had
handwriting like hers.
I sighed and read.

I’m sure of what I want. We have spent
months, no years with this. We have gone from casual flirting to
exchanging deeply personal letters on his long trips back home.
I’ve shown him my soul and he has gifted me with pieces of his. His
last trip almost broke my heart. I love him.

What else is there to know? The long talks,
the hand-holding, the kisses, they just aren’t enough. I want him,
for keeps. But how do I tell my parents? They’ll say I’m too young
or don’t know what I’m doing. They just won’t understand.

Patrick says he has to leave, this time for
good. But I can’t let him. When we meet in the woods at night,
those are the happiest times of my life.

I don’t think I can live without him. He says
he must go. To protect me, but who’s going to protect me from a
broken heart if he leaves?

I need him. I love him. Without him I don’t
know what I’d do. He’s so secretive about everything. I just want
him to open up to me. I know I have to prove my love for him and
then everything will be alright. He’ll stay. I know he will.

Two weeks later.

Patrick has told me he loves me frequently.
He wants to stay, I know he does, but he can’t. His father is
demanding he go home. I feel so hopeless. What am I going to do
without him? I know we could figure it out. Graduation is just
three months away. Lord, I pray in that time things change and he
can make this his home permanently.

He’ll stay for prom he told me. At least we
will have the memories. Thank goodness. I don’t think I could ever
be with anyone else. He’s my whole world.

Two months later.

I’m late. I’m so terrified. My mother and
father will be so disappointed in me. Prom was so beautiful and we
drove down to the beach. We lay under the stars in a big quilt he
had in his car. Gosh, he drives like a maniac. But seriously, then
we started kissing and it was the most perfect night of my
life.

I felt like we were the true definition of
being married. That night, under the stars and Heaven, we were one.
Being with Patrick was so perfect. I don’t think either of us could
help but express our love.

He doesn’t even know about this though. He’s
gone now, back home to Ireland and I’ll be all alone. If this is
real and I have this small piece of him I will cherish it and I
promise to love, protect and always take care of our baby.

She means
me
? She got pregnant with me
the end of senior year? Yup, the numbers definitely add up.

Nonna said she was in college when I was
born. I had always believed that.
Another lie, another
secret.
And my father? He left her and didn’t know? When did
that happen? I dried my eyes. I didn’t even know I had started
crying. I forced myself to read on.

It’s a girl! I just found out I’m having a
girl! How wonderful! I’ve sent letters to Patrick’s address that I
sort of stole from the school office. He hasn’t answered me yet,
but maybe it just takes long for them to get there? I know he’d be
pleased. He always talked about wanting a big family.

Mom and Dad cried when I told them, and Vito
wanted to beat Patrick’s head in. Lucky he’s gone I guess. They are
all being really supportive now and I wasn’t showing at graduation
so no one knew except my best friends. Gotta go take my vitamins
and finish my application for NJU. Mom insists I go, she’ll help
watch the baby.

Thank God for her. I miss Patrick so much. I
wish he was here with me. I haven’t let mom and dad make the
nursery yet. I’m still waiting for my love to come back and get me
I guess.

Dumb? Maybe. But I believe in him. I love him
so much. That serious face and those crystal blue eyes. I wonder if
she will have them too. Sometimes I think I hear him in my mind,
telling me he loves me and wishing me safe. God, I miss him.
Please. Just please. You know my prayer.

Wow. Mom was pregnant senior year. And she
was alone. The enormity of it all just sort of hit me. Eighteen,
pregnant and on her own. Her boyfriend gone to another country and
completely in the dark for all she knew. It was just too much. I
needed to know though so I continued on to the next entry a few
weeks later.

I just received a phone call from Rolf Kelly,
Patrick’s father. He told me to stop trying to contact his son.
That Patrick told him the baby couldn’t be his and that I was to
stop all contact. The jerk. As if. I’m not going to stop. No
way.