I hear the humor in Luca’s voice, and open one eye to find him watching me from the chaise. Only he’s using it wrong. He is sitting on it sideways, feet on the floor, facing me.
“You’re the one who suggested I sit down,” I remind him. “Just following directions.”
He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I think you already know what I’m about to tell you.”
Both eyes are open when I shake my head. “Definitely not.”
“Deep down, you do,” he insists.
“Nope.”
“A part of you does,” Luca murmurs, almost to himself. His head drops between his shoulders with a sigh. “You just don’t know it yet.”
“Can you stop with the secretive code that only you understand, and just spit it out?”
He looks up, and it’s obvious that whatever he has to tell me isn’t easy for him to say. Seeing the uncertain look on his face causes the butterflies in my stomach to multiply. I want to dunk my head in denial, but the pool is receding too quickly. Luca’s expression grounds me and leaves me with no choice but to brace for what’s coming.
“Both nights with the wolf . . .” he starts slowly.
“Yeah?” I lean forward eagerly. He has my full attention now.
“It was me.”
“What did you do?” I shake my head, not understanding what he is admitting to.
“No. The wolf.” His eyes lock on mine. “It was me.”
“What happened to you?” I rephrase my question slowly since we’re clearly not following each other.
“Nothing,” he sighs. “The wolf, Sav. I was the wolf. The wolf was me.”
A giggle escapes me before I see the expression on his face, and I realize he’s not joking. He’s serious. I settle with a smile that I hope masks my thoughts. Mostly disappointment that the first guy to show any hint of interest in me since the whole Steve-and-Jill incident is clearly destined to spend his future in a psychiatric hospital.
“I think . . .” His eyes narrow slightly. “You already suspected that.”
“For you to tell me you moonlight as a real live wolf?” I snort. “Uh, no. I definitely didn’t expect that.”
“Then why did you say my name in the parking lot the other night?” He fires the question off quickly, like an accusation.
I swallow. “I didn’t.”
“I have exceptional hearing, and I know that you did.” His lips curve into a lopsided grin. “You were looking right at me when you said my name.”
“No, I . . .” I shake my head rapidly when a gust of wind tosses loose strands of hair in my face. “I . . .”
Oh, no. I think I did. I totally said his name, though I had no idea why at the time. I still have no explanation as to why I said it. It’s certainly not because I believe that Luca is actually the wolf in question.
That’s absurd.
“That’s crazy,” I tell him.
“I’m a shifter,” he says. “A wolf shifter.”
“Am I on hidden camera?” I quickly inspect the ceiling for a blinking red light. “Is this part of a new reality show I don’t know about?”
“Instinctively, you know what I am,” Luca continues, as if there is a chance I believe him. “You knew that night, and a part of you believes me now. Listen to that voice in your head, Sav. Your instincts are almost always correct.”
Sure. Listen to the voices in my head. Believe the cute boy is a wolf shifter. Trust him.
Sounds like a checklist for streamlined admittance to a padded room.
I give up my search for a camera. “So . . . I’m not on TV?”
He shakes his head once. “No. This is all real. I’m a shifter.”
“Right.” I squint at him. “I guess you’re going to keep going with that prank. Though I have to tell you, it’s kind of lame.”
“It’s not a prank. I am a wolf shifter,” he repeats as if I will suddenly believe him if he says it enough. “I come from a family of shifters.”
Family. Oh, shit. I nearly forgot who he is. Luca Caspan of the Caspan family.
“Wh—” My gaze darts toward the door beside us.
“They’re not here right now.”
I don’t know if I’m relieved or more concerned now. “We’re all alone?”
He nods. Watches me. Waits.
I glance in the direction of my car and determine it’s too far for me to make a run for it.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Sav,” Luca says. “Surely, you’ve sensed my intentions by now.”
I shrug, feeling a little guilty for causing the wounded sound of his voice. “I thought maybe I did.”
“You thought correctly,” he assures me. “You’re safe with me.”
“Then why are you doing this? What kind of game are you playing?”
“This isn’t a game.”
“So much weird stuff has been happening to me,” I blurt. “The animal attacks, or whatever they were, and then you, a Caspan, show up at my campground.”
“That was a coincidence.” He jabs a finger at me.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” I argue. “It’s strange, and you know it. Now you tell me you’re a werewolf. That’s—”
“Shifter.”
“What?” I sigh exasperatedly.
“I’m a shifter,” he grits out. “Not a werewolf.”
I gape at him. I know there is a difference. I read plenty of books—both the classics and the latest bestsellers. Apparently, so does Luca. But I don’t care to break down the differences between werewolves and shifters right now.
It’s all fantasy. It’s not real.
Luca sits back in his seat with a carefree shrug that extinguishes some of the heat in his gaze. “Just don’t make the mistake of saying that to the wrong shifter.”
“This is ridiculous,” I scoff.
“I’m serious, Sav.”
I give him a tepid smile. “That’s what worries me.”
He turns around on the chaise, leans back to rest his head against the cushion, and stares up. A loud sigh passes his lips. “At least you’re not running away this time,” he mutters under his breath.
“What’s that?” My cheeks hurt from holding the fake smile, but I can’t stop now. Not when it’s the only thing holding me together. “‘This time’ implies that we’ve had this conversation before, and I—”
“We have.”
“—can assure you that . . .” I stop. Stare. My smile morphs into a frown.
“If it makes you feel any better, you’re tolerating it much better now than you did before,” he says. “Of course, I did dump a lot of information on you in a short period of time, so I suppose that was to be expected.”
“Let me guess.” I put a finger in the air. “Three years ago? My last visit here, which I seem to have mysteriously forgotten?”
“No.” Luca sits up quickly and leans forward to enter my bubble of personal space. “Eight months ago.”
My eyes narrow. “Impossible.”
“The night of your birthday, to be exact,” he adds. “I arranged . . . a reunion.”