“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. But 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.”