The Werewolf Prince and I (29 page)

The hands left her mouth and she stood there, goosebumps popping out from her skin.

“What are you?” she asked.

The male figure had curly hair and a slim build. He looked pretty rather than handsome.

“What do you think?”

She bit her lip. “An…elf?”

He looked almost affronted. “Am not!”

Oh. Her lips trembled.

He was a she, apparently. Gay, in other words. “Elfin girl?”

He made a face. “Ha-ha.” He looked at her curiously. “You’re taking this very well.”

“How can I not? Werewolves, vampires, so why should I be surprised about you?” Misty almost found herself laughing again, hysterically.

Totally exciting stuff,
she had once prayed.

Now she lived in the midst of werewolves, vampires, and God knew what.

And Matteo was dead, Kevin in a coma.

Misty couldn’t help feeling she had been so selfish with her prayers, and the loss of loved ones were her penance for her sins.

“Have you guessed what I am?”

Looking back at the shimmering figure in front of her, Misty shook her head.

“Will this help?” He waved a hand and a wand appeared between his fingers.

Oh.

“A faerie,” she breathed.

“At your service.” He bowed.

“What’s your name?”

“Daryl…Castellano.”

It took her a while to speak.

“You did not commit suicide, did you?”

Chapter Eleven

Dear Diary,

I can’t sleep these days. I’m worried about finding Matteo’s killer, worried about Kevin not getting well, but most of all I’m worried about something I don’t have anyone to tell but you. I’m worried about what I have with Domenico. I love him more each day but there’s still something I feel is keeping us apart. I know he married me because he says he needs me, but how I can help him when he’s keeping too many secrets from me?

Sometimes, I wonder what I would do if I catch Domenico in another woman’s arms. What would it feel like to see another woman kissing Domenico the way I do, raking her nails against his back as she takes in his cock?

I try to imagine what it would feel like but I can’t. It hurts too much.

When have I become this weak – so weak that I can’t imagine living a life without him?

“Misty?’

She appeared immediately before his open doorway. It had been two days since Matteo’s funeral and she had been acting strange ever since. Domenico had pretended not to notice, but he had seen her pacing back and forth outside his study, peering at him once in a while. When he had finished his phone calls and meetings, he decided to find out what Misty seemed so restless about.

“Yes?” She looked at him almost uncertainly.

“Come here.”

She went to him without a word then looked up at him with the same uncertainty.

Without warning, he kissed her, pulling her to him, molding her body to his. He felt her stiffen when he cupped her breasts as he continued kissing her. Although they had been married for several days now, she still reacted like a virgin, especially when he touched her in the middle of the day.

Domenico pulled away and surveyed her dreamy expression with satisfaction. “Now,” he murmured, “what it is that you want to tell me?”

She took a deep breath. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

He blinked. “Come again?”

“You heard me.”

He raised a brow. “What brought this about?”

“I…just answer my question first.”

“Then you’re telling me what this is about?” he countered.

She squirmed.

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“But why not?” she practically wailed. “How about faeries?”

He just looked at her.

“But you’re a WEREWOLF. Shouldn’t you believe in other non-human species?”

“Most are just myths. I’m real.”

“But…”

Domenico sighed impatiently “Misty, what is this about?”

She sighed, too. “I think…no, I know what I saw. I met Castellano’s son.”

“When he was alive?” Domenico was stunned.

She looked at him miserably. “No. When he was dead.”

When Domenico got the whole story out of his wife, he shook his head. “You’re exhausted. You’re imagining things.”

“I’m not imagining things.” She stomped her foot.

“Then prove it.”

“You can’t see him. You don’t believe in them.”

“And you did?”

She squirmed at his mocking gaze. “Inside, I guess.”

He rubbed his aching head. “Cara, this just isn’t a good time. I have things to do, and I still have to take care of Kevin.”

Misty felt instantly guilty. He was right. He was doing his best to fix things. It was unfair of her to burden him with another dilemma. “I’m sorry.” She hugged him tightly.

He kissed her hair. “We’ll talk about this more tonight.”

She nodded but knew she didn’t have the time to wait for tonight. So much was at stake.

“I told you he wouldn’t believe you,” Daryl said knowingly when she returned to the master bedroom.

She sat on her bed. “I had to try.”

“What next?”

“Are you really sure your father is contemplating---” She couldn’t say the word because it was too horrible to imagine.

“War?” Daryl sobered. “Yes. Against humans. Your species, Misty. And for the wrong reasons. He’s blinded by his grief. He thinks those who attacked your brother and Domenico’s friend were humans.”

“You should talk to him, Daryl.”

“I can’t. I want to, but I can’t. I’ve tried so hard to reach out to him but it was impossible. You’re the first one among Lyccans who could see me. You have to make him believe me first. And then I promise you, your brother Kevin---”

She shook her head quickly. “No, Daryl. I’m not helping you because of that. Domenico says he’ll make it possible for Kevin to become Lyccan and I believe him.”

Daryl slowly smiled. “You’re unbelievably naïve. You know that, right?”

Misty grumbled, “Is that the way to talk to your savior?”

“If I were straight, I’d give you a passionate kiss.”

She laughed.

“But since I’m not, can I kiss Domenico baby instead?”

“Over my dead body.”

The next day, Misty woke up early, waiting for Domenico to leave for the office before dressing up. She chose her clothes carefully, mindful of Daryl’s warnings. She had to dress like a lady because his father was the old-fashioned sort. In the end, she selected another one-piece creation of Mark’s, a wraparound dress of blue and black vertical stripes and matched it with a pair of dainty but sensible mules.

Misty tied her hair up in a neat bun, allowing wisps of hair to frame her face. She hoped she looked like a princess – a sensible one since what she was about to tell the Castellano pack leader would not sound sensible at the start.

“I’ll be out shopping,” Misty told Domenico’s butler, Thompson, her gaze averted because she knew the old man would know she was lying if Misty were to look at him.

“Of course, madam. What time should you be back if the master is to ask?”

“I’m, umm, not sure, but I’ll call him.” She hurried away before Thompson could ask more questions.

Thompson stood for a moment, staring after his mistress’ back, before deciding to place a call to the prince. It was better to be safe than sorry, especially with the ongoing threat to their existence.

Daryl acted as her guard, telling her where to go and what to say when she finally reached the ornate gates leading to the ancestral mansion of the Castellanos. As their land was near the evergreens, the mansion was built to protect its habitants from the cold, with its brick exterior and numerous billowing chimneys.

Misty waited for what seemed like an hour before the pack leader finally came to the foyer.

She came to her feet immediately. “G-good morning, sir.”

He gestured to the sofa and she sat down again.

When he was seated himself, he asked without preamble, “Is this about your younger brother?”

She shook her head.

He didn’t seem to believe her. “Does Domenico know you’re here?”

She almost cringed. “N-no.”

“Then what exactly do you want?” His lips curled. “Or are you offering yourself in the bargain?”

It took Misty a bit to understand his meaning. “Oh dear God, no! No offense, but oh, no.” She almost shuddered at the thought of making love to any other man beside Domenico. “No, really, no.”

The old man looked almost disgruntled. “A simple no would have sufficed. Why are you here then?”

“It’s about your son.”

His face became cold. “What about him?”

“I have a message.”

“From the grave?” he mocked.

“Sort of…”

Rage filled his gaze and he shot to his feet. “Out!”

“Wait, please!” she cried, knowing she was about to be dragged away and perhaps an internal war waged between the Moretti and Castellano clans if she wasn’t able to say her piece. “I know that on the day your son died, you locked yourself in his room and you said, you know. You kept saying that ‘you know’. And he said he understood.”

The pack leader’s face turned ashen.

“
No.
How could you know---” He looked around suddenly, his voice turning hoarse as he asked, “Is my son really here?”

The bleakness and hope warring in the old man’s eyes made Misty cry. Beside her, Daryl was already weeping noisily.

“Is he here?” the Castellano pack leader shouted hoarsely.

Sobbing, she nodded. “Y-yes.”

The old man slowly sat down. “Daryl?”

“Tell him he has to believe in me first,” Daryl sniffed.

Misty nodded. Looking at the old man, she said, “But you have to believe in him first to see him.”

“I believe him,” the old man choked out. “I believe in him, I believe he’s here. I want him here, whatever he was, whatever he is.” His eyes widened. “Daryl?”

Daryl smiled even as more tears trailed down his face. “Father, I’m back.”