Wretched Wishes: Irish Incantations Book 5 by Tricia Tilde

Author:Tricia Tilde [Tilde, Tricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-05-04T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

The woman, Isolde, sat at her table across the tent until Dorian left. She then stood up and began to wind through the crowd of the audience to follow him.

As I watched from my vantage point, Isolde was a vision in her crimson gown, the light from the overhead lanterns catching the sequins and turning them into stars. Each step she took was measured, deliberate, as though there was a rhythm only she could hear. I glanced at Tara, who was as entranced as I was, her green eyes wide and full of curiosity.

Isolde’s hair, the color of midnight and just as lustrous, cascaded down her back in soft waves. As she moved, it shimmered like a black waterfall bathed in moonlight. She was far from us, but the subtle scent of lavender still wafted by a whisper of her presence.

We started to trail behind her, weaving through the crowd of awestruck onlookers in the tent. The murmur of their conversations became a backdrop to our pursuit: hushed whispers of admiration mingled with the intoxicating aroma of warm mulled wine and sweet spices that emanated from small food stalls nearby.

Suddenly, another figure entered our line of sight. A man, tall and statuesque with an air of sophistication about him, stood beside us. He was handsome, with eyes as blue as the mid-day sky and tousled golden hair that reflected the light from the lanterns overhead.

He turned his gaze towards Tara and, for a moment, everything else faded into the background. It seemed as though he was looking at her intently–a brave sailor lost in an emerald sea. Before I could voice out my thoughts, he broke the silence.

“Was that man troubling you?” His voice was deep and smooth like aged whiskey that seeped warmth into your bones.

“No,” Tara responded, her voice barely audible amid the whispering throng of spectators. She still seemed tethered to this stranger’s gaze, as though anchored in the intense azure of his eyes.

“Good,” he said, his lips curving in a crooked smile that hinted at a thousand hidden stories, “because I don’t take kindly to those who trouble my friends.”

The word - friends - hung heavy in the air, stirring a whirlwind of questions in my mind. How and when did they know each other?

I glanced at Tara, her eyes wide with surprise.

He continued, “I was so sad to hear about what happened to your mother yesterday.” His compassion rang genuine, yet something in his tone alluded to an untold mystique.

I interrupted my train of thoughts with an abrupt question. “Who are you?”

The man grinned, revealing sharp white canines, which sent a shiver down my spine. He looked at us through twinkling sapphire eyes and uttered four words that flipped our world upside down.

“I’m just your local werewolf.” He joked.

His confession hung thick in the air like winter fog. We stood frozen in disbelief while he continued casually, as if he was talking about the weather.

“I hail from a pack just outside New York,” he

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