Chapter 23 #2
Although the large, polished seats were comfortable, I kept crossing and uncrossing my legs until Torin’s hand grasped my knee, and I snapped my gaze to his. He didn’t say anything, but his genuine smile put me at ease.
We landed in Paris, and a car with the doors open and the engine still running idled in the parking lot, waiting for us. It dropped us off a short distance from the Eiffel Tower, visible in the distance, engulfed by the darkening skies.
The sun was almost hidden, and the night lamps turned on. We stood at the beginning of a blocked-off street with a food market. The end of the day brought out the natural hustle of the city.
I couldn’t stop smiling as I watched people walking around, talking and eating. Two rows of well-lit kiosks sold various ethnic foods and produce. The air felt thick and humid and carried the scent of baked food that made me salivate.
I used to eat a lot back in the kingdom, but with Dad’s grueling training, I didn’t put on weight. For the last seven years, though, the most training I’d gotten was climbing the stairs to my apartment and to my office in the library.
I pressed against the softness in my abdomen and sighed. The werewolves burned so much energy when they shifted into their wolves that they didn’t worry about the quantity of carbs they ate.
I glanced at Torin’s chiseled chest and defined muscles visible underneath his shirt. I wanted to reach out and feel the ripple under my fingers.
Damn mate bond.
I wiped my damp hands over my pants and averted my gaze to the bustling street. We were in Paris, and there was no way I wasn’t going to try the bread and cheese—my favorite foods.
“You can get anything you want, Anna.”
“I don’t know what I’d like here.”
“I’ll show you. You’ll love it.”
I raised my eyebrows but didn’t want to challenge Torin since he’d brought me here.
There was an extra bounce to my steps, and I couldn’t wait to see what Torin had in mind. He didn’t know my tastes, but his strides were so confident, leading me to one of the stands that my curiosity was piqued.
Torin stood out in the crowd and caught several curious glances thrown his way. I tried to follow him, but chattering people flooded the busy street. I dodged them as much as I could.
Torin’s hand found mine and grasped it, and now we looked like the other couples here. But we weren’t a couple. We were not even the same species.
Torin stopped at a food cart. Behind the glass, a flat grill pressed down on slices of bread and cheese. I smiled at the middle-aged man and was about to ask if he spoke English when Torin ordered our food in French.
“I didn’t know you spoke French.”
“I had enough time to teach myself many things,” Torin said, but he wasn’t smiling anymore, as if he remembered something unpleasant.
Since he was immortal, then learning another language sounded like a good pastime. But Torin didn’t like that side of him and called himself a monster.
“So, how old are you, old man?” I decided to lighten up the mood while we waited for the food.
His heated gaze snapped to mine, and a small smile appeared on his full lips. “Thirty.”
His human age had to be younger than that.
“No way. You look older. More like two hundred and thirty.”
He placed his free hand over his heart, feigning hurt. Only then did I notice he was still holding my hand. He let go of me to pick up the food, and we started walking again.
Torin had always had a mysterious aura around him, as if he kept many hidden skeletons in his closet that didn’t let him sleep at night. In the kingdom, he looked controlled but in anguish at the same time. Or was it just my imagination?
“It’s Croque Monsieur,” he said, handing me a foil-covered sandwich. “Since you like grilled cheese sandwiches, you’ll like this too.”
I gaped at him. “How do you know what I like to eat?”
“It’s hard not to know, Princess, when the Queen herself cooked the grilled cheese sandwiches in the kitchen.”
“But that was a long time ago.”
Torin shook his head as if he were shaking some distant memory loose.
“So what’s between the bread?” I asked.
“The bechamel sauce spread on a slice of bread makes all the difference,” he said, biting into his food.
I started on mine and hummed as I swallowed and savored every bite.
“There’s ham and parmesan cheese,” he said.
The softness around my waist became a long-gone memory. I smiled as I kept eating.
So Torin knew more about me than he’d led me to believe. Now I was sure he also knew my preference for street food over fancy restaurants.
My royal family would rather eat at an exquisite restaurant than eat crepes and sandwiches and hot dogs on the streets. I did not inherit the werewolf genes or pick up on the royal etiquette, mannerisms, and traditions.
We finished eating and left the food market, walking toward the city's center. The cobblestones beneath my boots were rough but comforting—a reminder of the weight I’d been carrying for so long.
On the streets of Paris, no supernatural would know I was the werewolf princess, while in London, my identity had been compromised.
Each step felt lighter than the one before.
I felt free—without being burdened by the expectations and judgment of the supernatural world.
It was a precious feeling I would savor for a long time.
I peeked at Torin's face as we walked the dimly lit streets.
The glow of street lamps cast a soft hue over his features, highlighting his strong jawline and high cheekbones, making him look more human.
But shadows danced across his face as we stepped onto a darker street, reminding me of a dangerous predator.
His lips, barely discernible in the subdued light, parted as he gazed into the distance. Even in the secrecy of the night, I caught the wistful look in his eyes.
“Why are you staring, Princess?” he asked in a soft voice without giving me a glance.
Blinking, I averted my gaze to the short apartment buildings with intricately designed balconies, rough ironwork, and delicate potted flowers.
“I’m not,” I said and smiled.
I was a bit unsettled about how this man knew me so well, and I knew I couldn’t hide much from him. But I had so many questions ever since the witch talked to me in my dream realm. Wouldn’t Torin know the most about witches since he’d lived longer?
I cleared my throat. “Do you know how to contact a witch or find one?”
His head snapped toward me, but a shadow fell over his eyes, and I couldn’t read his expression.
“You won’t… You can’t find a witch unless they want to be discovered,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
Although I couldn’t read him, the slight shake in his voice betrayed him. He knew something.
“I think a woman, a witch, spoke to me in my dream realm,” I said and watched him carefully, but Torin turned his head as we meandered through the narrow streets. “She didn’t show herself to me…but maybe she knew me. Otherwise, why would she enter my dream realm?”
“Witches usually summon other witches through their dream realm. It’s the safest way since the Salem trials,” he said. “And a witch can access any supernatural’s dream realm, Anna.”
I gaped at him. Had Torin forgotten I was human?
Turning a corner, I caught a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower in the distance, its pointed spires glistening in the lights that decorated it. Torin stopped in front of a short office building.
I had so many more questions about how he’d infiltrated my dream realm and whether he accepted me as his mate. I was about to open my mouth when I finally realized where Torin had taken me.
The ground level of the building was brightly lit, and while looking through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, I gasped. It was a calligraphy exhibit.
“Is it open?” I mumbled.
The front doors unlock, and a short man with gray hair and long, thick eyebrows walked toward us.
He bowed to both of us and exchanged a few words with Torin in French. I waited for an explanation from the Alpha but reminded myself that he didn’t like sharing information.
“When you live long enough, you make lots of friends like this man...but also enemies. Let’s go in,” was all he said.
I didn’t pry for more. I wanted to get inside and enjoy the beautiful curves and lines of the letters in the exhibit.
A warm feeling grew in my chest, and I didn’t know how to stop it.
The street food and now the calligraphy exhibit—Torin was more thoughtful and observant than what I gave him credit for.
But why was he doing all this for me? I knew better than to believe it was out of his duty for the King. It could be that Torin felt the mate bond as strong and alive as I did, but that couldn’t be.
Did Torin want something from me now? What game was he playing?
I left my wary thoughts outside. The square-shaped office space was filled with rows of various calligraphy art from around the world plastered on the walls. Scrolls with beautiful letters were displayed in front of us.
I stopped at a huge canvas with what seemed like only one letter splashed against white. It appeared as if it were done in a rush—different from the perfection of the letters on the smaller scrolls.
I pointed to it. “I like this one because it looks imperfect.” I bent over to read the sign below it. “Soul.”
I paused while I took in its beauty. “I didn’t take you for a calligraphy lover, Torin. Do you like it?”
He stood behind me, his body heat seeping into me, but I didn’t flinch away. I was getting used to his presence, as if it was natural for him to be attached to me as a permanent fixture.
That is bad.
It was Hayden’s job to be glued to me back in the kingdom, and I didn’t need another overprotective supernatural around.
“It’s an art and conveys passion. But what I really appreciate about it is the fact that each stroke can’t be retouched or planned. It just happened,” he said in a low, deep voice that made my skin vibrate with unwelcome sensations.
There was so much more to the Alpha that I wanted to explore.