Wolves of Rome

Chapter Eleven: Michele

All Rights Resereved

Copyright © 2013 Amber Hanscom

Chapter Eleven: Michele

   I freeze, sensing something . . . but what exactly I can't put my finger on. The guys and I are back in the car, now heading towards the city once again. It had taken some time for me to wrap my mind around . . . well, everything.

    They killed your parents.

    The words repeated over and over like a bad song stuck in my head. I shifted lower in my seat burying my head in my arms. The guys had the courtesy not to push me, the car ride was shockingly quiet, you could hear the soft hum of the air conditioner.

    When my mind wasn't occupied by my parents, it wandered back to the boy. If I were to close my eyes his face would be there, waiting in the darkness-the clean cut plains, the sharp slashes of his eye brows, his shock of black hair, and those eyes . . . an uncanny shade of blue that could even be called violet, filled with so much hurt, so much loss, so much pain, so much . . . anger.

    Was it true? I wondered. Did he really kill my parents, with the intent to kill me?

   I think back to the other night, of the fire that had flashed through me when he touched me, the odd feeling of, of, of . . . completeness that had come over me the moment I looked into those wonderful eyes.

    Was it possible to feel something like that for a murderer?

    "Earth to Cia. Come in, Cia, over!"

    I jolt free of my thoughts blinking rapidly. I glance around finding myself the object of observation for four werewolves.

   "What?" I ask, my eyes darting from one boy to the next.

   "I'm beginning to realize that you, dear cuz, are a bit of a space cadet," Ilario said gravely as he turned off the main road and onto a rather rough, backwoods track.

   "Where are we going? I thought we were heading back to the city."

   A knowing look was exchanged between the four boys. Beside me Marcello shifted in his seat uncomfortably, while Ercole preoccupied himself with the country view outside the car window. Ilario sat silently behind the steering wheel, and Arlo was suddenly overly fascinated by the mechanism of the dashboard.

    Something was not right.

    "Guys . . . where're we going?" I asked, my eyes taking the arrangement of 'innocent' expressions around me.

   "Just to a friends' place," Ilario answered cryptically.

   I narrow my eyes at him, trying to gauge what was behind that cocky, winsome smile. And suddenly the dying lightbulb in my brain dings, and I know EXACTLY where we're going. My mouth drops open and I gape at the four of them in disbelief.

    "You're taking me to Michele!"

    Cowards one through four have the good humor to look guilty. I glare at Ilario, focusing my frustration and pent up anger on him.

   "What," I began slowly, emphasizing each word carefully. "Made you think that after last night I would want to see him?"

    Ilario, unaffected by the radiation of rage coming of me, merely shrugged.

    "Michele made it clear that he wished to see you today," Ilario said in a tone I could only describe as 'docile'.

    I sat back in my seat, crossing my arms across my chest. A nagging thought at the back of my brain rose up and once again, the lightbulb dinged.