The Luna's Bodyguard [a mature werewolf romance]

Ch 4: Close But Not Quite

OPHELIA'S POV

That was close. Too close.

Thankfully, Denise was the only person who still recognised me. The staff turnover was always pretty high here, a steady rotation of poverty-stricken tourists trying to save up enough for a ferry off this god-forsaken island. I spun a story about how I was a high-paying escort now, accompanying two well-off gentlemen as they toured the Orkney islands. Once Denise pinky-promised not to tell them my real name or mention my sister, the tension between us drained away and we fell into old habits.

Giggling and drinking and making up stories for other patrons at the bar, that is.

"What about her?" I asked, dipping my head towards Addy. She'd taken up a corner booth with a bottle of Prosecco and was scrolling mindlessly through her phone, studiously ignoring her friends.

"Ex Geordie Shore contestant," Denise said without missing a beat. "Or maybe Love Island. Went looking for love in the wrong place, got her heart broken, blew all her cash, and now she's in the escort business. Not that there's anything wrong with that," she tacked on hastily.

My unexpected chuckle pulled wine up into my nose, making me snort. "I think you might be right," I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. It came away sticky, with a faint sheen of mulberry.

"What about him?" Denise asked, pointing towards the pretty boy lounging against the bar. The one I'd been stealing glances at all night, with the exotic, turquoise eyes and artfully mussed hair.

I pursed my lips, considering. Nate's face was infuriatingly perfect, like it had been sculpted by an ancient Roman. And the way he moved, sauntering through every space with a grace I could only call feral... My gaze honed in on the fragile cocktail glass he cradled in his palm, the way his lean fingers curled over the rim, with a precision I could starkly imagine pressing elsewhere...

"Fell," Denise hissed, elbowing me in the side. "I know that look."

She was right. I wanted to jump the poor — well, technically very rich — bastard. Which wasn't very helpful for our game.

It was practically impossible to find fault in Nate, but I took special pride in being an asshole. And he tried to kidnap my sister. Taking a deep breath, I squinted hard and dug deep.

"Addicted to plastic surgery," I said gravely, putting on a sad air. "Watched one too many Barbie movies as a kid."

Denise sighed, her eyes going moony. "I would kill for a man to watch Fairytopia with me."

"I always preferred Princess and the Pauper," I admitted, not above some poorly animated escapism. "You're just like you, you're just like me..."

"... There's nowhere else we'd rather beeee!" we cried out together, warbling and impressively off key.

It was enough to drive the last customers from their tables and back to their rooms. It was startling to realise we were the only ones left; the last few hours had slipped through my fingers like sand. It was well past midnight now, and Denise, in charge of locking up, broke off her manic cackling to yawn, stretching an arm out behind her head.

Something squeezed tight in my chest. My time with her was coming to a close; we'd be on the ferry first thing tomorrow, and I'd have to say goodbye again. There were very few people I'd allowed myself the luxury of calling friend. Always being on the move made it hard to put down roots, but things felt easy with Denise. Like we could go for years without speaking and still catch up right where we left off.