Caught by the Blizzard: A romantic winter thriller (Tellure Hollow Book 1) (28 page)

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We came crashing into the Lord Nelson like a destructive whirlwind. I’m fairly certain the bartender would’ve thrown us out if I hadn’t flashed my Coutts silk card.

“For the tab,” I said handing it to the shocked barman. I walked away without placing an order, sure that five rounds of shots were headed my way.

Distanced from the rowdiness, I scanned the pub with mild interest. I was going through a spell of self-enforced celibacy, something I received nothing but stick for since it’d begun. I’m a red-blooded male, sure, but there are only so many nameless, faceless women a guy can take home before it starts feeling a little empty. Still, I did enjoy the chase.

Between the tables of oldies and hipsters, were a handful of young women. I cataloged them out of habit more than anything, until my gaze fell on a blonde across the room. If I’m honest, I kept looking. She wasn’t a stunner but it’s not like she was homely either. There was something about her that pulled me in. I watched as she laughed with her friends, obviously talking about someone in the group I came with.

And then our eyes met. I knew she felt the same thing I had, that electric connection from even so far away, but she looked away quickly. Whatever. It gave me time to take her in. Her hair came to just under her chin, fringe dusting the tops of her eyebrows. Even in the bulky top, I could see an ample chest. She was fit but in a way you had to really focus on before seeing it. Still…I couldn’t stop looking at her.

The group settled in, pinning me in the center of the table. They were loud and brash, talking over one another and brimming with testosterone. Not for the first time, I began to feel guilty by association. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get them to calm down. And no matter how much I willed myself to look away, I couldn’t stop glancing at that girl.

Frustrated by this uncharacteristic distraction, I forced myself to go chat up some random girl at the bar. Within a minute, I was shocked to discover I’d managed to pick the most vapid person in the place.
Great. Well, at least I can have a little fun.

After a little chitchat, mostly her asking me how much money I made or what kind of car I drove, I decided to go in for the kill. Brushing her hair back, I whispered in her ear.

“Do you think you could put in a good word with your friend for me? You’re nice and all, but she’s well fit.”

I didn’t think she was actually going to slap me but she did seem like the kind of girl who liked to start fights. Rather than give her the satisfaction, I shifted back. Strangely enough, I found the shift easy to perform, especially given my exhaustion and headache. Saying a quick goodbye, I could’ve sworn I’d felt…
nevermind. Couldn’t have.
I settled down at the table again and took a sip of my pint. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.

When I saw the girl across the room get up and head to the back of the pub, it was like my legs were moving on their own volition. I couldn’t make sense of this compulsion, the undeniable need to speak with her. Even during my celibacy, I’d chatted girls up no problem, but this felt different. While waiting for her to emerge from the loo, I found a way to reconcile my emotions.

There’s nothing wrong with you that a wank wouldn’t fix. She’s just a girl, nothing special. Buy her a drink, flirt a little, get it out of your system.

When I laid eyes on her up close, my excuse faltered. When I heard her accent, I braced myself for failure. But when I discovered how witty and smart she was as we talked, I was an absolute goner.

I fully intended on saying goodnight and walking away, happy that I’d managed to get her number. I figured I’d call her when I decided to break my dry spell. It took a lot of willpower to convince myself not to break it that night, yet that urge tugged me back. Even if I never saw her again, I’d want a memory of her lips.

I leaned forward, slipping my hand along her smooth cheek and into her hair. I pulled her against me, her mouth hot and soft. Her hand went to the chest in surprise, wafting a light floral perfume. We kissed like lovers long apart; urgent, familiar, expectant. My tongue explored her mouth with a growing need. The all-consuming kiss threatened to break my will. I quickly pulled away, shifting a little in my jeans to hide my growing bulge.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” I muttered to myself. She questioned the comment with only her eyes, but I shook my head.
As much as I want to, even with a girl like this, I can’t.

Just as I’d done a thousand times before, the world around me slowed and began to twist yet there she remained. I nearly stumbled backwards from the shock.
Why isn’t she moving?
I looked down to make sure I wasn’t still touching her, the only way I knew I could pull people with me, but we were feet apart.

Reagan looked as shocked as I felt but recovered faster, a sly smile curling her lips as she tilted her head. “Surprise?”

“What the fuck…” I muttered. In my haste, I didn’t slow my control, I simply dropped it. The pub around us returned to normal at a jarring speed.

The next thing I remember was Jimmy and the lads pulling me back to West Street, laughing and cheering about pulling girls and getting wasted. My mind felt like it’d been put through an industrial mixer. I jogged to the front of the group and grabbed Jimmy at his elbow.

“I’m gonna go home.” My voice sounded strange and distant.

“Aw come on—” he began to protest. When he saw my expression, he stopped, apparently seeing there was something seriously wrong. “Alright, if you’re sure.”

I merely nodded in response, peeling off from the group unnoticed. Tucking my hands in my pockets, I wandered, gradually following the slope of the streets down to the seafront. I turned my back on the bright lights of the pier and walked with my thoughts.

Does she have the ability too? She must, if I didn’t move her. She didn’t seem shocked that it was happening…just that I was doing it. Fuck! I even kissed her! Oh wait, she must’ve seen me do it beforehand, too. So she knew before I even started chatting her up…

Aside from my prick of a father, I’d never known anyone else who could shift. He’d told me once that his father had been able to do it, so I assumed it was hereditary, like families who are all double jointed. I had to wrap my brain around an idea of a world with more than one of me. That meant there were definitely others, but how many? How rare? Is that why I’d been so drawn to her? Did a part of me know we were made of the same stuff? I’d spent a big portion of my life searching for answers. Maybe she knew more than I did?