Noemi
“No, Valentina! I don’t care what Alessandro told you!” I pressed the phone harder to my ear and felt my pulse racing. “He obviously couldn’t keep his hands to himself and cheated on me. Not with one woman, but with two. Two!” My voice nearly cracked, and even the faint static on the line sounded like pure mockery.
I heard Valentina sigh, that familiar sound she made when she was trying to understand me and calm me down at the same time. “I really wish I’d come to Albufeira with you, Noemi.”
I rolled my eyes as I hurried across campus. Monday. The sun burned against my face, and even though my classes had ended early, it felt like the entire day had conspired to get on my nerves.
“You can still come, Valentina,” I said, turning toward the old town where I still needed to pick up a few things for my apartment. The sea breeze smelled of salt, coffee, and somehow of freedom. I forced myself to breathe more evenly. “My adoptive father is the Alpha of the pack,” I muttered half under my breath, without really thinking about it.
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, and I knew exactly that Valentina was clicking her tongue because, once again, she had no idea what to say.
My thoughts jumped back to the day everything inside me had shattered. The moment I caught Alessandro in bed with two strangers, as if one hadn’t been enough. I had simply frozen in the doorway, unable to believe what I was seeing. Two unfamiliar faces, his stupid, guilty look, the pathetic excuse he stammered afterward. I swear, if I hadn’t been so shocked, I probably would have thrown the bed at him.
My adoptive father had been the only one who truly knew how much I had suffered. He had advised me to go to Albufeira to study, far away from everything that constantly reminded me of Alessandro. I hadn’t hesitated for a second. I packed everything I owned, got on a plane to Portugal, and was gone before I even realized what I was doing.
Now I was here. A stranger in a foreign country, with anger still burning inside me and a heart stubbornly refusing to heal.
I stopped with my beloved cappuccino at the small fountain at the edge of campus, enjoying for a brief moment the warm tingle of the sun on my skin and the scent of freshly ground coffee.
“Valentina, honestly, I just want peace. No more talking about him. I just need—”
I didn’t get to finish.
Suddenly I crashed into something hard. My cappuccino flew in a wide arc, and I heard an irritated curse right in front of me. The impact made me stumble, and when I managed to steady myself again, I stared at what I had just run into.
A wall.
At least, that’s what I thought.
Until I realized the wall was warm.
And breathing.
And smelled incredibly good.
I blinked in horror and realized I had just spilled my cappuccino all over a man’s chest. And what a chest it was. Muscles like someone had sculpted them specifically for a Greek statue.
“Oh my God,” I murmured, my eyes refusing to tear themselves away. “That’s… uh… I mean, that was my coffee.”
Heat rushed into my cheeks. I could have looked away. I really could have. But no, of course my gaze stubbornly stayed on that perfect, coffee-soaked chest.
Seriously, who actually looks like that in real life?
I barely dared to lift my head. My fingers clenched around the empty cup as if I could rewind time and undo the whole disaster. I just stood there, caught between embarrassment, irritation, and a strange, inexplicable fascination.
Slowly, very slowly, I raised my head and immediately regretted it. Of course everything about him was perfect. The stranger was tall, powerfully built, with the kind of body that made you wonder if it should even be legal. His skin was tanned, his black hair looked intentionally messy, and his eyes, damn it, those eyes. Dark brown, almost black, and so intense that my breath caught for a moment. Our gazes met and locked, as if someone had pressed pause on the world around us.
I could have sworn that in that moment we looked like something straight out of one of those ridiculously overdramatic movie scenes where time stands still and all you hear is the protagonist’s heartbeat.
Then Valentina’s voice snapped me back to reality through my iPhone.
“Helloooo? Noemi? Are you still there?”
I blinked, confused, suddenly remembering that I was still in the middle of a phone call. My phone was pressed halfway against my cheek as I stammered, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you!” I mumbled the words more toward his chest than to him, because I simply didn’t dare look him in the eyes again.
He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at me. And then the realization hit me like a slap.
I had just spoken Italian.
Of course I had.
I hadn’t been in Portugal long, but I actually spoke the language quite well. I had just been talking to Valentina, and apparently my brain wasn’t capable of handling embarrassing accidents, attractive strangers, and language switching at the same time.
“I’m really sorry,” I said again, this time in Portuguese. “I truly didn’t see you. I can have your T-shirt cleaned if you give me your number, then—” I didn’t get any further.
The stranger raised an eyebrow, his expression turning sharply cold. “What kind of cheap pickup line is that supposed to be?” His voice was deep, slightly rough, and he looked at me as if I had just said the most absurd thing imaginable.
I felt the color drain from my face. For a moment I didn’t know whether to laugh or throw the cup with the last drops of coffee straight at him.
A suppressed chuckle drew my attention to the guy standing next to him. Tall, dark-haired, clearly amused. He looked me over with a grin that only made me feel more like I’d landed in the middle of a bad comedy.
“I’m not giving my number to a stranger,” the first man growled, shaking his head slightly. “Pickup lines just keep getting worse.”
A few students passing by threw curious glances our way, some of them even stopping. I could practically feel my anger rising in my throat.
I crossed my arms over my chest and stared back at him just as angrily. Who did this jackass think he was?
“Are you serious right now?” I snapped, feeling the blood rush hotly to my head. “How do you even get the idea that I’m hitting on you? I don’t want your number to get to know you, I want it so I can pay for the cleaning!” My hands flew through the air as I spoke, my voice getting louder, but I didn’t care. “Who the hell do you think you are? The King of Spain? Massimo from 365 Days? Or Christian Grey from Fifty Shades of Grey?”
I paused briefly, took a deep breath, and continued to glare at him. “For fuck’s sake, don’t confuse politeness with flirting,” I growled, planting one hand on my hip.
He just stared at me, completely speechless, as if I had slapped him without warning. His friend next to him burst out laughing, loud and unrestrained, while the stranger himself stood there like he’d been turned to stone.
I lifted my chin, turned on my heel, and marched toward the cafeteria. My cheeks were burning, my heart racing, but I forced myself not to look back. Behind me, I could still hear the other man’s laughter echoing across the campus, while the stranger was apparently still busy processing his shock.
And me? I acted as if I didn’t care at all, even though my inner chaos was currently dancing salsa.
“Uhhhh, Noemi? What kind of asshole was that?” I heard Valentina’s voice from the phone and laughed, realizing I had completely forgotten about my best friend.
“Yeah, no comment on Mr. Arrogant,” I muttered. “I thought the Portuguese were friendly. Guess he’s the exception. Arrogant, rude, and honestly, too much chest and not enough manners.”
Valentina giggled. I could picture her rolling her eyes. “Noemi, you need to rein in your temper. You’re not in Italy anymore, and some people just can’t handle your fire.”
I snorted softly and dodged a cyclist who passed far too close. “My fire is the only thing keeping me from strangling someone,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair as the wind kept blowing it into my face.
“Were the strangers wolves?” Valentina asked after a short pause, her voice more serious now. “You really have to act like you know nothing about the supernatural world. If someone finds out you come from a pack in Italy and didn’t inform the Portuguese Alpha that you’re here without his consent—”
I stopped for a moment, took a deep breath, and looked toward the old campus buildings. “Yes, I know,” I said more quietly. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
“I’m only saying this because I know you. Trouble looks for you, Noemi. And you’re the last person to get out of its way.”
I grinned, even though she was right. “Well, maybe trouble should learn to run faster.”
Valentina laughed loudly, and the sound eased my tension a little. I slipped the phone into my pocket, pushed open the cafeteria door, and breathed in the warm scent of coffee and pastries. For the first time that day, I felt almost calm, at least for a few seconds.
The voices of students blended with the clinking of cups and the low hum of the coffee machine. I joined the line, felt the warmth of the room seep into my skin, and forced myself to clear my head. But the longer I stood there, the more I realized Valentina was right.
No one was allowed to know that I was human and had lived in a pack in Italy. If the Portuguese Alpha found out, it would be a disaster. My adoptive father would be in trouble, and I would probably be labeled a spy, a traitor, or whatever else wolves came up with when someone didn’t fit neatly into their world. The thought alone made me uneasy, my shoulders tensing.
My adoptive father had given me a witch’s potion that I had to take every day. It was meant to alter my scent and mask it so that no supernatural being would immediately notice what I really was. He absolutely did not want me drawing attention or, even worse, finding a mate. He had often told me that my scent was different from everyone else’s, and no one could explain why. Sometimes, he said, I smelled like magic. What that actually meant, neither he nor I really knew.
I closed my eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and hoped I could stay inconspicuous here. I just wanted to finish my studies, live quietly, and leave the chaos behind.
And yet, as I ordered my cappuccino at the counter, lost in thought, I couldn’t help thinking of Mr. Arrogant. My stomach tightened, and at the same time, I couldn’t suppress a small smile. Of course that would be my luck. Barely a week in Portugal, and I had already decorated my first idiot with coffee.
