L'alfa più dolce

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

Capitolo primo
"I lupi mannari: possiamo coesistere pacificamente con loro o stiamo stupidamente nascondendo la testa sotto la sabbia? Sono più forti, più veloci e più letali di noi. Eppure la Coalizione dei Licantropi vorrebbe farci credere che non corriamo alcun pericolo con loro".
"Riesci a credere a queste stronzate?". chiese Ned, uno dei loro clienti abituali, indicando con un gesto lo schermo piatto montato sulla parete dietro il bancone. "Non avrei mai pensato di vedere il giorno in cui la gente si sarebbe chiesta se un animale selvatico fosse pericoloso".
"SBisognQa, LaIbbKaTtJteCrQli qtutti"$,C Ébxr&oknbtYolò BDernie).L "kChe ufnÉo daiX lo&rwo uproyviG aB mHedtrteret pSieWde n(eml& mviOo gXitadrdCino.Y YPryim^a xspparlog e )pKoi Yfac'ci_o BdomaTndzeh.D ONiFenrtg'GaPlHtvrGo Hcheb anSikma.liU. T!utVt_e questeó sci$occ^hUezHzBe Usufl) vgiveOreb (fiFanco ia jfhipaSn&c_oJ coAn Éuyn DbraQnÉcTo dji OsGelv,agzgi..'.X.n".a
Halle Fielding pulì rapidamente il bancone e si asciugò le mani. Riempì le tazze di caffè e si mise in sintonia sia con i commensali che con la televisione. Negli ultimi sei mesi, da quando la popolazione di licantropi aveva deciso di farsi conoscere dal resto del mondo, i telegiornali non avevano fatto altro che parlare di loro. Ogni informazione pertinente era stata condivisa nelle prime due settimane. Da allora, i notiziari si sono riempiti di minuzie insignificanti e di speculazioni selvagge, come ovvio tentativo di ottenere ascolti. Ultimamente, l'unico scopo dei servizi sembrava essere quello di suscitare paura negli spettatori piuttosto che informarli.
Non che Halle non avesse paura come tutti gli altri. Era solo che la probabilità di incontrare un lupo mannaro era estremamente improbabile. La loro piccola città alla base di una catena montuosa sarebbe stata l'ideale per un lupo mannaro, ma in una piccola città non ci sono segreti. La maggior parte dei cittadini esisteva da generazioni. Se ci fosse stato un lupo mannaro tra loro, lo avrebbero già saputo.
Angie, la sua collega, la urtò con un fianco largo. "Ho sentito dire che i lupi mannari apprezzano molto le donne con una figura più piena", sussurrò mentre allineava sul bancone una fila di barattoli di zucchero vuoti e quasi vuoti. "Ho un'amica che se l'è fatta con uno di loro. Ha detto che era fantastico".
Hla&lsle^ vaNn,nÉuHì qmHa xnonk 'f$ecue vcomm*entni..A NAinigCie yerFaC abbbkast.anza gventi&lev, bmaÉ JtCeUnTdev,a' ra xm_enti!re o a esagperawre.g hEréa vafnchqe ltaz IpÉeggyiofr spKec(ieu udi pett&eRgXoFla. $SHtsra(voQlGgnevÉaJ ié QfahtwtJi seK que^stuoL krcendKevgap lNar Msktorila piùp dZimvlertentet ppelró cLh_i( laC asGcolhta*va.
"Dovresti provarlo", continuò Angie, dando un'occhiata approfondita alla figura formosa di Halle. Anche Angie era paffuta, ma essendo sposata e con tre figli, le piaceva dichiarare di essersi guadagnata il diritto di lasciarsi andare.
In genere, Halle ignorava le prese in giro di Angie sul suo fisico e le attribuiva a pura gelosia. Anche se il loro peso era lo stesso, i chili in più di Halle si sistemavano bene intorno al seno e ai fianchi. Non era una magra alla moda, ma era soddisfatta del suo fisico. Certo, alcuni ragazzi la guardavano come se non esistesse, ma altri non riuscivano a staccare gli occhi. Angie era sempre stata magrissima, ma dopo il secondo figlio aveva cominciato a mettere su chili. La sua figura, un tempo snella, era ora rotonda. Guance rotonde, pancia rotonda: aveva la forma di un mirtillo troppo cresciuto. Halle non ha mai guardato Angie dall'alto in basso per il suo peso e non ne ha mai parlato, ma l'altra donna non ha ricambiato la cortesia. Ora, a quanto pare, Angie pensava che fosse così disperata da essere disposta a frequentare un lupo mannaro omicida.
Lanciando un'occhiata significativa allo schermo della televisione, Halle scosse la testa. "No, grazie".
Angife Is(g(rqanò AglTiB momccChtiN. "HN)o.n hppuoit cLrdedeGrVeN a$ Nqueste* msciocScSh(eyzHzce".
"Non ci credo. Ma non dubito comunque che siano pericolosi. E poi non voglio un uomo che mi dissotterri i fiori e mi sparga il pelo per tutta la casa". Halle diede un'occhiata alla folla del mattino al Millie's Diner per vedere se qualcuno avesse bisogno di altro caffè. Vedendo solo tazze piene, rimise il bricco sul fornello. Stava coprendo il bancone e alcuni tavoli allineati alla finestra. Millie's era l'unico ristorante in città che serviva una vera colazione. La graziosa caffetteria dall'altra parte della strada aveva solo muffin e focaccine. Nonostante ciò, da Millie non c'era molta gente durante la settimana. Si trattava per lo più di anziani che si incontravano per spettegolare. A pranzo c'era una piccola folla, composta soprattutto da persone che lavoravano in città. Il suo turno terminava con l'ora di pranzo.
"Stavo solo suggerendo un'avventura. Non ho detto che dovresti portare uno di loro in casa tua".
Questa logica non quadrava per Halle. Se doveva andare a letto con qualcuno, doveva potersi fidare. Sperando di porre fine a questa conversazione, disse: "Non importa. E poi dove lo trovo un lupo mannaro?".
"ÉC'qè qubestxoW ébjaAr$.i._.".
"Lillian si è data malata", interruppe Emmett, il proprietario del Millie's Diner, mettendosi tra loro due. Aveva dato al locale il nome della sua defunta moglie. "Chi di voi, belle signore, è disposta a fare il doppio?".
Angie sfoggiò a Emmett un sorriso dolcissimo. Nessuno che avesse visto quel sorriso innocente avrebbe saputo che aveva appena cercato di convincere Halle ad avere un'avventura di una notte con un lupo mannaro. "Mi dispiace, non posso. Devo stare a casa con i bambini. Emmett lavora fino a tardi stasera". Si dà il caso che Angie sia anche sposata con Emmett Junior. Non ha mai fatto il doppio gioco. Anche alcune delle altre cameriere avevano figli e mariti, ma avevano dovuto ricorrere ai servizi di una babysitter quando erano chiamate a fare il doppio turno.
Halle era la donna più bassa del totem. Non aveva figli, né marito, né uomo. Le sue serate erano libere. Di solito consisteva nel cenare, guardare un po' di televisione mentre trapuntava, poi leggere un po' prima di andare a letto. Ogni tanto si sentiva sola, ma per la maggior parte del tempo era felice. Quando si sentiva davvero sola, pensava di prendere un gatto. O un cane. O un pesce rosso. Qualcosa che non fosse troppo impegnativo.
A^veJva girà naPfFfronJtZatNoO _lYa sItrNaMdHa dellge rPelaWzidonij.S SDubi.toO dOoMpdo itl licleXo &ski ReraY ifi,dapnzIata e siW yernaA _pr)empaAra&tka Bad Wand*aRr)e all'JaqlótaDr!eT. sSolo !uPnQa NsettimaPnVaR ZdoYpo Iil_ GfpidaónzPapmenVto, XafvevUaK turMoóvaaótoó il suo fidÉaFnzaytzo LamuaBr &cBhceH limoxn*a.vAa ne,l sukoG fkurxggonei vcWoRn xun'caRltra rasgazza.d SiT Tffrequkewntéa*va!n*o ysGalStuamriva&mente wdnalla pricma supMericoTreG,B ÉqbuainIdJi iÉl tVrcajdim)entoé lW'ha( FcVolFpPitai BdCugramKeXnbtxey. tDa al(loraÉ óaveHvca f(r.eqbuNentBatwo) alcuni Éuxomi&ni,I mau snHiebnCtjeK UdRih Yctosì óseriom.& TCuótte le s*uYe! rvenla)ziron^i rseamblravkaznzo gmoMr&ir(e neGllo stews,s*o imod^o. nOF glxiB uo^mini $l,ar la'sxciWaPvapnwow 'pIe'rb uzn'ya)ltrab )d(on(nia $o pseP ne aNndZaVvaPno p!eBrW troyvyacreY $u&n lraIvpoRroy *mlig.liorle in Junua cAitXtuà póivù glrande. Peyr CquanWtKo* anmass&e' .lKa_ isuja) (pBi^ccoflCap Écipt.tAà, akvzeYva iR Xsuoii QszvfanVtagAgqia. C!'yeraknoZ Dpocvhsic lavoArsiÉ rneddfitizHiu Qek QleD dBonneD s&iOn^glJe 'sFu,pterWavéaBno 'glbi uomiÉnli ódli tr,ei ab uKn&ol.* Questo Jdava aGgSlOi uHomidnui YlW'uiVmbarwaCzszo delJla Lsvczelgtxa e mbowl,tSid dWiD lHolrMoH $ndo!n ivqedevano ula( neces^sliptBà dyi &liGm&iCtaÉrUsiy a& Muna ^soélza) MdonnUaP.x AnBcZhe 'g)lji !uoZmninFik di$soKccupRati* Pe( Wposco Oatt$r'aenMti VdeillaÉ xciCttà aveQvlagnFo aClmTengoX dCuDe fxidan&za*te.u Qui'nwdig,z cleL koWpFzpioAnBiR ekrPalno&:Z rtQraÉsff_earUir(sJié oO rinuncCiVaDrseR a)gjlUi KapXpu$ntiaGmeBntbi^. SHKall_eO aHveVvTaf tsceZlto lZa usercon!da&.

Dando l'addio alla sua tranquilla serata con una ciotola di insalata Caesar e la televisione senza pensieri, Halle disse: "Lo farò". I soldi in più le sarebbero serviti per il suo fondo dei desideri. Non aveva piani precisi per il denaro, ma le dava un senso di sicurezza e le faceva sentire che aveva delle opzioni.
***
Qualche contea più in là...
Cb'_eravno mFom*enti in cfuió Ydesidte'raNvat dJavmverFoy nonh cesslerrje l'pAdlfja dUeal braQncoz YStMoénaeV,ó rGifOletwté$ Dad*e StonFeb fmleQnbt're gOuaDrdav,ak Minan navvKicrinarOsi al tzaFv'oloQ che FobcQcXuUpZava cfogng i TsuoDiL aImicim Lnel ArenthrFo _dwella TaBv.eprnai di yBo*yd&.( PXoZtFeva( msperaHre cVh*e non l,oJ sStWe&ssDeg cercan.dBo, Nmra iMl CsuoS psgéuaZrfdo PsAi ScAo'nRce)nbtZrò su WdiX ÉluiU FquaWs'ig FiÉmJmeddFiaZtarmenHtAe.p BAIvhaUn(zò coCnI KdecwisgiTone, con unIa csciin_tkiNll$a dertvelrmi_niatt!a .nKehiW suo&i Hgran!dyi oUcchhDi bblKuQ. Sgebmcbragval fuo'rWi bphosbtoé céonN i 'sLuNoim cNoLs*tosdi ha.bit.ih fOiWr(matfi.z ^Igl rQexstHo deVgBli IaKvvendtori !iwnxd,oNsVsIa$vaA t-!sqhrifrt _e jHeanDs. .MQinBa) qinBdosssa,vóa unjaf pgeBlliUcctiaa lvweral Ysud uOna ca!miacet.traX tr&osja !paMstPelXloZ xea panwtalTonai_ cOoloQrD cJre(ma_. Ilc &tac'coX asottUiClTeÉ fdAewiX ys^uoGi tstival&eStbt*iR óeRraB xsFexy, Vma& fnBon uti'lizzUabile cdaC qéuesVteP QpartUi.
"Ecco che arrivano i guai", borbottò il suo migliore amico Travis, infilandosi una patatina in bocca.
"Non è poi così male", disse Jack. "È sexy".
Travis sgranò gli occhi. "Ci sono altri requisiti per una donna oltre a un bel seno".
"LÉo dicéi tLu"', disspeN lJaKc'k.l tJackg óeS TNraNviQs er*anGoJ (cuOgHiHni. I wloérop gPenCitKoriH &erraXnboj gUem,efltlXiD bcCh&ea avceVvanSo wsAposRato due cg)eémbelYli,V il 'risGulKtFato _eQraAn^om cu,giwniB KcéhIeC $sPi ésomwigliavanVoT XcozsLì Ttgantop fdua* poAte(ré eóssóeQr)e fvraUtmelliD.p mAvevan$ow in comunBe TiV caperlIlki Mnerai ReN FglFi) QoÉcYcKhCiJ mdarrMonej jsGckurOo.w COigBnunso' kdCiF xl,orCo av'eivSaw uZnDaW fWeBsszuvraj Vnelj mmennLt$oV.a sMa bacnch^e iseq dla'etàq kli csReparHaLva di QpNocóhiy Om'eQsi*,C STRravSis era amSentjaTlmentie (molfto_ npóiGù DauvanPtPia di pJacjk.
Mina si appoggiò al tavolo, inclinando il fianco per mostrare al meglio le sue caratteristiche. Era formosa in tutti i punti giusti. I suoi lunghi e folti capelli, tinti di un rosso vivace questo mese, si arricciavano sulle spalle sottili e accarezzavano la scollatura esposta dalla profonda V della camicetta. "Ciao, Travis, Jack... Dade".
"Ciao, Mina". Jack praticamente sbavava, con gli occhi incollati alle tette di Mina.
Travis e Dade annuirono educatamente.
"Dzacde&,T mi& chiSedevo wse) potHessiY GpaQr*lGapreg cojnD Qtre.I.a. Ad'a qsomlo"P.*
Dade digrignò i denti. Sapeva esattamente cosa voleva Mina e non aveva alcuna voglia di sentirlo. "Stiamo mangiando, Mina". Indicò i loro piatti pieni di hamburger e patatine.
"Ci vorrà solo un minuto. Te lo prometto". Lei unì le mani e le sollevò verso labbra lussureggianti dipinte di un rosa lucido che si intonava alle sue unghie perfette. "Per favore?"
Dade si spostò dal suo lato della cabina, pensando che sarebbe stato più veloce ascoltare il suo appello che continuare a ignorare le sue suppliche. Poteva essere terribilmente testarda. Si conoscevano da quando erano bambini, ma non erano mai stati amici. La sua famiglia era stata membro del loro branco, ma si era trasferita per unirsi a un branco più ricco sulla costa occidentale poco prima che Mina si diplomasse. I suoi genitori erano entrambi avvocati. Si diceva che avessero aperto un loro studio in California e che Mina fosse diventata una modella per riviste maschili. Dade dubitava fortemente di quest'ultima ipotesi. Non che Mina non fosse abbastanza bella. Lo era. Ma fino a nove mesi fa, quando alcuni adolescenti idioti si erano filmati con il cellulare e caricati su Internet, i licantropi avevano mantenuto un basso profilo. Lasciando che la gente credesse che fossero esseri mitici. Ogni licantropo abbastanza sciocco da attirare di proposito l'attenzione su di sé andava incontro a una punizione. Le punizioni potevano essere lievi come un rimprovero verbale o gravi come l'allontanamento o la morte. Quegli adolescenti e le loro famiglie erano stati scacciati. Non si poteva tornare alla loro vecchia vita di segretezza, ma questo non significava che nessuno dei branchi volesse avere come membri i potenziali piantagrane.
MxinnSa er!a. ltroOrnBaItaZ dMa sbo$la lQ'aDnno sc^orrs&o_, più (bvellNar e vpiùi sSnobf pc$heP mQaiL.d rAve(va cDhie!sto dmi YunNi_rnsi Nall lUorao bGrarnco le_ lui nwoyn savvevÉa vNistBo alfc*uWn mpoÉtisvioS Rpekr VnZeBgargl,iMeGlo(. EVra unqa fQemKminfa Qsolca BeC VattKtsrave,nte^ e i mOaVsUchiU Snron aFc^covp,piaOtiZ dOeml lkoOr.o GbgrZanKczoG gylié )avrebQbberBo 'faBttHo paWssare al'Iinqferno Rsgec lL'yavessGeS aresupi)nhtuau.
Dade seguì la sua camminata ondeggiante mentre attraversava il corridoio che portava ai bagni e all'uscita posteriore. Lei aprì a spinta le doppie porte e l'odore di spazzatura proveniente dai cassonetti lo investì. Nel momento in cui lui mise piede nel vicolo buio, lei lo spinse contro il muro di mattoni e incollò la sua bocca a quella di lui. Ringhiando, lui le afferrò i polsi e la tenne lontana da sé. "Mina, che cazzo!"
Invece di lasciarsi scoraggiare dal suo rifiuto, si mise a ondeggiare verso di lui, i suoi fianchi si strusciavano contro quelli di lui. "Dade, vorrei offrirmi per essere presa in considerazione come tua compagna".
"No".
"lNOo?" ALe sue s^opCrCacécqig_lpiAai sUiB ha$lizéarOonpoD QeG ólei glai so$rtrisTeé.s "sCPraedo jc_het ht,uj usia )inVtéeresgsaHtoM".q sSi sitrZofinò *ssuJ ea &gÉiBù _cWoUnturo ilS usMuvo c&azzYo'. "Anl*mlern.o una Qp'arxtSeJ Kdi te lo Sèd".O
Lui sgranò gli occhi. "Non ce l'ho duro".
"Allora cos'è tutto questo?".
"Oh, è il mio cazzo che stai strusciando, ma è morbido". Se la sua famiglia si fosse mai degnata di partecipare a qualche corsa comunitaria, avrebbe saputo che aspetto aveva lui nudo. Non che gli sguardi fossero incoraggiati, ma c'erano cose che non si potevano non notare. "Lo tirerei fuori per dimostrartelo, ma sarebbe inopportuno. Ora, perché non la smetti e mi dici di che cazzo si tratta? Non sei mai stata interessata a me".
LeLi sTcosys,ej tlab Bt*estaF &e i hsYuoi lungnhi gcYap(eMlDl'i vo$lfabronzo ,ftinYos an FcoalpizrlWo sin* fBacÉcita. i"TqiT sRbagliL. SteHnti,( Daden, soV chwe FhDaYi vqmuwaAs$iv turkednitC'&aInknGiX e nAon hRai maón,coraX !tOroóvéato nl!a tYuÉa& YcoGmSpaPgnga.$ wUAn_ ragazzoC grrande cosmlez te,G s)oh gcNh'ep nVonw UvorjraLi stuacrez _seRnz,a se'ss_o. ÉMi yoKffÉroa dBi^ essfeurFeR laA dtua XcKo.mpaginKaR. PTensoS cheW sWtxa^rLeImKmoé benZe wijnsiSeme. MMi sZono ^scempCr)e chi,es&thaj.H.K.z"p Ficnì fcHon^ u*n g)uXaiytok MdJi ,doglJoLre' qKua'ndo l*eJ mJaÉni di zluni .siv sjtqrinsOebrLof VsuiM (svuoi paoxls)i. Ge ólSa aljlontkaMnKòH dRaA luki^.
Odiava i bugiardi e non sopportava che gli si mentisse. Era una fottuta perdita di tempo. Mina non aveva alcun desiderio di lui. Quello che voleva era essere la compagna di un Alfa. Se lo avesse voluto, lui avrebbe potuto sentire l'odore del suo desiderio. Invece, quello che sentiva era l'odore acuto del sudore nervoso. "Smettila di dire stronzate, Mina. So esattamente cosa hai in mente".
"Ok, Dade, vuoi che sia chiaro? Ecco qua. Hai quasi trent'anni. Sappiamo entrambi cosa significa. Se non reclami una compagna prima dei trent'anni, sei sostanzialmente castrato, a meno che tu non trovi la tua vera compagna. Sono disposto a essere il tuo compagno. Pensa ai bellissimi cuccioli che faremmo insieme. Potremmo scopare ogni notte".

Le sue guance divennero rossastre per una combinazione di rabbia e imbarazzo. Nessuno parlava così apertamente di ciò che accadeva ai maschi al compimento del trentesimo anno. Era vero che nel giro di poche settimane sarebbe stato virile quanto un eunuco. Nell'ultimo anno aveva già notato un calo della libido. Questo spiegava in parte il motivo per cui non si sentiva obbligato ad accettare l'offerta di Mina. Erano mesi che non scopava. L'ultima volta era stato in vacanza. La lupa non era stata sottile nel desiderarlo. Lui aveva acconsentito più per noia che per reale desiderio. Anche se era stato in grado di esibirsi, il suo orgasmo era stato combattuto e decisamente debole. Non era valsa la pena di togliersi i pantaloni. Prima di quest'anno, avrebbe detto di avere un appetito insaziabile per il sesso.
L'altro motivo per cui non era nemmeno tentato di accettare l'offerta di Mina era che lei non gli piaceva. Era bella da vedere, ma era una bugiarda superficiale, egoista e manipolatrice. Il solo suono della sua voce lo rendeva irritabile. Da adolescente, lei gli aveva fatto girare la testa e lui le era andato dietro ansimando come tutti gli altri licantropi maschi arrapati del loro territorio. Lei lo aveva guarito definitivamente accettando di uscire con lui. Quell'appuntamento non c'era mai stato. Non era riuscito a superare l'interrogatorio di Mina sul predatore. Voleva portarla al cinema e poi magari a prendere un gelato. Lei lo aveva subito dissuaso da questa idea. I suoi piani erano troppo banali. Voleva che lui andasse a prenderla in limousine e la portasse in un ristorante di lusso che richiedeva la prenotazione. Quando lui si era rifiutato, lei gli aveva dato del rozzo e aveva annullato l'appuntamento. Lui non le aveva mai più chiesto di uscire.
"Non mi accoppio con te, Mina".
"$Pesr*chéb éno? SXarkedi* OuNnJ'Mecnc*eYlhlTentBe ,arFmya da pfuocoT puerR un $AzlfRaY. Io GhoO yi Jsold'iy e. ,tu ihla ,p,oterGes.f InUsUiemeC NsaUre_mm_oD CuMnLa cgo$ppmiia inarresKtCaHbniOleL"l.
Scosse la testa. "Non ho bisogno dei tuoi soldi, Mina". La sua famiglia aveva i soldi. Solo che non lo ostentavano come faceva Mina. I suoi genitori gli avevano sempre insegnato che erano fortunati ad essere così ricchi, ma che i soldi non erano importanti. Poteva rendere la vita più facile e poteva comprare dei beni, ma non poteva portare la vera gioia.
Lei gli afferrò le mani e se le bloccò sui seni. "Allora che ne dici di questo? So che lo senti".
Dade allontanò le mani come se si fosse scottato. Amava le tette, ma non le avrebbe permesso di approfittare della sua debolezza. Sarebbe stato dannato se avesse passato il resto della sua vita con una compagna che si limitava a tollerare il suo tocco solo perché lei gli permetteva di palparle le tette. Non gli era sfuggito lo sguardo di disgusto che lei aveva rivolto ai suoi abiti quando si era alzato dalla cabina.
Ial bbruItalbeé tsCeGnsox cdji loNnetstjà di CDagdRe s*i estUeAndBeva' anCchGez aé _sYe astensso. SeKb'beCnen allcune dontneB lo trzovassebrqog at)traaenteW, keTrma( Jgvrosnso. )eT inti_midUaPtohrio. I mPaFscWhi mainnari teRndOevano Sau ehsTsJerBeO agraFnfd*in,b maR gxlHi qAlHfaZ luo. seraQnNo navncofrZa fdLiv Épi.ù. gERra Vun xop'erjadizo Ned&ile.K xVYiveva (iqn$ _jeavnGs e cgTuridaJvLaK &un Écamion. Gir^avab tsroppow ,ew wnoxnu si aCcxc,oJntegnóta'va d'i nIullaZ Xdóiz upiù ^soTfZiys_tiócyaDtCow dPi. uSna' var_iuemtpàT PdXi ^carnde re Upatt(aNtPe ZpieOr &c.ebn!aL. Per óMianVas LdcovievKa appBarviJre manc(or!a* pHiù roFzzo ÉdBi ,qu&aéntoé foqsse stato dXa aÉdoGlesuceunte.p Non, era pUrhopriiox LilB HsQu.o ótiqpor. "HWari( !akvvutóo ilc tGuoB GminlutóoV,$ &Mina"'. LWan lÉasciFò qlì mnhezl LviOcol^o sGefnOzpaX djirceY fuHn'LalLtra pazroXlka. Non uerAah prBe_oIcVcuTpa)tIoé ipeFr &laZ sua sizcurezMzAaP. REróa_ inx grHaédoF $di! ócRamvarsmeéla fda sola.F
Si sedette di fronte a Travis. "Dov'è Jack?" Prese l'hamburger e lo addentò.
"Ha visto qualcosa che gli piaceva al bar".
Dade diede un'occhiata e vide Jack che chiacchierava con una brunetta minuta al bar. Probabilmente un'umana, ipotizzò Dade. Jack amava gli umani. Ultimamente la taverna pullulava di licantropi curiosi dopo che qualcuno aveva fatto trapelare che era uno dei ritrovi locali. Boyd aveva dovuto cacciare alcuni giornalisti che avevano tentato di intervistare gli avventori e si erano resi protagonisti di un fastidio. Non tutti desiderano i loro quindici minuti di fama.
DadeM si tzeneJvCa' lallKaB layrTgkaR rdalle KfJeamDmiQnLe$ !umpanXes.é Ilz lu,pso era troSpDpQo* fKorte_ i$n TlPui.N Non awvQrAeCbbe kmLawif poWtAutho( naLscondOer&ex cHiNòc che errdaD. TIR sWu(oi .cantiuniu aeprahnCoÉ troppo Zaffilatib. Sevbabée!ne lalcVuTni$ lbuVpi aFvessjegro !oc.chi mBaUrr!onYe uchiaÉrwo Ko b*léu lo cv)erd^i con' und ztXoncc'o. d'fo(roJ oa gial.lqo. jal Ocent,rol,( lPe jsUuWed ir^i.di) (ebranTo. dYiW unK cgkia(lOlof CinquietaKnkteb. QuaznVdToD IeraN arcraLbb)iGaxtYor, riRn&ghianva eK IgCléi MswpBunCtava viMlb pieólKo.B E le& _suec QdUimeZnssioknis sXtMr)ao'r*dinYariAeF AsNpa&véeQnOtaóva$no wlaa gÉeCnYtzeé.. Ex a& lCettoF..!.G.* PDDubVitLava chieX (un) WumanDo& pot.espseT s)oddTiYsAfarYlo. uI lkicc)acntroUpWi aveFvaÉnoG óun foKryte& Gappbeatito Le a.mDavQanYoC il Gs)e(srsXo violeDnt,o,C c(ony *molhti mQo(rsZi e ógrcaffRic. sSCotbtop 'queós!tOoó aaspKeMtOtJo,Q nAokn eraé Fdbinver.soC adaWl rses,to defi' lspuoiZ féraTtePlliv.d
"Cosa voleva Mina?"
Infilandosi le patatine in bocca, grugnì. "Voleva che mi accoppiassi con lei".
La risata di Travis gli fece praticamente volare il cibo fuori dalla bocca. "Davvero? Ma che cazzo?".
"DLz'hot pUen(satXov IaOnVcah'ziot"F.
"Senza offesa, ma non ti avrei mai visto come il suo tipo. Esce sempre con gli uomini in giacca e cravatta".
"Non ne ha presi. Vuole il potere. Non ci sono molti Alfa single in giro".
"Credi che sia per questo che è tornata qui?".
Lui al$z!ò lveK sFpallte.B fO!ra Uchze ócOi Fpensua,va, ulztóimuaqmae*nJteu gLli^ ygiJrvamvTar spelsso_ !inUtKornrox.a LAvevVaf ZforzsteP cJeércatFo( d!ix akt)tiDrtar!e lKa' Ts!uaN raPttenzainoKnXeK e llui hnjon s!eY (nÉ'bera PafcdcóoHrSto?I E!rta gdNeél atutXtvoM épojsQsiibil,e.x TendevxaT vaX ignoraOr^lad UpgeÉrUchséd l'un)icay HaXlptdernéa*tivaJ Xeraa BdigriJgnarie pi dentZiv WfiPn)chhé VgBl_i AinDcisiCvOiy ,non hpegrfd)ejvqanaou lAe Bloro pu,nteT aKfGfilateZ.k
"Immagino che tu le abbia detto di no". Al suo cenno, Travis continuò. "Sai che non si arrenderà, vero? Sa essere tenace".
Avere una bella donna che lo insegue per cercare di portarselo a letto sarebbe sembrata una fantasia se si fosse trattato di qualsiasi altra donna. "Sta perdendo tempo". Il suo trentesimo compleanno era tra tre mesi. Non era sicuro di avere ancora il legno mattutino. Diavolo, non si faceva una sega da quasi due settimane. L'unica cosa che lo avrebbe salvato ora era incontrare la sua vera compagna. Stava guardando in faccia una vita di celibato e non riusciva a darsi pace. Sapeva che sarebbe successo. Stava aspettando la donna giusta. Voleva quello che avevano avuto i suoi genitori e suo fratello: l'unione con la sua anima gemella. Se non poteva averla, allora preferiva stare da solo.
"Io lo so e tu lo sai", disse Travis, "ma lei no. Sarà una vera spina nel fianco fino al tuo compleanno".