The Last Moonshine

Episode5

I dropped my head into my hands with a muffled groan. Sitting on my bedroom floor, my back pressed against the bed, I watched Lilly scamper across the rug. My little ferret’s nose twitched frantically as she investigated a stray sock, her tiny body wiggling with unbothered excitement.

"You don't get it, Lilly," I muttered, peeking through my fingers. "He wasn't just looking at me. He was reading me. Like I wasn't invisible at all."

Lilly chittered loudly, completely unimpressed by my existential panic, before diving under the bed frame.

"Right. Talking to a domestic rodent about my embarrassing, non-existent love life. I’ve officially lost my mind."

I couldn't shake his words. I couldn't shake him. For days, every time I closed my eyes, I saw those stormy grey eyes boring into mine. Every time I took a deep breath, I swore I could still catch a ghost of pine, rain, and cedar clinging to my skin. It was absurd. Vincent Donatello was just a substitute teacher. He was probably just being polite. Or weird. Or both.

Yet my pulse hammered just thinking about him.

I needed to get out of the apartment before the silence drove me insane. Grabbing my backpack, I slipped past my mother’s closed bedroom door and headed straight for the Millbrook Public Library.

The library was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of amber lamps. The comforting scent of old paper, leather, and dust grounded me the second I stepped inside. I tucked myself away at my usual table in the deep back corner, hidden behind a row of towering encyclopedias, and spread my textbooks across the dark wood.

Twenty minutes later, the heavy silence shattered as Mia and Cody slid into the wooden chairs across from me.

"Study date!" Mia announced, far too loud for a quiet zone.

"Shh!" I hissed, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. "Keep it down, Mia. Some of us actually have grades to maintain."

"You haven't read a single line in ten minutes, Bri," Cody pointed out, pulling a highlighter from his bag. "You're doing that thing where you stare into space. Still obsessing over the new sub?"

Heat rushed straight to my cheeks. "I am not."

"You totally are," Mia winked, tossing a crumpled piece of paper at my face. "Can't blame you, though. Mr. Donatello looks like he stepped off a runway and into a high school history class. If I had a teacher that gorgeous, I'd fail on purpose just to get detention."

"Mia!" I snapped in a furious whisper, throwing the paper back at her as she giggled.

For an hour, we settled into a comfortable, easy rhythm. It was the exact dose of normalcy I needed. For a brief, blessed window, the electric tension of the past few days faded into the background.

When I finally finished my reading, I stretched my arms over my head and stood up. "I'm going to browse the stacks for a bit before we go."

"Don't get lost in fantasy land," Cody called softly. "We're grabbing pizza in twenty."

I gave him a quick thumbs-up and wandered deeper into the narrow, dimly lit aisles. The tall wooden shelves towered over me, casting long shadows across the faded carpet. I ran my fingertips over the worn spines, letting the tactile rhythm soothe my frayed nerves. I was looking for an escape—a story that had nothing to do with small-town secrets or mysterious men who made my blood boil.

I spotted a dark blue spine on the top shelf. Leaning onto my tiptoes, I reached up, my fingers barely brushing the binding.

Bump.

Someone clipped my shoulder from behind. My foot slipped, my balance tipped, and a sharp gasp caught in my throat as gravity pulled me backward into empty air. I braced for the hard smack of the carpet.

Before I could hit the floor, strong, solid arms locked around my waist, snatching me mid-fall.

The sudden impact knocked the breath straight out of my lungs. I was pulled flush against a broad, rock-hard chest, enveloped instantly by a wave of heat and that intoxicating, addictive scent of fresh rain, pine, and cedar. The sheer temperature of his skin burned right through my sweater.

I looked up, my heart slamming wildly against my ribs.

Vincent Donatello was holding me.

His face was inches from mine, his jaw sharp enough to cut glass. A slow, devilish grin spread across his features, making his stormy grey eyes sparkle with a dangerous, wicked amusement.

"You should really try to take care of yourself, Tilly."

My brain went completely blank. My breath caught in my throat, trapped behind a sudden heat. He was here. In the library. Holding me against his body like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I—" My voice cracked, coming out as a breathless squeak. "I—Tilly? You called me Tilly?"

His grin widened, revealing a flash of straight, white teeth. "Is that not what they call you?"

Heat burned all the way to the tips of my ears. "Yeah, but... it's not a compliment. It's what the kids at school call me to make fun of my middle name."

The amusement vanished from Vincent's face in an instant. His sharp features hardened, the playful smirk dying as his grey eyes darkened into something lethal and fiercely possessive.

"Then I won't call you that again," he murmured, his low baritone vibrating straight against my spine.

He slowly steadied me on my feet, but his large hand lingered on my hip for a second too long—his thumbs tracing a subtle, burning line over my skin before he pulled away. Turning with effortless grace, he reached up and plucked the exact book I had been reaching for off the top shelf.

A History of Werewolf Legends.

My blood turned to ice.

Vincent flipped the heavy book over in his long fingers, tracing the embossed silver lettering on the cover. "Interesting choice," he rumbled softly, his gaze snapping back down to mine with a piercing intensity. "Fascinating subject."

My throat went bone-dry. "I... I just like fantasy. Fiction. That's all."

"Of course," he said smoothly. A faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips—a look so sharp, so devastatingly intimate, it felt as though he were reading every buried secret in my heart.

Without another word, he tucked the heavy tome under his arm, turned on his heel, and casually strolled toward the front counter.

I stood frozen in the dark aisle, my hands trembling as I watched him step up to the desk, pull out his wallet, and hand the librarian cash for the book. He didn't rush. He moved like a man who owned every shadow in the building.

Before pushing open the glass exit doors, Vincent paused. He turned his head, his silvery eyes locking directly onto mine through the narrow gap in the bookshelves.

A heavy, electrifying silence stretched between us across the room, pulling so tight it felt on the verge of snapping. He held my gaze for one agonized, beautiful second, tucked the book into his dark jacket, and stepped out into the night.