“No, you’re not,” she said with a smirk. Ophelia was shocked by her own boldness, but she was attracted to him like a moth to a flame.
Jolie took the band’s intermission as an opportunity to meet the man who her sister had been grinding all over.
“Um, heyyyy, sis,” said Jolie.
“Oh, Mateo,” said Ophelia, taking a half step back to give them both some breathing room. “This is my sister, Jolie.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said and politely shook Jolie’s hand.
“And my other sister is over there,” Ophelia said, pointing to Evangeline. “It’s her bachelorette party.”
“Ah. Well, tell her I said congratulations,” Mateo said as he pressed his hand to his heart and gave a nod. “Can I get you, ladies, anything to drink?”
Ophelia’s eyebrows raised.Sexy and gentlemanly.
Naturally, Jolie responded with her drink order, eagerly taking the opportunity to be treated to a free beverage. Ophelia accompanied Mateo on the crowded journey to the bar, and as the two weaved around bodies, Mateo stood behind her, pressing his hands into her hip bones and guiding her. Without thinking, Ophelia pushed her back up against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body.
Mateo locked eyes with the bartender, and he walked over to the pair, ignoring other impatient patrons who were shouting their drink orders at him.
“What’s up, man?” said the bartender, clearly recognizing Mateo.
“Good show,” said Mateo. “Can we get a whiskey sour, club soda, and….” Mateo looked at Ophelia to chime in with what she wanted.
“Gin and tonic with extra lime,” she supplied, then turnedback to Mateo. “You’re not drinking?” she asked, knowing the whiskey sour he ordered was for Jo.
“No, I don’t drink.” She stifled a groan of embarrassment, hoping she hadn’t appeared too intoxicated.
Back at the front of the stage, Mateo handed Jolie her whiskey sour and turned to Ophelia, bending to speak in her ear. His breath was warm on her neck.
“Ophelia.”God, the way he said her name. “I need to head out. I’m supposed to meet up with a friend to catch another show. And I don’t want to crash your sister’s bachelorette party.” Their eyes locked, and she was lost for a brief second.
“Oh yes, we can only be around greased-up men sporting dollar-bill-filled thongs, and you don’t fit that description,” Ophelia said with a smirk.
“No. No, I do not. Well, at least not tonight,” he joked. “Let me put my number in your phone.” Mateo opened his palm for her phone, and Ophelia fished it out of her crossbody purse and opened it to a new contact page. He quickly typed his contact in and sent himself a text.
Handing back her phone, Mateo kissed Ophelia’s cheek. “I’ll text you,” he said with a wink. Mateo turned and walked through the crowd as Ophelia’s eyes followed him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ophelia’s eyes shot open. Moonlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling window of the French Quarter rental, illuminating the tiger.Hertiger. The tiger’s massive form hovered over her protectively, but her body just lay there unresponsive. She was unable to move anything except for her eyes. Panic was sinking in, and her heart was racing. Every synapse in her brain was firing, and she could barely think.
She shut her eyes tightly.Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, she demanded. A sharp inhale followed by a deeper one eased her panic by a fraction.It’s just a dream. Just a dream. This isn’t real life.
She took another steadying breath and opened her eyes. A string of saliva was dangling at the edge of the tiger’s lips, slowly rocking back and forth with every exhale. The smell of its earthy, hot pants were familiar. She reminded herself that the tiger was there to protect her. She could feel her heart rate slowing at this reminder. It was her protector.
A thick drop of spit fell, hitting Ophelia’s cheek and inched down the side of her neck. She desperately wanted to reach up and wipe it away, but she couldn’t. She was paralyzed for what felt like hours, but was probably only a couple of minutes. The tiger purred after some time, and she felt the movement in herarms come back. Looking down at her hand, she was relieved as she slowly bent her fingers.
She glanced back up at her protector, but it was gone.
Ophelia awoke suddenly and sat up straight, as if unwanted restraints were just removed from her body. She was hot and gasping for air. She looked around the room for anything out of place. Nothing. The windows were shut, and her door was closed. Sweat coated her pajamas. She reached to wipe away the perspiration running down her neck. It was not sweat. She rubbed the sticky, gelatinous residue between her fingers. Spit.
Bewildered, Ophelia ran to the hall bathroom and splashed her face with water. Bent over the sink, she looked at herself in the mirror. The muscles in her face were constricted, and her brows furrowed so far down they almost reached the top of her nose. Touching her skin, she watched herself in the mirror. That was the third time she’d seen the tiger in the past two months. This time felt more real to her, similar to the morning of Delphine’s murder. She wondered if there had been another murder.
Her sisters.
She immediately ran to her sisters’ room and gently opened the door. A rush of relief washed over her. They were sound asleep and safe in the early morning moonlight. Ophelia tiptoed to the other room and checked on Annie and Christine. They were also safely sleeping.
Unsure of what to do, she wandered back to the bathroom. Her reflection still revealed a frazzled version of her. Was there a connection to each protector’s vision? Or were they all separate? Her gut told her no.
