Woven in Moonlight (Woven in Moonlight #1)(79)

Traitor. Rat.

Tears rise from the depths of my wretched guilt. I angrily scrub my cheeks. Catalina is my best friend. But she’s utterly wrong. I fight to remember that, even as my reasoning feels hollow. I take a fortifying breath and strengthen my hold on the wool strands. My animals jump back into their tapestries and watch me as I work.

“You’re really talented,” someone says from behind me.

I turn to meet the accented voice. He’s lying on my bed, as comfortable as a pampered cat. Dressed in his usual black ensemble, he reminds me of the perfect night. The kind of night that makes you want to get lost somewhere. The kind of night that invites adventure and misbehaving.

He climbs off the bed and faces me as I stand. We stare at each other, and the silence stretches between us. There’s something in the air that heightens my senses, or maybe it’s the vigilante himself. He fills up the room, impossible to ignore, a tangible energy that fascinates me as much as it confuses me. Is he who I think he is?

“Do I know you?”

He blinks. “Yes.”

This time he doesn’t disguise his voice.

Luna. I’ve heard it before. My heart hammers in my chest. My next question is obvious—Who are you?—but he anticipates it and gestures toward my nearly finished tapestry. He doesn’t want me to ask. I picture my guard, and then the healer, under the mask. Because he must be one of them. The height, the width of their shoulders, the dark eyes. He could be either of them.

“It’s beautiful. Who’s it for?”

“This one’s for me,” I say. “Who are you?”

He shoots me an exasperated look. “Can I trust you, Condesa? Because I don’t think I can.”

His admission doesn’t bother me. After all, I can’t be trusted. That’s the sorry truth. And even sorrier is my wish that I can trust him. Maybe I can. At least with something small but important.

I clear my throat. “I want to show you something.”

“What is it?” His voice holds a note of wariness that makes my heart stutter. As if he knows I’m about to cross some imaginary line we’ve drawn to protect ourselves from each other.

“It’s a secret,” I whisper. “One of my secrets anyway. Out of all of them, it’s my favorite, I think.”

“Are you sure, Condesa?” he asks, his shoulders tense.

“No,” I say with a shaky laugh. “But the point is that I want to share something with you that’s real. Something about me, something personal and—”

“Show me.”

I draw a long breath, my body trembling. I’ve never been this vulnerable with a stranger. A literal stranger—his mask guarantees that. He could find a way to use my secret ability against me. But hearing him call me by Catalina’s title sits heavily in my stomach. I want him to know part of the real me. Something that doesn’t belong to her, something only I can do. I want someone to know Ximena Rojas—even this stranger who’s pushed his way into my life in a manner I didn’t expect.

I head to the tapestry hiding the serpent. “Come out,” I say, my voice firm. “It’s fine; he’s a friend.”

I must look like an idiot. After all, I don’t know if my creatures understand a word I say, but in my heart, they do. Nothing happens for several long seconds, but then the anaconda slithers from the tapestry, growing longer and stretching until it’s full-bodied, and then it heads straight for the vigilante.

El Lobo jumps about a foot.

“It won’t hurt you.” I frown. “I don’t think.”

“Shouldn’t you know for sure?” he asks, backing up a step. “They can swallow whole cows.”

I pet the snake, the wool soft under my fingers. Its silver eyes gaze at me with apparent fondness. Then it turns its head toward the vigilante. “I made it. With my weaving.”

“What do you mean ‘with your weaving’?” he asks hoarsely.

The rest of the animals come out of their hiding spots: the jaguar and the condor, the sloth and the parrot, the fiesty llama and the frogs. “I weaved them in my tapestries using—using a special thread—and they came to life. Remarkable, isn’t it?”

The vigilante takes a step toward me. The jaguar stills. I make shushing noises at it and reach a hand over to its ear. “It’s all right.”

“This is—I’ve only seen this kind of talent in Princesa Tamaya. I never thought anyone could … This is …” He pauses, shaking his head, as if sorting his thoughts. “And the fact that it’s you. I hardly know what to think.”

I take his hand and bring it to the jaguar’s head. The animal stiffens but relaxes under El Lobo’s tentative fingers. Soon it’s purring.

“That’s my secret,” I say.

He slides a look my way. Then he crouches and reaches to pet the anaconda. Moments later the rest of the animals come out to properly greet him. El Lobo gently lifts the sloth into his arms. “Why did you make a sloth?”

I shrug. “They’re cute?”

His mask moves as he smiles. “I love sloths.”

The creature nestles closer, digging its face into the crook of the vigilante’s neck.

“I think the feeling is mutual,” I say. “They all look so fierce in their own way, clearly not part of this world. It’s amazing to see them interacting with another person.” As an afterthought, I add, “You’re the only one I’ve shown them to.”