He grinned, as if he could read my mind, and my cheeks grew hot. Then he started full-on laughing as he turned back to face the road.
Oh boy, I’m in so much trouble.
Chapter Nine
Cusco felt old. Not like any place in Texas—with its freshly paved roads and new buildings. The ancient stone streets rattled the tires on the van. The tiny roads felt even tinier with the buildings crowding in against them. There was barely enough room for the cars to pass, and with added pedestrians, I was convinced we were going to hit something—or someone—before we made it to our destination.
We cut through a little courtyard that was all lit up—it had to be the town center. A Catholic church took up one portion of the square. I made a note of it. I loved to sit in old churches. I didn’t pray that often, but my soul felt quiet and relaxed in them. A fountain stood in the center of the square. Spouts of water flowed down from the top feature—a bronze man holding some sort of scepter.
People crossed into the street without looking and tourists and locals mixed together, enjoying the early night. It was nice to see so many people filling the square. The town felt alive. Vibrant. If my head weren’t pounding with a headache I would’ve asked to be let out here and walk the rest of the way. It was a shame just to pass it by.
“Almost there, princess,” Mr. July said from the passenger’s seat.
“Princess?”
He turned just enough so that I could see his face. “I call it like I see it.”
“Great,” I muttered. He thought I was a spoiled, rich girl. I was neither rich nor spoiled. Was that really the vibe I gave off? Maybe I’d been rude to him back at the airport?
Well, I couldn’t change what must have been a bad first impression, but I could help how I acted from here on out. I had no idea what to call him. Something told me he wouldn’t appreciate being called Peruvian Hottie. “We were never introduced properly. I’m Claudia de Santos. And you all are?”
“Pedrico,” said the wolf sitting in the seat behind me.
“Andrés,” said the wolf who was driving.
But Mr. July hadn’t answered yet. “And what’s your name?”
“Lucas,” he said simply.
“Lucas?” I wasn’t sure why, but it didn’t fit him. Usually the name fit in with the aura. But not his. He felt more…handsome? No, that wasn’t it. Regal? Not quite right. More something…
“Yup.” He paused. “Why don’t you believe me?”
I hadn’t realized I was broadcasting my emotions. “I guess I figured you’re Peruvian. Shouldn’t you have a name more exotic than Luke?”
“No one calls me Luke. Ever.”
I grinned, and it probably looked a little evil. Now I knew exactly what I was going to call him. Why I got so much fun out of playing on peoples’ names, I had no idea. But, when given the opportunity, I couldn’t help myself. “So, Luke. Where are we headed?”
He muttered something that I couldn’t hear, but Muraco could. The old man started laughing—the sound was loud and wheezing—and the other two wolves in the car followed suit.
“What? What did he say?”
Muraco and Lucas—who were nowhere near the same age—looked at each other and started laughing harder. “Boys.” Didn’t matter how old they were, they were all the same. I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes for a second, rubbing my temples. Being over two miles up was no joke.
We turned down what couldn’t be considered anything other than an alley, and Lucas parked. “Here you go,” he said.
The hotel looked nondescript from the outside. Only two large wooden doors—as tall as the first story of the three-story building—marked its entrance. A little placard to the side read Hotel de los Siete Cruzes.
Finally. A place to stay still for a little bit.
I hopped down from the van as Lucas grabbed my backpack. Muraco hadn’t gotten out. The fear I’d felt when I thought he left me at the airport still lingered in the back of my mind. Being lost in a foreign country wasn’t appealing in the least. I needed a little direction. A place to start my journey.
I cleared my throat as I stood in the open door. “So, uh, what…umm…tomorrow…”
He leaned forward and patted my cheek. “Don’t worry, child. Andrés will be back—”
“I’ll take her,” Lucas said in Spanish.
“I thought you had things to do,” Andrés said, also in Spanish.
I nearly laughed. They didn’t know I could speak the language.
“Things have changed,” Lucas said with a hint of growl in his voice.
What had changed? Was he reading me as some kind of threat?
Muraco’s gaze met mine and he grinned. “Boys. The girl speaks perfect Spanish.”
“Way to spill the secret,” I muttered, and Muraco’s grin turned into a laugh.
They switched to another language, whispering fast. It didn’t take long before Muraco’s grin faded and he joined in.
What on earth was going on?