A little more personal than "beautiful one," which had been nice enough, but why lie?
Because those words were endearments. If he'd touched me and whispered, "My heart," I'd have known what he kept in his.
What other words had he lied about?
I frowned as I tried to recall, but the only Gaelic he'd used had been that.
I remembered asking him to translate something else. Ruvanush. The title his people had used for him. Romani for leader, an elder.
Or so he said.
I managed to find a site that translated the Romani language, and it only took me forty-five minutes.
"R-u-v-a-n-u-s-h. " I stared at the word. "Is that spelled right?"
Shrugging, I hit enter. If it weren't, the thing would spit the word back as unidentifiable.
But it didn't.
I jumped to my feet and ran out of the office, ignoring Joyce as she shouted my name. Seconds later I was in the car, headed for the lake at a speed certain to get me a jail cell if anyone caught me. But I had to get to Malachi, and I had to get there quick.
Because in the language of the Rom, ruvanush meant "werewolf. "
Chapter 35
I hit the speed dial for every phone Grace owned with one hand as I drove hell-bent with the other.
"She's on patrol," said her dispatcher.
I reached voice mail on both her home and cell phones.
"Meet me at the lake," I said. I left out the part about the ruvanush. Time enough to explain that when she arrived.
Malachi's people had been calling him werewolf right under our noses. Not that anyone would know what the heck it meant, or bother to find out.
Until me.
What would he say when I confronted him? For all I knew, he followed the path of the strigoi de lup and killed anyone who knew the truth.
Except why hadn't he killed me? From what I'd read online and heard from Doc, werewolves were evil. They were unable, or perhaps unwilling, to keep their murderous natures at bay. Yet Malachi had been nothing but gentle and patient with me. He'd never hurt me; in fact, he'd healed me.
If he was a werewolf, how had he been able to remain in human form night after night? Unless only the approaching full moon brought out his beast. What then was the excuse of the other guys?
And how had Malachi managed to keep from burning when Grace had thrown the silver bullet at him? How was it possible that he wore a silver earring?
Either werewolf was a nickname or perhaps the test of silver was worthless.
The sun filtered through the trees, throwing dappled shadows across the front of my car and sparking blinding flashes off the windshield. When I shot over the last rut and slid into the clearing, I was left blinking as much from the reflections as the sight that greeted me.
"When they say they're leaving, they don't fool around. " I got out of the car.
If it hadn't been for the trampled grass, both in the parking lot and at the base of the lake, as well as the indentations where the performance ring had been, I would have thought I'd imagined the Gypsies.
I strode back to my vehicle. They were traveling in wagons drawn by horses; they couldn't have gone far.
I reached for the door handle just as a shiver of movement appeared in the window glass. I began to turn and -
Bam! Out went the lights.