The Royal Legacy 1: The Rise of the Crescent Moon

I suddenly snapped awake with a start, my chest heavy as I gasped for air. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog from my vision.

Staring frantically around the room, it took me a moment to realize where I was: my hotel room in Rhode Island.

I groaned and flipped over in bed, smashing my face into the pillow to muffle my frustrations. Even against the darkness of the room and the softness of the pillow, the image of those piercing blue eyes lingered tauntingly in my memory.

They had been plaguing my dreams for years. I never saw a face or a body, and he never spoke. But I knew, on some deep, instinctual level, that those eyes belonged to a man who was made just for me.

I rolled off the side of the bed and stumbled across the room, cursing when I stubbed my toe against the dresser. I’d gotten in late last night after driving up from New York City, and I hadn’t taken the time to familiarize myself with the room before passing out.

I fumbled for the light switch and groaned as the bright overhead light flicked on. Then I checked my phone—and immediately regretted it. Two messages and a missed call from my brother.

I hadn’t told him about my plan to come here. But somehow, he already knew. He always seemed to know everything about me. It was annoying.

I dropped my phone and went for my suitcase. I had two hours before my interview at the local hospital, and I should make myself pretty. Admittedly, though, I was feeling cocky about my chances.

Until last week, I was a doctor at one of the most prestigious private hospitals in New York City. I was in line to be the youngest department head in NYU history. Now, here I was, applying for an emergency department position in the appropriately named town of Little Compton.

I shouldn’t be here. I was giving away so much—just for the chance at finding a certain pair of dashing blue eyes.

I shimmied into a pair of tight-fitting gray slacks and tugged on a navy-blue blouse with a pattern of tiny maroon flowers.

Then I headed into the bathroom to brush my teeth and fix up my hair; I had a horrible case of bedhead. I must’ve been tossing and turning while my dream-self strained to get closer to those eyes.

Yanking a comb through my red curls, I spritzed on a detangler and prayed that my hair would decide to cooperate today without the use of my curling iron. I tucked my bangs behind my ears and admired my reflection.

Wiggling my nose, I made the freckles that stamped my cheeks do a little dance as I smiled at myself in the mirror. Satisfied that I looked presentable, I flicked off the bathroom lights and went back to the desk for my shoes.

I stepped into a pair of dressy, navy-blue sneakers and grabbed my maroon blazer from the back of the desk chair. Zipping up my suitcase, I double-checked to make sure that I had everything before checking out.

Outside, a man with greasy, dirty-blond hair drove my SUV up to the valet stand and held open the door for me. I smiled politely and slid a tip into his hands.

The man tightened his grip on my fingers before I could pull back and bent down, sniffing my neck. I stiffened, yanked my hand away, and pushed past him to slam my car door shut, leaving the man staring at me from the sidewalk.

He was probably surprised at how strong I was pushing him away, how fast I was able to escape him. He’d probably thought a human was an easy mark for him to creep on.

I drove to a coffee shop I remembered liking when I lived nearby as a teenager. It was one block down from the hospital, and I parked at the side of the road. When I opened the door, a little bell chimed above my head, announcing my entrance.

Most of the patrons didn’t move, but a few glanced up with glares on their inhumanly beautiful faces. I rolled my eyes and strolled toward the counter, grumbling to myself about how everyone here seemed much more judgy than I remembered.

I ordered a vanilla latte and stood off to the side until my number was called. With my drink in hand, I walked back outside to one of the small, iron tables that littered the sidewalk.

As I sipped my latte, I checked my watch: one hour until my interview.

I was thinking about ways to waste more time when something caught my attention. I turned my head toward the intersection in front of me. A shiny black car was turning left at the stop sign, and I watched, transfixed, as it drove past where I was sitting.

I kept staring as it continued down the road, my body in a trance.

I violently pushed my chair back from the table, tossed my half-finished latte in the trash, and jumped in my car. I would just kill some time at the hospital. Maybe they would let me start the interview early.

Anything was better than watching cars like a dog waiting for its master to come home, wondering which one contained the blue eyes I longed to find.

The door to the hospital’s interview room opened to reveal a woman with short, graying hair. Her red-rimmed glasses framed her chocolate eyes, and a white lab coat covered her red dress. She smiled at me and stuck out her hand.

“Dr. Taylor, it’s so nice to meet you! I’m Dr. Sheila Grace, head of the emergency department,” she said before leading me into the room.

When Dr. Grace stepped to the side, gesturing me toward a seat, I took a deep breath and realized the most intoxicating aroma was swirling through the air. I nearly fell flat on my face, bowled over with it.

Thank the Goddess Dr. Grace had her back to me and didn’t see me trip, but the rest of the panel sure did. I breathed in deeply, the smell of cinnamon rolls and spice invading my senses. I’d never experienced anything like it, but I knew what it had to mean.

I scanned the faces of the panel members in front of me. Three women and three men, two of whom had on white coats. Dr. Grace was introducing them one by one, and I was completely ignoring her. With effort, I wrenched my attention back.

“This is Dr. Melinda Knox,” said Dr. Grace. “She’s one of the other emergency medicine doctors who you would be working with. Nurse Kasey would be one of your strongest supporters—she’s our saving grace.”

Dr. Grace giggled, throwing a glance at a girl in blue scrubs who looked close to my age. Then she continued, “Maxine is on the administration staff along with Jack. Dr. Michael Robbins is head of surgery.”

She turned toward the last man on the panel. “And lastly, we have Mr. August Hayes. He’s one of the hospital’s most generous benefactors.”

Mr. August Hayes was responsible for the smell of cinnamon rolls and fall spices. Even if his intense body language hadn’t given it away, not to mention the burning gaze that felt like it was staring into my soul, I would’ve immediately recognized those electric blue eyes.

Those eyes had been stealing my sleep for years now.

I squirmed uncomfortably in front of the panel as Dr. Grace led me to my chair. She was eyeing me with concern, and I knew I had to pull myself together. I sat down and quickly crossed my legs, trying to make myself smaller.

Nurse Kasey was smirking, giving me a look like she knew exactly what was happening.

I sighed through my mouth, careful not to inhale any more of Mr. August Hayes’s scent. I had to get it together.

I wouldn’t be the doctor from New York City who strolled into a Little Compton hospital and immediately made herself look like an idiot by throwing herself at a random stranger. I plastered on a smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I’m Dr. Josephine Taylor,” I said. I swear to the Goddess, I watched Mr. Hayes melt to the floor right then and there.

At least I wasn’t the only one feeling the intense connection between us. Now, I just had to survive this interview. Somehow.