Defensive Magic: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 3) (2 page)

She cringed as the larger wolf briefly gained traction on the ground with his hind feet. Up to this point, they’d both been locked together and rolling on the ground, inflicting minimal visible damage as they slipped and maneuvered, avoiding snapping jaws and thrashing claws.

And then she realized—there was no damage to either wolf. She blinked in confusion as she estimated the odds. She’d seen John fight before; he was efficient. He didn’t waste time in skill-testing dances of ego and chest thumping; rather, his style was clean and quick. But this fight was looking more and more like a controlled tango. And John was most certainly leading the dance.

The bigger wolf was trying to exploit the advantage he’d gained in planting his hind feet firmly in the grass, when suddenly, all advantage was lost. With one quick twist, John repositioned himself and, quicker than Lizzie could track, snapped his jaws around the other wolf’s lower thigh. She heard the sharp crack of breaking bone, followed by a rapid exhalation and groan rolled into one.

John bounced away, loose-limbed and clearly uninjured. Before she could fully understand what had just happened, he changed—one second wolf, the next man. It always surprised her, no matter how many times she saw it. Her brain struggled to grasp the impossibility of shifting as fact. She’d seen him transform several times now, and it was frustrating that her mind still struggled with the change. Living in ignorance of her locked-away magic for so many years felt like a significant handicap at times like these. She never noticed any of the other casters struggling to grasp the concepts of shifting. And then she remembered that she was in her backyard—with a wrought iron fence, a clear line of sight from two houses into her yard, and two naked men. She blinked. When had the stranger changed?

She huffed out a small embarrassed breath. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to John baring all his dangly bits in mixed company, but it was bound to happen now and again. But men who were not John? She could feel the heat on her cheeks, neck, and the tips of her ears. She pinched the bridge of her nose when she realized how asinine her thoughts were. She needed to be more concerned about her neighbors spotting two giant wolves in her yard.

“Don’t move. My mate has a gun, and I’ve run out of patience for the evening.” John’s words made sense, but the tone was all wrong. He was—Lizzie took a hesitant step backwards —he was casual. The words were serious enough, but he didn’t seem worried, and that was all wrong.

Lizzie did her best to glare menacingly. She wasn’t accustomed to the role—that was usually John’s part—and she was tired and confused. So she was almost certain she failed miserably.

Apparently, the intruder either feared John or was terrified by her unfriendly demeanor, because he very slowly, very cautiously raised his hands in the air. With John out of immediate danger, Lizzie had temporarily forgotten about the gun, and it hung barrel down in her hand. But the raised hands of the intruder prompted her, and she lifted it. She was careful to support her right hand with her left, and she cautiously aimed at the blond man now standing in her yard without a stitch of clothing on.
Great—two naked men.
She could only hope no one was walking in the greenbelt behind her house this late at night. Rather than dwelling on how scandalized her neighbors might be at any moment, she steadied the gun with her left hand and concentrated on ignoring the ache in her arms. To her relief, John quickly retrieved it from her.

Gun held much more competently in hand, John asked, “Do you call truce?”

The blond man looked neither angry nor defeated. He stood without showing any emotion at all. Or pain—the change had apparently healed his leg. He finally said, “I do.”

John paused, considering the younger man for a moment. “Sneaking into my home, hiding your scent, delaying the challenge until the last moment—not exactly honorable behavior. And not what I’d have expected from you.”

That comment got a rise out of their visitor. His face hardened and he straightened his stance. If Lizzie had to guess, she’d say he was offended. Seriously? He creeps into their house, plants that disgusting note, threatens her boyfriend, and
he’s
offended?

As angry as he might be, he remained polite in his response. “The scent cover was a mistake.” And then he looked distinctly uncomfortable. “A friend gave me a gift that was supposed to mask my scent for a few hours. I honestly didn’t think it would work.”

“But you took it.” When the stranger didn’t disagree, John continued. “I should call your father.”

By now, it was clear that John knew him. Hell, he knew his father. It made sense that the important players in the Lycan world would know one another, but since they were generally wary of outsiders, she’d underestimated the connections between packs. She wrinkled her nose. Pack politics.

Posture stiffening again, the blond said, “My father’s not involved. I came on my own.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that.” Turning to Lizzie, John said, “Let me introduce David Clark. You know his father, Grant Clark.”

“Alpha of the Idaho Pack, Grant Clark?” Lizzie asked incredulously. Lizzie gave David a hard stare. “I don’t remember you being there when Grant kidnapped me a few weeks ago.”

He shifted his weight back, and his gaze darted away and back again. “Yeah, about that. I’m really sorry you were involved in that mess.” He even looked like he meant it. She couldn’t believe this guy.

“Are you kidding? You feel badly about my kidnapping, but you’ll come to my home and plant a nasty note and threaten my boyfriend—I mean, my mate.” She’d worked herself into enough of a huff that she misspoke.

And then she remembered—she had naked guys in her yard and little privacy with her vine-covered wrought iron fencing. Worse, the fence running along the back side of the yard was unencumbered by greenery and gave a terrific view out onto the adjacent greenbelt. She liked her neighbors, and they still thought she was normal. She’d love to keep up that illusion for at least a little longer.

“If we’re sure he’s not going to do anything crazy, maybe you guys could get dressed? Or come inside and out of the yard?” Lizzie hated to point out the obvious, but—the neighbors.

John lowered the gun and turned to the house. Lizzie glanced between him and David.
What the heck?
Apparently, John didn’t consider David much of a threat. That thought flitted through her mind as she contemplated John’s broad and completely vulnerable back. Her poor mind couldn’t shift from nail-biting fear to trust in thirty seconds, and she’d really rather John’s didn’t either. Her brow puckered in annoyance.

Over his shoulder, he threw out an invitation to David. “Beer?”

She poked John in the back and said, “Are you kidding? If he murders us in our sleep tonight, I’m totally blaming you.”

There was a muffled noise from behind her. “And if you even think about laughing, mister, I can always still shoot you.” She paused. “Or call your dad.” Ha.
That
shut him up.

Thinking back on the fight, it was becoming clearer to Lizzie that John had never felt the same sense of fear or the same level of threat that she had. The problem was she’d been terrified for him. She’d suffered the same adrenaline dump and fear that any harrowing experience delivered.
What the hell was going on here?
Her frustration was compounded by jet lag and the shaky, nauseated feeling of exhaustion that always followed in the wake of terror.

She took a slow breath, trying to ease the nausea. She just wanted to go to sleep. Or take a shower, she thought, as the icky feeling of having her personal belongings handled returned. What she didn’t want was to entertain a wannabe murderer. She scowled at John’s back as she followed him through the living room. Her scowl deepened when the sight of John’s bare back reminded her that the wannabe murderer was starkers. She snagged the throw off the couch and paused only long enough to toss it over her shoulder. He’d have to be an idiot not to understand what that meant.

Chapter 3

A
fter the three of them settled around the kitchen table, beers in hand, Lizzie decided if she had to be awake she would at least interrogate their guest. Drinking beer with someone who’d tried to hurt John was bad enough. Doing so in ignorance was more than her tired, mushy brain could handle.

To top it off, the three of them were a sight. She was braless, with eyes so dry it hurt to blink. John had stopped just long enough on the way in to grab the jeans he’d abandoned before his change. At least his disheveled hair looked rumpled and sexy. She was sure her dark curls were tangled into messy knots. And David—well, David must have picked up on her overt cues of embarrassment. He’d wrapped himself toga-style in the blanket she’d thrown at him, covering the greatest surface area possible. If he weren’t such a giant of a man, he’d look foolish.

Before she could gather her thoughts sufficiently to ask David an intelligent question, he said, “What note?”

With a sinking feeling, Lizzie replied, “The one you placed under my pillow?”

His big brown eyes locked on her briefly. “Not me.” Shifting his gaze and looking directly at John, he said again, “It wasn’t me.”

“The note?” John held his hand out, palm up, in Lizzie’s direction.

“Just a sec,” Lizzie grumbled. She really was cranky tonight. She wasn’t usually so short. She was polite, dammit. And she didn’t cuss. She wrinkled her nose, thinking the girl she used to be was fading into her past.

After a few seconds of fishing around, she found the crumpled note in the back pocket of her cargo shorts. She didn’t remember putting on the shorts or stashing the note. She hesitated, spending an extra moment to straighten out the creases before finally handing it over to John. It was silly, but handing it over made the invasion seem more real. And John was going to be seriously pissed when he read it.

Turning to David, Lizzie decided that now was a great time to get some answers from him—while John was too busy getting a good mad going to notice. She was just tired enough, just overwhelmed enough, that she didn’t pity the idiot who thought it was a good idea to threaten her. It was almost comforting to think that the vicious twit who wrote the note was likely to become a dead or maimed idiot in the near future. Almost.

“Why were you in the house?” Lizzie delivered the question with an abruptness that seemed to startle David.

“I wasn’t. I mean, I never came inside.” He cast a sideways glance at John, waiting for something.

Lizzie snorted.
No help there, buster.
John didn’t even notice; his attention was still fixed on the note.

“What were you doing on my property?” she clarified.

David swallowed. “Challenging the Texas Alpha.”

That sure as hell better not mean what she thought it did. “Aren’t challenges to the death?”

“No,” John replied at the same time that David said, “Yes.”

“Not necessarily,” John said after silencing David with a narrow-eyed look. Tipping his head in David’s direction, he added, “Otherwise, we’d be burying him out on the greenbelt right now.”

David turned his head decisively away from John, looked her directly in the eye, and said, “Challenges are usually to the death.”

Her chest tightened, squeezing her lungs. For a second, she felt like she couldn’t take a breath. Then the moment passed. And she remembered that John hadn’t given any indication he felt threatened by David. Not now, and not earlier as they’d fought in her yard. Viewing their fight in hindsight, Lizzie could see that John had controlled the pace, their movement through the yard, and the inevitable outcome. But he wasn’t dismissive of David—not exactly. He just wasn’t nearly as cautious as Lizzie thought he ought to be. Another surprising thought occurred.

“Did you think you would win?” Her incredulity must have colored her words, because David’s color changed, taking on a slightly pinker hue. It wasn’t her intent to shame him, but she was surprised. He claimed challenges were to the death, yet he was so thoroughly outclassed in the fight. He must have had some idea of what to expect. John was known by reputation in the Lycan community. She’d learned a little of how other Lycan perceived him when she’d been kidnapped by the Idaho Pack.

Setting the note aside for the moment, John said, “I’m not sure the point was to win.”

David’s nostrils flared, and his hand clenched reflexively on the neck of the beer.

“I was approached by someone friendly to the Idaho Pack and offered a gift that would give me an edge. It’s not something I’d normally consider”—his breath puffed out quickly, but quietly, as if he was agitated but controlling himself—“but I thought a new start with new responsibilities might be a better situation for Anna. That it might make her happier, maybe give her a new purpose.”

David’s nostrils flared again and a muscle jumped in his jaw. Shooting John a look filled with some intense emotion Lizzie couldn’t identify, he said, “I didn’t come here intending to die. I
am
an enforcer. And—you’re getting old.”

How he said that with a straight face, Lizzie couldn’t guess. John wasn’t even forty. In Lycan years, he was in his prime and would be for some time. She looked more closely at the blond man. Good lord, he was a baby. His bulk and height had masked the obvious signs of youth. But now that she was looking, she’d guess mid-twenties at most.

In the ensuing silence, David continued. “Rumor has it you’re not exactly up to your usual….” He stopped, his eyes shifting. Maybe finally realizing his information hadn’t been exactly spot on? She hoped so.

“Go ahead, enforcer. I’m not exactly what?” John’s face had hardened.

Oh. Uh-oh.
John had really been shockingly good-humored so far. But apparently, David had been about to cross some line, and he’d realized it a hair later than a wiser man would. Lizzie sighed. He
was
young.

She stood up, placing her hand on John’s shoulder. “Another beer?” The question was for John alone.

He smiled slightly. “Thanks.” He turned back to David.

“Shit. I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.” His elbows resting on the table, David dropped his head down and shoved the heels of his hands against his eyes. When he finally raised his head, his eyes were bleary and red, his voice anguished. “I don’t know what to do. I’m terrified she’ll leave me, or worse—she won’t and she’ll make herself sicker. I just wanted a new start for her.” He turned to Lizzie. “For Anna.”