Lost Library: An Urban Fantasy Romance (4 page)

John
kept talking in the hope of pushing past any objections. “We can meet somewhere neutral. There’s a quiet little café, Full English, that serves breakfast all day long. It’s not too far from here. Meet there tomorrow around 11:00?” He’d noticed the difficulty she’d had being flat-out rude, and he was taking advantage of it.

She finally reached a decision. She’d been looking at his card for a long time
. Maybe being a statistician—what many people believed to be an incredibly boring and respectable job—had worked in his favor. He wanted to laugh at that. No one who knew him at all, would consider him either boring or respectable.

S
he reached out her hand to him, saying, “All right, John—” she glanced down at the card, “Braxton. Tomorrow at 11:00.”

What the heck
had she been thinking? He’d said “book,” and she’d said, “let’s talk.” He hadn’t even needed to use the word magic.
Dang it.
But Lizzie still couldn’t think of anything else that would have gotten rid of him. Especially now that she knew the book was
his
book. Or his family’s. Assuming he was telling the truth.

Lizzie was usually a fair judge of character, and while she thought John wasn’t telling her everything and he had a few hard edges she’d like to avoid, she didn’t think he was lying about the book. Or that he wanted to hurt her. She was even starting to doubt that he wanted to make off with the book. Regardless of her thoughts about John Braxton, s
he would certainly be more diligent about using the peephole in future. Maybe it was time to invest in an alarm system. The barking dogs hadn’t been a deterrent at all.

Actually, now that she thought about it
, the dogs had been really obnoxious. Normally they barked once or twice when someone came to the door and that was it. Even the mailman, her older dog’s sworn enemy, only got about three barks. Weirdly, they hadn’t quieted, so she’d shoved them in the spare bedroom. Thinking back, she realized they had barked the entire time she’d been on the porch. It had been muted, coming from the back of the house, and she’d tuned it out at the time.

As she went back to let them out, she started thinking about
whether her desk was really a great spot for the book. The lock was pretty flimsy. She was a web designer, for goodness sake—she didn’t need a gun safe or a vault. Just decent IT support and industry standard software security. This was way out of her league.

She opened the
bedroom door. Both dogs were lounging on the spare bed, grinning, tongues lolling. Hmm. They seemed fine now. Maybe they were getting senile in their old age…at four and seven…?

Lizzie suddenly realized she’d forgotten about Kenna. She frowned, confused and surprised
that Kenna hadn’t called by now. Weird. But more importantly, what was she going to tell her when she did call?
Crap.
With Lizzie’s luck today, her friend was probably driving over right now.

She
picked up her cell, scrolling to find her sent texts.
Dang.
She’d mentioned both a man and the book. Two topics sure to get Kenna fired up. Lizzie really didn’t think well on her feet. She’d wanted to have a backup plan but hadn’t intended to drag Kenna into her magical mess. She also wasn’t thrilled about giving Kenna a convenient subject for her match-making schemes. Kenna would just love John. Lizzie sighed and made a mental note:
Improve split second decision-making skills.
She had no idea how one did that, but it seemed a good goal.

Maybe she could s
till catch Kenna before she left. Fudging on the phone was so much easier than in person. She scrolled to her favorites and dialed.

“
Kenna! I’m so glad I caught you. You can ignore my text.” Her voice was breathy, and she was speaking quickly.
Stop.
Breathe
. She was such a horrible fibber.

“What text? I just hopped out of the tub. I absolutely love it. That bathroom remodel was the best money I ever spent.”
Kenna hummed her pleasure over her wickedly decadent whirlpool tub.

If she’d been soaking for
the last half hour or more, then she’d missed the text. Good news for Lizzie. She wasn’t ready to explain John yet. Maybe she could avoid it until later?

“
Uh, I texted earlier. But no big deal—I took care of it.” She cringed. She’d have to do better than that.

There was some background noise as Kenna put her on speaker.
Shoot.

Silence, then, “What guy?
And
the
book?” Clearly, she’d read the text.

Lizzie
stopped, screwed up her face and thought—
a story, any story… Nope
. She had nothing. No good thinking on her feet. Not even a little.

“
I guess I can’t really use you as backup, not without spilling.”

Kenna made a tiny sound that sounded a lot like a snort. “No, you cannot.”

“I didn’t invite him in; we stayed on the porch,” she said, her tone a little defensive. She felt like she was justifying her decision to talk to the guy. She really didn’t need to do that. She lightened her tone. “He knows something about the book. That’s all I know. He gave me his card, and we’re supposed to meet tomorrow. In a public place. Some weird guy I’ve never met knocks on my door—I didn’t want to linger on my porch for hours chatting.”

And she’d managed not to mention how completely fine he was.
Good job!

“So how old was this guy?” Kenna asked. Clearly the conversation was moving
in the wrong direction.

“
No clue. We were talking about other things, Kenna.”

“Hm
m,” was all she said. She was clearly suspicious that important information was being omitted. Kenna had a nose for omission and verbal loopholes.

Before she started digging any more, especially about the meeting tomorrow, Lizzie said,
“Gotta run! Talk later?” And with that, Lizzie gratefully hung up.

Skipping over John’s details was the right choice. She knew
Kenna would push her to “be more available” when she found out John was good looking, possibly single, and in Lizzie’s vicinity. Although—was he single? She had the impression he was. Why was that? Then she remembered—no ring. She never noticed details like that. Odd that she’d noticed, and even more so that she’d remembered.

Back to the point.
She reminded herself that she didn’t want Kenna shoving her at any man. Even smoking hot ones. Really.

Lizzie
breathed a sigh of relief. No question—Kenna would grill her mercilessly. But it looked like she planned to wait until tomorrow, after Lizzie’s meeting with John.   

John trotted towards Lizzie’s house. Last night he’d come too early
; her dogs and a neighbor’s dog had barked in alarm at his approach. Her dogs were a mild nuisance. They’d been convinced he was a critter, not a human, as he’d sat and talked with their owner on the porch. John’s muzzle widened in a toothy grin.
Not a squirrel, boys.

Tonight, he’d waited until well into the night when they’d all be asleep. If he was quiet and had a little luck, he should be in and out without disturbing humans or animals.

His nails made a quiet clicking sound on the sidewalk, so he moved over a few feet to the grass. He stopped, nose pointed into the wind. His human nose was sharp but practically useless in comparison to his wolf’s. He inhaled deeply, letting each puff of wind bring with it a vivid picture in his mind. Humans, exhaust, car oil, gas, cat urine, garbage. A hint of coyote, not recent. The neighborhood cats should be thankful. His visits would keep the coyotes away for several days. He chuffed in amusement. One whiff of werewolf and they’d probably consider this a no-go zone for a while.

Then he caught it, and his amusement vanished.
That most intriguing smell, Lizzie. Naïve, uncooperative, annoying Lizzie. He caught her scent as he came closer to her house and the hair on his neck and back stood on end. Not unlike the moment when she’d first opened her front door to him. Pale skin framed by dark curls, and light eyes framed by darker lashes. Only later had he noticed her eyes were blue. His first thought had been focused more on perfect, creamy, pale skin. As her T-shirt slipped to one side, his eyes had strayed to her bare shoulder and lower, where just a hint of the upper curve of her breast showed. And then he’d remembered why he was there and had shoved his foot inside the door, determined she’d hear him out.

He shook his head and gave a short huff to clear his nose.
He wanted to run. To stretch his legs and tear through the open spaces. But he was here for a very specific purpose. He turned back in the direction of Lizzie’s house and continued up the road.

As he approached her house
, he lowered his head closer to the ground. He altered his path, moving from curb, to grassy edges, to shrubs, up to the garage door, then front door. He covered all of the crevices, edges, and areas of denser cover where scent might linger.

Satisfied, he
continued to her neighbors’ homes. He set off a few motion sensor lights, delaying his progress slightly as he waited them out in the shadows or shrubs. Once he’d covered the area five houses deep, he was confident of his findings. No other Lycan had been near her house, at least not for the last week or two.

Lizzie slept fabulously. She had some vague recollection of a dream involving an overgrown Spencer look-alike, but no details remained. It must have been a pleasant dream. She woke up early and refreshed, which would hardly happen if she’d been having nightmares. And anyway, why would she have a nightmare about Spencer? He was a complete cuddle bug.

Tea at her elbow, she
was in her home office typing away on her computer in record time. By the time her appointment with John was nearing, she’d made good progress. She’d earned the long lunch she’d be taking today. Without stopping to analyze her exceptionally good mood, she grabbed her keys and headed out the door.

Lizzie
arrived at Full English a few minutes before eleven o’clock.

All signs pointed to Lizzie’s complete ignorance of
Lycan. John needed to tell her about the pack. He couldn’t fully explain the purpose of the book if she didn’t know about them, about magic. But he certainly couldn’t tell her here. He looked around at the handful of customers.

Turning back to his coffee, he took a sip.
He’d never outed himself to a human. Revealing he was basically what human culture and myth called a werewolf—a word Lycan found distasteful—was something he’d gladly forgo. Forever. Not that he didn’t have human friends who knew. But
he
hadn’t told them. Much like talking about feelings after two dates or complaining about a toothache, he just didn’t want to talk about it.

Worse
than the discomfort of discussing something so private, were the images created by Hollywood. Grotesque, horrid in their unnaturalness. His wolf was not a monstrous creature caught between man and wolf. His wolf was beautiful. His human self was slightly uncomfortable with the idea of male beauty, but his wolf just preened. The uncontrollable rage and forced changes of form associated with the Hollywood werewolf were also ridiculous, but likely what humans envisioned.

The
term werewolf was deceptive. He was a man and a wolf, but yet nothing so simple. While he sometimes thought of his wolf as a separate part of himself, the truth was much more complex. Each form retained characteristics of the other. He looked at his watch. He’d had enough. Too much introspection would give him indigestion.

He sighed in frustration. All this
work, and it could be completely for nothing. He had no guarantee there would even be anything useful in the damn book. His ancestors had let it out of their control. It may be an interesting, but not particularly useful, diary. He hoped all of this hassle would be worth it.

On that thought, he looked up…and in breezed Lizzie, all light and sunshine. She looked like a kid turned loose at Disneyland, pink-cheeked and
glowy-eyed.

He stood, lifting his hand to catch her attention.
Damn it.
He still hadn’t decided when he’d tell her. But not now. Later.

Lizzie spotted John right as she entered. She returned his wave with a bright, wide smile, and headed his way. After John returned with her drink
order—he wouldn’t accept her polite refusal—Lizzie jumped right in.

She pulled the book out of her large purse. “Maybe you’d like to have a look?”

John was sure this was some kind of test. He mentally shrugged. Since he didn’t plan to pick it up and run out the door, he figured he’d pass the test.

“It’s not nearly as old as I imagined.” He ran his hand across the worn leather.
”I suppose aging and wear are diminished in some way.” He was speaking more to himself than to her.

He flipped it open to the first page.
Nothing. But then, that’s what he’d expected.