Lost Library: An Urban Fantasy Romance (6 page)

A brief image of the magic book flashed through her brain. She thumbed her nose at the thought. One magic book did not a world of werewolves, vampires, and demons
, make. She hoped. She thought she’d likely met her quota for weirdness with one magic book.

Remembering to check the peephole this time, she saw John Braxton standing on her porch. She should have known. The dogs were going nuts. They really didn’t like him.

“Just a minute. I’m putting the dogs up,” she called out.

I
t wasn’t until she’d returned from locking up the dogs, had unlocked the front door, and was already opening it…when a few puzzle pieces clicked together in her brain. John showed up. Her dogs barked at John. The wolf showed up. Her dogs barked at the wolf. John said family, she thought Mafia.
Well, shit.

She looked at the man on her porch
. “You’re a werewolf.” The words were out of her mouth before she’d truly processed the thought.

She was already shaking her head, denying her own statement, when he said, “A benign, friendly
werewolf—yes.”

All she heard was, “Yes.”

Head between knees? Check. Cool, wet cloth on neck? Check. Butt firmly planted on tile floor? Check.

Where
did a cloth come from?

Lizzie had passed out. Not elegantly onto a
conveniently placed sofa. Nope. Just in a heap on the tile floor. Lizzie didn’t actually remember this, but her butt’s current position on the hard tile made it likely. So much worse than the minty green complexion of nausea. If only Lizzie could go back to minty green, she most assuredly would.

Why was she on the floor?
Right—werewolf.
John had dropped the W bomb. Wolf. More accurately, werewolf. Wait, that wasn’t right. She’d guessed he was a werewolf, and he hadn’t denied it.
And just when she thought she might start to like the guy.

“Shouldn’t you be hairier?”
Okay, not sure where that one came from. Apparently not firing on all cylinders yet.

“Do you have any idea how incredibly prejudiced you sound?”
John said, with just a hint of humor. Lizzie might have missed it if she hadn’t been staring up into his incredible blue eyes. Blue eyes that crinkled at the corners with suppressed laughter.

What happened to the irritating, demanding guy?
Not that Lizzie missed that guy. It was just a
little
overwhelming to have such a handsome man leaning over her rumpled and recently unconscious self. A handsome man with an unexpectedly decent sense of humor. Especially when she was staring deeply into his eyes…and her rear was planted on the floor.

He knelt in front of her
, one knee on the ground, his face only inches from hers. She could have reached out with her hand and touched his cheek, he was so close. And she had an absurd desire to do exactly that. To run her hand along the hard line of his jaw. To rub her thumb over the stubble covering his chin. To touch her finger to his lips.
Good lord!
Her brain must be completely scrambled.

A point that was proven by t
he next thing out of her mouth. “Does this mean there are demons? And vampires?” What was her fascination with vampires and demons? Like magic books and werewolves weren’t enough? Well, anything that distracted her from touching John…

“Don’t answer that,” she s
aid. She tried to take a deep, calming breath. And inhaled the smell of him. A clean, soapy smell, with just a hint of mint toothpaste and something spicy, maybe clove, filled her nose. She leaned against the foyer wall, tipping her head back. She needed a few more inches between them or she’d never manage a coherent sentence.

“
No problem. Not filling your shock-induced brain with miscellaneous supernatural trivia, seems like a good plan. Besides, you’re not exactly yourself right now. We can save the questions for later.” John’s answer, combined with his calm demeanor, left Lizzie with the distinct impression that she wasn’t having the same effect on him, that his closeness, his almost smile, and his clean, minty-clovey smell, were having on her.
Gah. Get a grip, girl.

Still kneeling
next to her, he peered closely into her eyes. “Are you all right to try to stand up, or do you need another minute?” At her nod, he heaved Lizzie to her feet. Embarrassing, yes, but heaving was happening.
She even made an
oomph
sound.
Lovely.

“How do you know what’s myself?”
Okay, that didn’t come out right.
But, apparently, it was clear enough for John to understand and raise an eyebrow over. “You win. I’m not myself. Why am I standing up?”

“Because you’re going to the living room
, where you will lie quietly on the sofa and not pass out again.” At which point he nudged her none too gently in the direction of the living room.

“Aren’t you super strong, or something? Couldn’t you just have toted me to the sofa before I came to
?”
Her vision was a little swimmy, and she suddenly decided that it would be nice to be on the sofa.

While she normally wasn’t the kind of girl to enjoy being carried like a sack of groceries, it would be truly excellent if she was on the sofa
soon. Or right now. John must have realized her head was spinning again, because she felt his warm hand tugging persistently on hers. As she was pulled to the sofa, she realized he was holding her hand. Sort of. A small giggle escaped. She had to focus to catch his reply. And then she struggled to remember the question…super strength. That’s right.

“Again with the stereotypes.
It’s good that I’m a forgiving, kindly soul, or I might start to take offense.” His eyes crinkled again, and this time even the corners of his mouth tugged upwards.

Kindly soul?
Like sweet Mrs. Fitzhubert two houses down, who always remembers my birthday and drops a tin of peanut butter cookies by?
I don’t think so.
John didn’t seem like a peanut butter cookie kinda guy. More chocolate fudge with dark chocolate chips.

And maybe that’s why Lizzie
woke up on her sofa twenty minutes later with a wicked craving for chocolate fudge.
Darn that John.

Next to the sofa, Lizzie
found a note on the coffee table under a glass of water.
Call me.
Signed simply, John.

Lizzie
almost threw up on his feet at their first meeting, passed out not long after, and probably thinks he’s a half-crazed beast a few days out of the month.
Nice
.
Lovely impression you’ve made, John.
And yet, thinking of her made him smile. He was currently sleep deprived and woke in a foul mood. The fact he could smile, that Lizzie made him smile, before he’d even had his morning coffee—that was truly something.
Obviously, I need a lobotomy, medication, or a good knock upside the head. Common sense and sanity have departed entirely.

Turning on the sidewalk
, away from Lizzie’s house, John approached his truck preoccupied by thoughts of pack politics and travel logistics, as well as Lizzie’s befuddled eyes and disarrayed curls. As he contemplated how his revelation to Lizzie would influence a future trip to formally meet the pack, he was also remembering the feel of her small hand in his. The faint smell of her arousal as she’d stared up into his eyes. And her pupils dilated with desire as he’d led her to the sofa…moments before she’d curled up and fallen asleep.

After reading John’s brief note and experiencing a moment of panic that she’d fallen asleep—passed out again? what the hell?—in front of a man who she barely knew, Lizzie decided to call for reinforcements. But first she had to push back an obscene craving for chocolate fudge. The kind with dark chocolate chips.
Darn that John.

Ten
minutes, a teeth-brushing, and a clothing change later, Lizzie picked up the phone to call her friend.

“
Kenna, about that guy…” was probably not the best opening line.

Kenna
dated. A lot. And she was disappointed by Lizzie’s lack of interest in dating. She told her to get out there and have a little fun. She was convinced Lizzie would meet someone worth more than a little fun along the way.

Kenna
was entitled to lots of dates. Her marriage of ten years finally ended, after repeated attempts to have children had failed. Her husband had still wanted kids, but she hadn’t been prepared to keep trying. She’d finally moved on to another phase of her life. While ultimately amicable, there had been a number of rough years near the end of her marriage. She trooped through with a truly amazing attitude.

So
her dates were well-deserved, and they couldn’t happen to a nicer, more generous person. That said, Lizzie had to be careful about showing any interest in a man between the ages of eighteen and fifty-five, because Kenna was convinced Lizzie was missing out. Her friend made it her mission to encourage Lizzie’s dating interest and to matchmake whenever possible. 

Lizzie
intended to skip dating discussions and get right to the point—she had big news about magic and werewolves. And Kenna was the only one she could possibly share it with. The only one she wanted to share it with. Her mistake was in thinking Kenna wouldn’t jump on any reference to a man.

She definitely jumped
. “The one you texted about? I knew it! He’s cute, isn’t he? I knew it!”             

              So Kenna expressed some dismay when Lizzie finished her thought. “…he might be a werewolf. And he has some connection to the book. His family diary, or something.” She trailed off in volume at the end. The “or something” came out in a low mutter.

“You haven’t burned the book yet? A puzzle
two years in the works and still unsolved. I was sure you would eventually bust a blood vessel late at night and chuck it in the fireplace,” Kenna said.

No mention
of the guy or the werewolf thing, so far. Hmm.

Relieved
that Kenna was temporarily distracted from the topic of John, Lizzie took a moment to take a few breaths.
Whew.
“Oh yeah, it doesn’t burn,” she said absent-mindedly.

At her friend’s laugh, Lizzie
looked up quickly. “What?” She blinked in confusion.

“
Not that I’ve thrown it in the fireplace, or anything.” Lizzie tried not to look
too
guilty. “I did a little cautious experimentation with the oven and also with a candle in those first few months. Back when I was more motivated. Two years of failure wears on a girl...and sparks creativity.”
And any minute now, werewolves…

“
Wait—what? A fricking werewolf? Have you lost your mind?” A quick pause, then—“I don’t even care if he’s cute.” She interrupted Lizzie as she was beginning to explain. “No, don’t tell me. Let’s have coffee. Your house or mine?”

“Hmm.
I’d rather not drive right now. I might have very briefly lost consciousness earlier.”
Ack.
It sounded so bad. It really wasn’t that big a deal. Except for the whole “I’m a little woman who can’t handle stress without a nineteenth century fainting” response. There’s not even a corset to blame.
Gah, it is that bad.

Uh-oh.
The silence was becoming a tiny bit long.

“I’m leaving right now. If you’re not completely in one piece when I get there, I’m taking you straight to the
hospital. Then I’m hunting down that furry jerk and kicking his ass, werewolf or not.” Lizzie heard the click as she disconnected.
Great.
As soon as Kenna discovered Lizzie whole and healthy, there would be hell to pay.

Fifteen
minutes and a makeup application later—Lizzie wasn’t gambling on the effect pasty skin would have on Kenna—she let her irate friend into the house.

“Well, you’ve looked worse,”
Kenna said as she leaned in for a hug. “Let’s get some tea—or coffee?—and then you can tell me everything.”

“
Coffee. There’s not that much to tell, but I am glad you came by. Some friend support would be great about now. I certainly can’t talk to my family about this. Mom would fly down and medicate me herself, and Dad—I can’t even imagine. He would probably ask Mom to medicate him.”

Her
parents were normal, average, and lovely in every way. But magic books and mysterious strangers were well outside their realm of experience. Lizzie thought again about inherited magic.
No way.
Maybe she was adopted.

And Lizzie felt this was her challenge, her problem, her adventure. She didn’t want to involve them in what would undoubtedly be a traumatic
, or at least very stressful, experience. Her parents were in their 70s, for goodness sake, and this was
magic
.
And werewolves.

After they were both seated at the kitchen table, coffee mugs in hand, Lizzie recapped the events of the day.