6. Arthur
ARTHUR
I arrived at the library sooner than expected.
The rain-darkened stone building rose cleanly against the storm. Warm light glowed behind the tall windows. It exuded order and structure. It was the sort of place humans trusted. I had decided, after my last time here, that I trusted it too. Or at least the woman inside it.
I stepped through the front doors and glanced around, looking for her.
She was not at the desk.
The space felt the same. The scent of paper and dust and old bindings remained. It even sounded the same, with the low hum of machines and the muted shuffle of pages. But my attention locked onto her absence.
I scanned the room again. Two patrons near the windows. No Artemis.
The pressure behind my ribs tightened.
Near the desk stood a man wearing a shirt covered in small green creatures with crowns on their heads. Frogs. I didn’t care for the way the frogs smiled at me from his chest.
He looked up and took in my height. He did not adjust his stance. I filed that information away.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
I did not like his tone. It carried authority without weight. Confidence without vigilance.
“I’m here to see the head librarian, Artemis Ripley,” I said.
His mouth curved in a practiced expression. “That’s my employee. I’m the director. Whatever you need, I can help you.”
“Where is she?”
He blinked slowly. “Out back. We had a shipment come in.”
A pause settled between us, stretched.
“You sent your female subordinate outside,” I said carefully, “to unload books?”
“Yes.”
“While you remain inside,” I continued, “engaged in what appears to be a card game. On a computer device.”
He glanced at the screen behind him. “It’s called Solitaire.”
I stared at him just long enough for the silence to take on an edge. “Where’s the back door?”
“It’s staff only.”
“I am staff,” I said.
He hesitated. “Through the archives hall,” he said at last.
I didn’t thank him.
I turned and moved, my steps measured until I cleared the hallway, then faster. The building’s orderly calm grated against the urgency climbing my spine. I pushed through the rear door and stepped into the alley.
Rain slicked the ground. Brick walls rose high on either side.
My blood went cold when I spotted the white van near the loading bay. Its rear doors were closed, and there were no boxes or crates in sight. There was also no Artemis.
I crossed the distance in long strides and grabbed the handle.
Locked.
I didn’t knock. Gritting my teeth, I braced my shoulders and pulled at the doors with all the force I had restrained since entering the city. Metal screamed as the doors burst open.
The smell hit me first: oil and human sweat.
Then I saw her.
Artemis was bound to a metal chair tipped on its side, her wrists tied behind her back, her hair damp and tangled. Her face was pale, eyes wide and stunned.
The man standing over her whirled around, alarm flashing over his face.
I closed the distance in a single step and kicked him in the chest. He flew backward and slammed into the side of the van with a satisfying thud.
I dropped down beside Artemis, my hands shaking as I tore through the restraints. The plastic snapped under my grip like thread. Her breathing hitched when I freed her wrists.
I scooped her up without thinking. She weighed nothing. Her head tucked instinctively against my chest, and my chest twisted at the trust in that movement.
Behind us, the man groaned as he stood up.
“That’s the quietest the bitch’s been since I got her in here,” he slurred. “Fucking take her back. Useless.”
I turned. Still holding Artemis, I crossed the space again and kicked him in the chest a second time.
He hit the wall harder this time. His body went slack. I didn’t look to see if he was breathing.
I carried Artemis out of the van and into the rain, my focus narrowing to the steady rise and fall of her chest against mine.
Neither of us said a word, but the world had shifted.
Whoever had dared to do this had made a serious fucking mistake.
I carried her through the back door and into the staff corridor before my mind allowed anything else in.
The space was narrow and utilitarian, with stone walls and a low bench bolted beneath a coat rack.
A single overhead light hummed with quiet insistence, and it smelled faintly of cleaning solution and damp wool.
I carefully set her down on the bench.
She swayed once, then braced herself against the wall. “I’m fine,” she said quickly.
The speed with which she said it mattered.
“What hurts?” I asked.
“My wrists,” she said, rolling them gently. “And my ego.”
I didn’t smile as I crouched in front of her. Rain clung to her coat. Her hair had fallen loose around her face, damp and sticking to her cheeks. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she didn’t seem to be aware of it. Adrenaline had not finished burning through her yet.
I examined her hands. The red marks wringing her wrists were already darkening. Nothing broken, though. No unnatural swelling. I pressed lightly along her forearms.
She hissed. “Okay, that part hurts.”
“Tell me if it becomes worse,” I said.
“I will.”
I didn’t trust the answer. From what I had learned over the last year of interacting with humans, human women—especially competent ones—often minimized pain.
There was no blood or tears in her clothing that suggested a struggle beyond what I’d seen. Her breathing had evened out, but her pulse was still fast beneath the skin of her throat.
I reached up and moved a strand of damp hair away from her face.
She went very still.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” I asked.
She swallowed, then she nodded. “Yes.”
I held her gaze a beat longer than necessary, my jaw clenched. Then I straightened.
“What did he want?” I asked.
Her jaw tightened. “He asked about the book I found for you.”
Everything inside me locked up.
“He wanted to know why I’d been looking it up,” she continued. “Whether I’d found it. Who I was. Who you were. Whether I knew any dragons.” She huffed a weak laugh. “I thought he was high. I asked if it was a bit.”
My hands curled at my sides. This was my fault.
The trail I had followed had not been as cold as I believed. Someone had taken notice of it. Someone had decided to act.
And instead of coming for me, they had targeted her. But who? I had only spoken of my research to my trusted inner circle. Were other clans also looking into this mystery?
The pressure behind my ribs sharpened into something precise and dangerous.
She glanced up at me. “Someone must have put a flag on the search. We should probably call the cops, right?”
I shook my head once. “No.”
Her brows drew together. “Why not?”
“Because they can’t help with this,” I said. “And because that man won’t be a problem again.”
She studied my face, searching for something. Whatever she was looking for, she didn’t find it.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
I turned slightly, angling my body so I blocked the open corridor without meaning to.
“I didn’t intend for you to be involved,” I said.
“I figured,” she replied.
I exhaled once, slow and controlled. “Take me to the book.”
Her eyes widened just a fraction. “Now?”
“Yes.”
After a beat of hesitation, she nodded. “Okay.”
She stood, a little stiff but steady. When she took a step, I adjusted my position automatically, close enough to catch her if she faltered.
She did not.
As she led me deeper into the building, I registered the shift in my focus.
The human world had always felt disorganized and unsafe. Full of variables my father had taught me to avoid, but this woman walked through it with competence and quiet defiance, even shaken, even hurt.
And because of me, she had been targeted.
I would not allow that to happen again.