Chapter Twenty
Beckham escorted Reyna out of the building and they found a limo idling outside.
Unease settled in her bones as the reality of what they were about to do hit her.
She didn’t know who this guy was or what he would want or even if he would answer their questions, but they needed any help they could get.
She hated even more being put in a place where they had to wait and ask for help. She wanted to rush into the action and bang heads together. Figure out how to stop Harrington and just do it. Except that hadn’t worked last time. It wouldn’t work this time either.
She had to outmaneuver Harrington, which meant she had to do things he wouldn’t anticipate. Barreling in and attacking him he expected. But her blood match with Beckham was not on his radar. The anti-vamp cult not something he’d ever consider. This new contact totally out of left field.
She could do this.
A driver got out from the front of the limo and came around to open the back door for them. He handed them each a black hood.
Beckham raised an eyebrow. “You expect me to wear this?”
“Not me. But if you want to meet your contact tonight, you won’t argue.”
Beckham snarled. Reyna put her hand on his arm. The last thing she wanted was for him to go full vamp on this guy. He was just the messenger. They would take it up with their stupid contact later.
“Becks,” she whispered.
“We’re on a tight schedule,” the driver said, and gestured for them to get in the limo.
Reyna slid into the backseat, and after a few tense seconds Beckham followed suit.
She took a deep breath, then slid the hood over her head.
She shivered as memories of her kidnapping flooded her.
The feel of the guy grabbing her arm. Him knocking her out.
Blackness taking her over as she was dragged out of Everett’s apartment.
“Oh God,” she whispered.
Her breathing was uneven. She was pretty sure she was hyperventilating.
Logically this wasn’t the same. Not even close to the same. She wasn’t being kidnapped. She was willingly moving forward with this. Yet, her brain couldn’t process the two things. It couldn’t move past the horror and violation.
Beckham’s arm swept around her shoulders, and he held both of her hands in his. “Breathe,” he whispered. “I’m here this time. No one will take you from me. Not ever again.”
“Becks,” she gasped.
“I’ll kill anyone who touches you. I’ll protect you. You’re safe.”
“I’m safe,” she repeated.
She took a strangled breath, and then let it out slowly. She did it a couple more times before she finally believed herself. With Beckham’s arms safely around her the panic attack subsided. The residual effects of her PTSD drained out of her.
God, she hated this.
Beckham never released her. He held her the entire drive as they moved through the city and to their contact’s headquarters.
Even if she could have seen through this hood, the limo windows were tinted and night had fallen.
Maybe Beckham would have been able to discern where they were going, but she sure couldn’t.
It was forty-five minutes before the limo finally came to a stop. Reyna heard the window separating them from the driver slide down. “You can remove the hoods. We’re secure.”
They both tore them off. Reyna finally felt like she could breathe again and Beckham still looked pissed at the indignation of it all. She hardly blamed him. He wasn’t the sort of man who took orders from others well. This should be interesting.
The driver came around and let them out of the limo. He walked toward elevator doors, which were built into the garage wall. Reyna and Beckham followed. When the doors dinged open, he let them inside first, then pressed a button.
“Have a nice time,” he said pleasantly.
Beckham straightened and dropped all emotion from his face in the span of a second. She wasn’t as good at that as he was. She’d hardened because of all the pain, but fear wasn’t as easy to conceal as she would have liked.
When the elevator opened, a butler waited for them—trim build with dark hair and kind eyes.
Her eyes moved beyond him to the entrance of the home.
A large winding staircase led up several stories with polished hardwood floors, elaborate rugs, and grand artwork in gilded frames with a crystal chandelier dangling from the ceiling.
Just the foyer was opulent beyond measure.
She could hardly imagine what lay within the dragon’s lair.
“Ah, Miss Reyna Carpenter and Mr. Beckham Anderson,” the butler said.
“What a pleasure to have you in residence tonight. I am Edgar. May I take your coats?” Reyna swallowed before taking her jacket off and handing it to Edgar, who hung them up in a closet.
“Your meeting will be in the library this evening. Would you care for some refreshments?”
“No, thank you,” Reyna said.
“Ah, well, I am certain you will want something while you wait.” Edgar snapped his fingers. A woman in a black dress and white apron glided into the room. “Prepare a tray for our guests.”
“Of course.” She curtsied—actually curtsied—and then disappeared.
Beckham didn’t blink. Reyna couldn’t stop blinking.
“This way,” Edgar said.
They headed up the enormous staircase to the second floor and turned to the left where giant wooden double doors stood closed.
Elaborate whorls were carved into the frame in a design that felt almost alive with little strings of holly vines and berries.
Over top of the doors held a bronze sign that read The Holly Library.
She and Beckham exchanged a look at the intricacy.
Normal home libraries didn’t have names. Who was this guy?
“Here we are.” Edgar pushed the doors open and they followed into the most spectacular room she had ever seen.
“Oh my God,” she barely breathed as she turned in a stunned circle.
“Welcome to The Holly Library,” Edgar said with a small smile as if he knew what the weight of this room did to people. “He will be in soon. Make yourself at home and I’ll have refreshments brought in.”
“Thank you,” Beckham said brusquely.
Edgar tipped his head at them before departing.
Beckham frowned. “I don’t like this.”
“I do,” she whispered.
The Holly Library was the most beautiful place she had ever seen in her entire life.
Bookshelves lined the walls and stacked high across the room going up as far as the eye could see until a glass opening revealed the moon beyond.
While books covered every surface, it was the vines themselves that were fascinating.
The name of the room made sense now considering holly vines covered the stacks and threaded down amongst the books.
She didn’t know how it was possible to keep them alive and not harm the books, but they looked well-tended. They looked loved.
As did the books. Tables full of them, half-opened and abandoned. Just more books and more learning and more information trapped in here. Enough for a hundred lifetimes. A thousand lifetimes.
Her mouth watered with the desire to reach out and take a book from the shelf and dig in.
“I want one,” she told Beckham with wide eyes.
“I’ll get right on that.”
Reyna’s high heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she walked mesmerized through the room. Her finger landed on a tome and a hiss sounded above her.
Reyna jumped back to see a black cat slink through the shadows. “Hello, friend.”
“Careful,” Beckham said. “Cats are tempestuous.”
“It’s not like I’m a bird,” Reyna said, reaching her hand out. The cat batted it away and then dashed deeper into the dark. “Well, he can’t be that bad.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Cats choose their people,” Reyna said as it if were obvious.
She should have felt like the dark depths of the library were cold and unwelcoming, but all she really felt was like she could get lost in here for a good long while and never come up for air.
It was with great will power that she retreated from the confines of the stacks and returned to the center of the room where a chaise and two chairs were laid out before a large square coffee table.
What an incredible place to call home. To get to cozy up in here anytime they wanted.
To forget the world and all its troubles in a story.
Was there anything greater than losing and finding yourself in the pages of a book?
Her finger trailed along the spine of a book on the opposite table as her mind wandered over the owner. A lover of books. A lover of knowledge. A lover of wealth, also, obviously. What would a man like this, with all his many secrets, be like?
“Good evening,” a woman said, appearing at the entrance to the library.
She whisked in a tray full of treats—little finger sandwiches, delicate desserts, and piping hot tea.
“My name is Isolde. It’s a pleasure to have you here.
Please, have a seat. No one wants to wait without having a spot of tea. ”
Reyna took a seat as Isolde settled the tray of treats on the table, then poured both Beckham and Reyna a cup of tea.
“Thank you,” Reyna said with a smile.
“Anytime, dear. It’s wonderful to have you here. It’s not often we have guests.”
Guests? She’d been hooded to get here, and she didn’t even know their contact’s name. They were being pampered and treated with the utmost respect, but Gabe thought this guy was a scary motherfucker. What a strange duality.
Isolde bobbed her head at them before disappearing once more. Reyna reached for the treats on the tray.
“Don’t eat that,” Beckham said, taking the strawberry macaron from her hand.
“Ugh. Do not deprive me of macarons.”
“I’ll get you all the macarons you want when we leave. But you never go into an enemy’s house and eat or drink.”
Reyna sighed. She saw the logic in that. But strawberry macarons.
Beckham glanced at the watch on his wrist as they waited. And waited. No wonder Isolde had brought them something to munch on. Apparently, he liked to keep his guests in suspense.
Then suddenly the door to the library opened once more. Reyna jumped to her feet and Beckham followed at a more resigned, leisurely pace. He was back in control. Ready to take on the world. She was anxious to finally meet this guy.
A soft breath escaped her mouth at her first sight of him.
One look at him and it was obvious he was the most beautiful person she had ever seen.
Not like the dangerous, scary goodness that Beckham exuded.
This man had none of Beckham’s bulk or menacing stares or looks.
Nothing about Beckham that had made her fall in love with him.
But she could appreciate beauty when it was before her.
He stopped before them with his hands loosely in the pockets of his ten-thousand-dollar suit. He held himself as if he knew no threats in this world. As if he was the top of the food chain. Not a scratch could hurt him.
His hair was brushed back from his face.
The black strands almost appeared midnight blue when they caught the light.
His cheekbones were chiseled out of marble with a jawline as sharp as a razor blade.
But it was his eyes that were the most striking.
A dark, stormy gray that seemed to swirl to life when they were turned on her.
She stilled as he assessed her, and she couldn’t bring herself to utter a single word. Those eyes had known lifetimes.
He was otherworldly. Definitely not human. But no way was he a vampire either.
What is he?
“Welcome,” he said, his gaze slowly shifting from Reyna to Beckham. “You may call me Graves.”