Defensive Magic: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 3) (15 page)

After a little while, she moved from the kitchen to the living room sofa and tucked herself into the deep cushions, snuggled up in a light blanket. She was one dead body and some romance into her book when her eyes started to get heavy and she drifted off to sleep.

Lizzie jerked awake with an unladylike grunt, blinked her gritty eyes in the now dark room, and did a quick drool check. All good. What had woken her? Her thought was interrupted by the persistent buzz that she could just barely hear coming from the vicinity of her right hip. By the time she’d dug around and found the phone under the blanket, squished between her body and the sofa, John was walking into the living room. His hair was damp, his face clean-shaven, and he looked relaxed and rested for the first time in quite a while. Lizzie hadn’t realized how much the recent events had worn on him until he appeared in front of her somewhat recovered.

She handed the phone to him, belatedly realizing that it must be Ben calling with an update. She’d never dreamed she and John would sleep so late. She’d planned to update him herself before he spoke with Ben.
Damn.

After answering the phone, listening briefly, and then responding to some question with a curt, “No,” John was silent.

Lizzie saw a quick flash of anger—at her—before he walked away. And she realized he’d never directed his anger at her. Not really. Any annoyance or upset John had ever directed her way had been very specifically tied to concern over her well-being, and it hadn’t looked anything like what she’d just caught in his eye, what she’d seen in his face. This was different. She felt a moment of panic—had she unknowingly committed some horrible error?

She could hear the quiet murmur of John’s voice emanating from the kitchen, but she didn’t make any effort to pick out the words. After she folded up the blanket, she sat back down on the sofa. Waiting.

John came back in the living room after a few minutes, his phone tucked away in a pocket. He scrubbed his hands over his face. And when he looked at her again, she couldn’t find any sign of ire remaining. He walked to the sofa, reached a hand out to lift her up, pulled her close, and hugged her tight. She felt the pull of a deeply inhaled breath against her hair and felt his chest expand, but she didn’t hear anything. He let her go, and then he was all business.

He had Ben on the phone in seconds asking for an update. Apparently, that hadn’t been Ben, after all. She glanced quickly at the clock—quarter to nine. Maybe Logan?

John didn’t have a harsh word for Ben. No criticism for speaking with her or for allowing her to make the decision not to inform him immediately. Rather than continue to eavesdrop, she tapped John on the arm and mouthed the word “steak.” At his nod, she went to the kitchen and busied herself cooking two of the steaks left over from yesterday’s big dinner. She wasn’t a great cook, but she could make do in a pinch.

Several minutes later, John joined her in the kitchen. “Smells good.”

She murmured a “thanks,” and started pulling dishes out of the cupboard to set the table. She’d opened cabinets and checked drawers before the guests arrived the previous night, trying to figure out where everything was. So she had a good idea now where to find the basics.

“I’m sorry.” She stopped and sat down at the kitchen table. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he replied unequivocally.

She chewed on her lip.

Resting his elbows on the table, he said, “You made a decision for me.”

She frowned. “That was the idea, right?”

“That was exactly the idea. And I’m in a much better position to meet another challenge if I’m in my right mind and not made an idiot through sleep deprivation.” He smiled. “I’m sure of that.”

“But you were angry?”

He nodded.

Lizzie crossed her arms. “Are you going to explain that?”

“I’m trying. You keep interrupting.” He grinned at her.

Lizzie huffed in frustration but didn’t say anything.

“I’m not accustomed to sharing responsibility for myself or having someone make decisions for me. And it made me angry that you’d made a decision to delay letting me know about the challenge.”

This time when he paused, Lizzie didn’t immediately jump in. She waited for him to consider his words and continue. It was torture.

“It very briefly made me angry. And then I realized that I’m much sharper now than I’ve been the last few days. I’ve been walking on the edge of exhaustion for a while now. Which is dangerous—and stupid, if it’s avoidable.” He gave her a sheepish look. “So—thank you.”

She pursed her lips in contemplation, then said simply, “You’re welcome. What did Ben have to say about the challenger?”

“Gregor Nichols,” John supplied. “He’s from the Oregon Pack. He didn’t have much information, other than that he might be a legitimate challenge. He’s their top enforcer and Oregon is a tough pack.”

“Should I be worried?” Ridiculous question, since she’d worry regardless of his reply.

“Honestly? I don’t know.” He reached across the table and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “You want some help with dinner?”

If John wasn’t even sure… She knew she looked terrified, but she couldn’t do anything about it—she
was
terrified. So she’d do the next best thing and busy herself with trivial tasks. Making dinner was a start. “Yes, please.”

Chapter 19

J
ohn had a surprisingly relaxing dinner given the uncertainty surrounding the challenge. Lizzie, not so much. He could feel her tension. It radiated across the dinner table. He didn’t know what to say to her. She’d be there tomorrow, so it wasn’t something he could hide from her. Gregor was a real threat.

He winced slightly. “I hate to leave you, but I need to go into town and poke around a little. Have a few beers and see if I can pinpoint the local source of the rumors. Evan’s an idiot and not capable of stirring up this much dust by himself. And Art”—he shook his head—“Art can be a pain, but he speaks up in Council meetings. He’s not likely to run around town telling the Pack he’s lost confidence in me.”

“Is that what they’re saying?” Lizzie looked stupefied. “I knew it was negative, but that’s just so far from reality.”

He smiled grimly. “You haven’t actually met the entire Pack,” he reminded her. “How do you know?”

It was cute how steadfastly supportive of him she was, even though she had limited access to the facts. He could find some humor in the situation, but only because he knew he had the support of the vast majority of the Pack. He just needed to weed out the few bad seeds. And he could finally see that clearly now that he wasn’t so damned tired. He hadn’t realized how much his lack of sleep, the stress, and the excessive use of magic had worn him down. He’d been in an appalling state. Otherwise, he would never have had such a moment of weakness as to compare himself to his father. It was a ridiculous comparison. But it did point out exactly how low he’d fallen.

She huffed and looked offended. He hid a smile.

“They’d have to be idiots not to have faith in you. You’re a better leader than”—she fumbled a bit as she searched for an appropriate comparison—“better than anything they deserve if they’re doubting you.”

“Thank you.” Always acknowledge a compliment paid him by a woman—his Uncle Logan’s advice. He’d also told him to never let a woman go hungry or he’d see mood swings to rival the nastiest wild hog. He hadn’t found that last bit to apply to Lizzie at all. Or maybe he didn’t notice, because a cranky Lizzie was still pretty damn pleasant to be around.

“Have I told you I love you, today?” he asked.

She smiled at him. He could still smell the tension and fear, but she was more relaxed than before. “It never hurts to repeat yourself, if you have. But don’t think you’ll distract me from the fact I’m being ditched so you can go drink beer. I am
not
distracted.”

“You can practice your new shield technique with Logan.” He tried to make it sound like that might be fun. Hell, he’d get a kick out of seeing that.

“Will do. But I’m making him promise not to tackle like a professional football player.” She gave him a concerned look. “Please be careful.”

Right on cue, Logan’s truck pulled up.

A few minutes later, John was on the road. He was about halfway to Smithville proper, when he picked up the phone and called David. He’d unobtrusively silenced an incoming call from him during dinner, not wanting to add to the tension.

David picked up right away. “John.”

“What have you got?” John asked.

“It’s a small thing, but we have so little information on the witches, I thought you’d be interested. The local witches we’re dealing with are apparently part of a larger group. I told you they’re more organized? They are
way
more organized.”

“How big of an area and how many people?”

“I’m not sure about the specifics. I know they call it the Pacific Northwest Territory. At a guess, Oregon and Washington and minimally Boise and the surrounding area. As for numbers—maybe twenty in Boise? No idea how many are in the territory. We’re only meeting with locals.”

Of course, David would be attending the meetings; he was his father’s second enforcer. John wasn’t on his game. He’d been assuming this was secondhand information. He couldn’t let the small things get by him. He did some math and came up with somewhere over a hundred pack members in the Idaho Pack. The Lycan had larger numbers in and around Boise. “So a broader territory with sparse or thinly spread populations,” John summarized. “What about the organizational structure?”

“I’d say we’re speaking to mid-management, at a guess. Or a leader who’s underplaying her authority. Oh, the leader is a woman.”

“Ah. Both men and women are in leadership roles?” John checked his rearview mirror again. The same car had been following him for two turns now.

He split his attention between the car behind him and his conversation with David. He considered the implications of a female leader. Lycan men were stronger, so Alphas were male. It had always been that way, as far as John knew. But it made sense a magic-using community that didn’t rely on physical strength might be otherwise.

“Any other firsthand impressions?”

“A general sense of deceit, but I’m not catching any direct lies. They make me uncomfortable, but hell if I can tell you why. Well, other than being generally untrustworthy and an unknown. But it’s more than that.” David made a frustrated sound. “I’m sorry. It’s just a gut feeling of, of just wrong.”

Was it a coincidence that his next challenger happened to be from the same territory as a group of witches involved—however indirectly—with the first challenge? He’d stopped believing in coincidences long before he could even change forms. No, there was some connecting piece to this messy puzzle that he was missing.

He was almost to the tiny members only bar just outside Smithville and the red sports car following him had creeped closer. “I’ve got to run. Is there anything else?”

“I think that’s it. Two weeks till the next meeting with the witches, but I’ll let you know if anything else comes up. About my dad”—he stopped himself—“you’re in a rush. Maybe later?”

“I’ll give you a call in the next few days.”

John ended the call as he was backing into a parking space. Damn. He’d lost the little red car. Getting out of the truck, he looked around the parking lot. He started to walk to the right of building, back by the trash cans. A familiar scent caught his attention, and he grinned as he turned around. “Not bad.”

Max was sitting on the truck’s bumper, heels resting on the asphalt ground. “I’m getting better, huh? Chris has been giving me some tips. What covers scent, what doesn’t. How scent moves. Exactly how well you guys hear.”

Christina was the reason Max was so tight with the Pack and, more specifically, John within the last few years. She and Max had been in the military together a few years ago. When Christina had turned furry, Max had simply shrugged and helped her out of the jam she’d found herself in. And he’d been a friend of the Pack ever since.

“How’s the writing going?” John asked.

“Superbly. Paying the bills, and”—he grinned wolfishly—“my bills aren’t small.”

“Why is it you have no shame when it’s just the boys, but even hint at your writing career in front of Kenna and you blush?” John asked.

Max—a man who typically moved from one bed to the next—finally stuck on one woman was a pretty fascinating event to watch. From a distance. He wasn’t so entertained that he wanted an up close and personal view.

Max’s grin disappeared. “Don’t get me started on her.”

And since Max seemed completely serious, John dropped it. He’d definitely ask Lizzie about how that was progressing, though.

“Anyone in particular that I’m here to see?” John asked. Max had set up this outing.

“Most nights, Evan is here.” Max shot a look at John. “In case you haven’t heard, there’s no chance of Evan making it out tonight.”

Interesting. That meant that Art had injured the kid in human form and threatened a harsher beating if he changed to heal himself. He hadn’t required that, but it was a good lesson in self-control and wouldn’t do any permanent damage. Art sometimes had a little sense. All the more reason John believed he wasn’t one of the sources for the rumors.

“So if not Evan…?”

“Vicky.”

John ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. She’s definitely on the list of highly suspect Pack members.”

“How long ago was your thing with her?”

“Fuck. Long enough.”

“Does Lizzie know about her?”

“There’s no reason she should. Vicky was never more than a distraction.”

“Hmm. And I’m sure Vicky and Lizzie would be in complete agreement on all those details?”

John tipped his head back. “Fuck.” He stood up straight, rolled his shoulders, and said, “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

As soon as he walked in, he could smell her. The scent of her expensive shampoo smothered her natural scent. She was sitting alone at the bar, the long, elegant line of her back turned to the door. He could see the moment she scented him. She stiffened slightly and her spine straightened.