Defensive Magic: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 3) (14 page)

The clock on the wall caught her attention.
Dangit.
The time had gotten away from her. First a shower, and then the Council meeting. She’d managed to forget for the last twenty minutes. She hustled into the bathroom and hopped into the shower, giving herself a rousing pep talk the entire time.

Chapter 17

L
izzie held back a yawn.

“And tell us
why
you think there’s some ulterior motive for any of these acts? I say where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Maybe it’s simpler. Maybe you’ve simply let the Pack down. Marrying—” Art Travers’s diatribe was cut off by a throaty rumble as Logan ostensibly cleared his throat.

Art was like a wasp, angry and ready to sting multiple times.
Gah.
Boredom had driven her imagination into overdrive. She’d been sitting in one place too long, listening to Art’s nonsense for too long. She shifted in her seat trying to wake up her now numb left butt cheek.

“Are we boring you, Lizzie?” Art asked.

“Not at all. It’s just that my ass has fallen asleep.” Holy shit, she did not just say that.

After a very brief moment of shock, she mentally sighed. There went at least one Council member. Many more comments like that and— She was startled by a low rumble that quickly became a massive guffaw. Albert Simms. She’d thought he was on the fence about her, but maybe he’d seen her in a more favorable light than she’d realized. She grinned at him, then wiped the emotion from her face, trying for that ever-elusive bland look that John had mastered. She failed—not unexpectedly—but she tried.

As Art blustered and tried to stand on his dignity, Albert said, “Come on, Art. Have a sense of humor for a change. She’s a funny little thing.”

Lizzie decided maybe she’d shut up and let Albert make an argument in her defense, since he seemed willing. Even if she wasn’t a “little thing,” and he was acting like a condescending grandpa. She needed to pick her battles.

Art and Albert represented the extremes in the room. Most of the attendees seemed either to support John or to be open-minded about the topics they’d discussed. The first item on the agenda had been John’s invitation to David. Lizzie hadn’t realized, but the Council had already discussed the possibility and had previously agreed to support John’s proposal with a vote of one abstention (John—who would only vote in the case of a tie), seven votes for, and one vote against (Art). Art vociferously repeated his disapproval of the plan, but finally quieted after the vote was taken. No anonymous ballots for these guys. Seeing all of his buddies support the plan probably didn’t put the cranky old guy in the best of moods. Which was how she’d ended sitting through a rant on how all the Pack’s problems were primarily John’s fault, how her ass got numb, and how she made a fool of herself—and, unintentionally—Art.

She snuck a glance at John. Hmm. He didn’t
look
upset. He had a great poker face, but even so, she didn’t think he was mad at her. Maybe she wasn’t the worst Alpha Mate ever. She bet the guys in this room put her on the top ten worst Alpha Mate list, though.

Art suddenly sat down. At some point, he’d gotten out of his seat. After an hour of him standing and sitting, she’d figured out he stood anytime he spoke. So he probably hadn’t meant to be threatening. But this time when he sat down, he looked terrified. She finally saw why when she followed his gaze back to John’s hard, unyielding stare.

“You’re done?” John asked tersely. The question was directed to Art.

Uh-oh. Now that sounded pissed.

“I’ve been patient with your comments and your complaints. It’s important for the Council to have Elders who represent the widest range of views within the Pack.” John’s nostrils flared in what looked like disdain. “And you, Art Travers, appear to represent a certain segment—a very small segment—of the Pack. But”—his voice hardened noticeably—“now it’s time to discuss your failures as a Council Elder.”

Art made a small, involuntary sound of protest that died when John rose and placed his palms on the conference table.

“The segment of our society that you represent? They’ve chosen not to lodge protests with you. Instead, they’ve become publicly, unacceptably disrespectful.” He spit out the last few words, making his contempt for Art’s failures clear to all in the room. “And you’ve shown an alarming lack of respect for my mate. If it continues, I will”—he stopped himself—“no,
my mate
will see that you receive the appropriate punishment.”

Whoa. What had just happened?
Lizzie blinked in surprise and concern, then she immediately thought about something else—anything else.
Um, what?
Frantically, her brain leaped to hot sex on the kitchen counter. That was a good one. When she was sure she absolutely stank of I’m-really-hot-for-my-mate hormones, she gave Art her meanest, narrow-eyed, I’m-scary look.

At least Art took John’s admonishment like he deserved it. No blustering, he simply said, “I’ll talk to Evan.”

“You’ll more than talk to him,” John replied.

A short, sharp nod followed. “Yes.”

“And?”

Art turned to Lizzie and said, “It’s an honor to have you join the Pack, Alpha Mate.”

She had no clue what to say, so she nodded slightly.

John returned to his seat. “I’m investigating the cause of the rumors. I find it hard to believe so much dissatisfaction has grown in the Pack in such a short time. So whether a grand conspiracy or a few vocal dissenters, I plan to root out the cause. To that end, I’ll be speaking with several of the Pack members. Do whatever you can to prepare them and encourage cooperation.”

A member who hadn’t said much up to this point raised two fingers just high enough to catch John’s attention.

“Matthew?”

“When will Ms. Lizzie be moving to Smithville?” He turned and smiled at Lizzie. “I have a real nice van and some strong boys to pack up and move your stuff.”

Ohmygosh.

Before Lizzie could panic, John tipped his head to her. “Matthew’s van and boys are actually a very reputable, local moving company.” Turning his attention back to Matthew, he said, “You know we’d never use anyone else. We’ll get with you on the details.”

John looked around, briefly making eye contact with each of the eight men seated at the table. When none spoke up, he said, “Adjourned.”

Logan motioned Albert over as he was starting to exit the room. When he joined Logan, John, and Lizzie, Logan asked, “Stay for a whiskey?”

“Whatcha got? You got some of the local stuff? That goat whiskey?”

John smiled. “Fitch’s Goat? I’m sure Ben has some.”

After making nice with Albert and Logan for about twenty minutes, the group split apart.

On the way home, Lizzie quizzed John on the Council meeting. “Why did we stay late to hang out and drink booze in the middle of the day?”

“I wanted to give Albert an opportunity to socialize a bit. Sometimes he’ll mention something in private that he’s reluctant to share in the meeting.”

“Got it. Whiskey at 1:00 p.m. seemed a little drastic, even with everything we have going on.” Which reminded her. “About that other stuff—what’s up with this Matthew guy and his moving crew?”

“Ah. About that.” John shifted in the driver’s seat.

“Yeah. I get that they expect us to move in together, but I haven’t even told my parents about you.” She stopped to think about that. “I mean—they know about you. They know you exist. But not all the crazy magic stuff.” She shot him a quick look. “I really need to see them in person to break that news.”

He made some kind of noncommittal noise that might be agreement, but she wasn’t sure. Rather than push, she’d let it go for now. It had already been a full day. But they’d have to revisit it—sometime.

They rode in silence for the remainder of the ride, and only as they were pulling into the drive did Lizzie remember one part of the meeting that had been vague and a little confusing. “So now Art has to go out and kick the crap out of Evan?” she asked.

John stopped, half out of the car, and swung his legs back inside the vehicle. He closed the door with a firm motion. Hands resting lightly on the steering wheel and staring straight ahead. Lizzie was starting to worry that she’d said something horribly wrong, he was acting that oddly. Eventually, he said, “It was a simple solution.”

She watched his large, tanned hands trace the outer edge of the steering wheel repeatedly. A little knot of worry—one that had been buried deep inside since her first night home—started to unfurl.

“I’m tired.” He turned to look at her and he looked so sad it made her heart ache. He broke eye contact with her and turned back to look at the house before he spoke. “Schooling an inexperienced pup. Humiliating a disrespectful dissenter. Dehumanizing an ambitious opponent. Building reputation through fear and intimidation—it’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

He gripped the steering wheel hard. “It’s not supposed to be this way.” He looked at her again, his normally bright eyes so dark they were almost navy. An angry dark blue. “I’m supposed to be better.”

And Lizzie knew exactly what he meant—better than his father. He was supposed to be a better man, a better Alpha. She inhaled sharply. She wouldn’t cry. She would not cry. If she cried, she stole this moment. Made it hers, when this was absolutely, solely about John. It killed her not to say that he
was
better.
So much better.
But saying it wouldn’t be enough.

She reached out and placed her hand over his. His fingers clenched tighter on the steering wheel. She rubbed the tips of her fingers lightly over his knuckles and his grip slowly loosened. And gradually the tension seeped from him. Finally, he let go of the steering wheel and threaded his fingers gently through hers. They sat in the car for hours, or maybe it was five minutes—but it felt like hours to Lizzie. And when they eventually walked inside the house together, she couldn’t help but think how very much she loved this man.

Chapter 18

L
izzie looked down at John’s vibrating, flashing phone. He’d phoned Ben earlier with instructions to handle everything but the direst of crises. It had only taken a small amount of manipulation for Lizzie to guilt John into taking an afternoon off. And that spoke to the extent of his physical and psychological exhaustion. But he’d only agreed after she offered to answer his phone.

She frowned down at the offending device. Ben’s name lit up on the screen. It should only be ringing in the direst of circumstances—exactly that word, “dire,” was used. Well, shit.

She walked to the furthest part of the house, as far from the bedroom as she could get. That turned out to be the guest bath. She answered the phone by the fifth ring. “John’s phone.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the fact that John had actually surrendered his phone, that he’d taken the afternoon off, or some other mysterious cause, but Ben was clearly stumped. Silence followed her declaration.

“Ben? Is that you?” Lizzie said. She crossed her fingers. She was still holding out for a non-dire situation.

“Where’s John?” Ben asked.

Seriously?
Lizzie could barely keep an annoyed grumble from escaping.

“He’s asleep,” she said calmly. “He told you not to disturb him.”

“I need to speak with him,” he said, polite but firmly insistent.

“No.”

Silence followed. She knew this game, because John was quite good at it. People wanted to fill silence with speech, especially over the phone—but Lizzie waited.

Eventually, Ben said, “He’s received another challenge.”

Lizzie sank down until she felt the cold ceramic of the toilet seat cover on the backs of her thighs.
Think, Lizzie. Think.

“How long does he have to reply?”

Ben answered her question, so he must be somewhat in agreement with her plan to let John rest as long as possible. “It’s not a question of replying. There’s no option but to accept. I scheduled the meeting for tomorrow at eight in the morning.” After a slight pause, he continued, “Any longer wouldn’t have been smart. They’d have suspected we were delaying and perceived weakness. As it stands for tomorrow morning, John’s just a busy Alpha.”

He explained all of this patiently. Lizzie was surprised John hadn’t woken during the conversation, and she suspected the fact of her continued presence on the phone indicated to Ben how desperately John had needed this small break.

“As Alpha Mate, I can tell you to shove off, right? You know, to leave John alone for a few hours?”

She thought she heard a muffled snort. “You can.”

“Is there any reason he needs to know this minute? Does he need to do anything special to prepare?” She couldn’t remember anything out of the ordinary that he’d done for the last challenge, though they’d had less notice for it.

“I’m going to dig up as much information as I can on the challenger, but that’s on my end.”

“Let me know if anything changes, but I’m not planning to wake him until later this evening for dinner.”

“I’ll call with an update around nine.”

She let out a breath. “Thank you, Ben.”

This time, she clearly heard the snort of amusement. “No problem. But I’m glad you’ll be dealing with him when he wakes up.” And he immediately disconnected before she could grill him further.

Lizzie frowned in annoyance at the phone in her hand. That was the point of her answering the phone—so that she could deal with whatever came up. Wasn’t it?

Rather than dwell on her decision not to wake John up, she did her best to make as little noise as possible. It took her about five seconds of contemplation before she decided to spend a few minutes reading; she hadn’t read a non-magical book in ages. She simply couldn’t contemplate tackling work in her current state of mind, and fiddling with magic—be it the book or mastering new skills—was a no-go since she was alone. She dug her Kindle out of her work case and started flipping through the titles. She finally settled on
Busman’s Honeymoon
. She did love a little mystery—as long as it was confined to the pages of a book. She grinned. She loved the encroaching romance in this particular Sayers work. Mystery
and
romance, exactly what she needed.