Spirited Legacy (Lost Library) (31 page)

Harry looked up from where he kneeled over Lizzie. “I gave her a nudge to keep her unconscious.” Clearly noting John’s worried and tense expression, Harry clarified, “It won’t hurt her to be under for a little while. And I thought she’d appreciate missing most of this. Once I’ve healed her enough to be mobile and relatively pain-free, I’ll pull her into consciousness.”

John wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it seemed like a hell of a long time. Harry finally stood up and stretched out his neck, shoulders, and back.

The color had returned to Lizzie’s face quite some time ago. So she really had just looked like she was sleeping, cradled in his arms. When she did finally wake, he shouldn’t have been surprised that after a slow blink or three, her first words weren’t about her shoulder.

“Where’s Worth?” she asked.

Max responded. “Long gone. When you faded to the car, he kept going.”

John knew Max was pissed to lose Worth again. He knew it, because he was, too. But there hadn’t been much they could do as Worth’s taillights had disappeared up the road. They were preoccupied by Lizzie’s sudden appearance, the near wreck, and treating Lizzie’s injury.

She nodded slowly in response. Standing up, John helped her fit an improvised sling Harry had cobbled together from a fleece jacket.

Harry was looking rough, and John wondered what exactly he’d done for Lizzie. Healers were good at injuries. But even so, they usually just gave a helping hand to an injury, a magical push to speed the process. What Harry had done—taken stretched and torn tendons and coaxed them back to their normal placement and condition—John hadn’t known that healers
could
do that. No wonder Harry looked wiped out.

Max called Harrington to update him on Worth’s direction of travel—not Munich, possibly Frankfurt—and to let him know that Lizzie was retrieved. Injured—but safe and healing. While Max was updating Harrington, Lizzie called Kenna and left her a message. She couldn’t reach her friend, which was weird, because John said she’d been harassing Harrington for updates.

After hanging up, Max claimed the driver’s seat. Harry took the front passenger seat, so Lizzie and John could sit together in the back. As they drove to the private airstrip where they’d flown in with James earlier, she heard all about what Kenna had been up to. That she’d left John messages—he wouldn’t say how many. And she threatened him with castration if he didn’t call her back today. Classic Kenna. At least Harrington had been saved that indignity. Lizzie had to try hard not to laugh at the picture of Kenna leaving a castration voicemail on John’s phone. It was utterly ridiculous.

Harry piped up from the front of the car, “I told you no strenuous sports, right?” Turning to John, he said, “No strenuous sports.”

When it looked like John might actually growl at Harry, Lizzie intervened and promised, “Scout’s honor.” It was only later that she revealed to John, “Of course, I’m not and never was a Scout. Do I look like I know how to start a fire, pitch a tent, or fish for supper with a ball of twine and a safety pin?”

John’s reply, “Um, that’s not exactly what the Scouts are about,” earned him a frown and then was ignored.

James, Harry’s pilot, had agreed to meet them at the airstrip. Halfway there, Lizzie wrinkled her nose and looked at John. “I’ve just remembered that you’re not so fond of flying.”

“It’s only a few hours. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he said dismissively. And if it wasn’t, he’d puke in the toilet.

“Uhh—it’s a small plane.” She peeked at him from under her lashes. Something he found absolutely adorable, especially since she always did it when she was a little bit worried or embarrassed. “Really small.”

Her words registered. “How small?”

“If you all weren’t so huge, we might fit one more.” She bit her lip.
Great.
Now she was worried about him flying.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he reassured her, not sure at all himself.

Lizzie tried to distract him with various questions as they took off—in a tiny tin bucket with an octogenarian as pilot.

“Don’t you ever wonder what happens with all these rental cars that we leave about everywhere?” she asked, out of the blue.

He chuckled. “We have people,” he replied mysteriously.

“Um-hm.” She eyed him suspiciously. “It’s like the European version of Enterprise—
we’ll pick you up
—isn’t it?”

He was about to answer, when the plane dipped and rattled. And that was the last conversation they had for the remainder of the plane’s ascent and well into the flight.

Chapter 36

J
ohn’s face had a greenish cast. Lizzie looked out the window and away from him, cringing in silent sympathy. She knew being in such a small plane would be a problem for him, but he was making every effort to act as if nothing was amiss. And in that moment she had a revelation. She wasn’t incredibly brave or particularly adventuresome. But she could be brave; she could be adventuresome. She was the kind of person who was willing to face Worth—a man she was terrified of—on the chance that a cure could be found for Sarah amongst his possessions.

Here was the kicker: while Sarah was a dear woman, she was no John. And John’s pack was certainly no Worth. So why was it so simple for her to take risks for Sarah, but not for John? Why was she so worried about the Texas Pack, when she was dealing with the likes of Worth?

Becoming John’s mate in truth meant accepting a position within the Pack. It meant being a politician’s wife and dealing with pack politics. It meant accepting additional responsibilities that she wouldn’t have, under other circumstances, sought out. That didn’t seem like such a leap right now. Okay, she’d been in the trunk of a car—her shoulder dislocated, her scalp on fire, her ribs aching, her cheek throbbing, and a gnawing fear that Worth would kill her soon eating at her belly. So sure, her perspective was a bit skewed right now.

But maybe that’s what she’d needed in order to realize that becoming John’s mate wasn’t the huge hurdle she’d believed it to be. Yes, he’d basically moved their relationship to a new level without her informed consent. Yes, that was pushy, controlling even. Yes, he needed to learn to share power, control, and decision-making. But seriously, the man had not blinked when she’d traded herself to kidnappers to save her best friend. Well—he’d not been happy, but he hadn’t tried to prevent her.

And that was no fluke. He didn’t want her anywhere near Worth. She got it—she didn’t want to be near the egomaniacal jerk any more than John. But he’d said not a word of recrimination when she’d shown up in Freiburg.

So in summary, she’d be John’s mate. Accept whatever responsibilities that entailed. Accept whatever that meant for their relationship. He kept proving, over and over, that he was willing to compromise—she just hadn’t been looking hard enough to see it.

She was a complete nut job if she didn’t accept whatever responsibilities a position as his mate might bring. It was so simple. He was worth it. At the very minimum, he was worth her trying to fit in with the Pack.

And all of this was churning through her brain, while she sat next to John on the flight home. She couldn’t discuss it, because—well, John wasn’t exactly at his best on a small plane. She gave him a little room, left him in peace, and hoped he wouldn’t be too miserable. She was much better with flying than she used to be, but she wasn’t thrilled either to be in such a small aircraft—magical pilot or not.

As they approached Prague, she began to fret over Sarah. Her concerns about her relationship with John were temporarily allayed. So unfortunately, her mind moved on to the next big worry. She wanted to poke herself and say give it a rest. But that’s how she rolled.

Would the tapestry reveal enough to help them develop a cure—a way to transfer magic back to Sarah? Would Harry’s method of skimming magical energy from a number of sources be possible without harming the donors?

She looked at John. Finally, he’d fallen into a fitful sleep. She’d told him that the best cure for motion sickness was to fall asleep and it seemed to help him. She had no empirical evidence to support her claim, but she’d been a poor traveler—stomach and nerves—for years, until her magic had been released. She’d always found that it helped her. His complexion was still off, and his sleep was hardly sound, but he looked more comfortable now than he had the entire flight. She realized as she looked at him sleeping next to her, he grew dearer to her every day.

He surprised her by waking up about fifteen minutes later, looking almost fit again, the greenish cast gone from his skin. He rolled his shoulders, working the kinks out. Which reminded her—how had he been so seriously injured?

“You’re okay? You seem okay—”

He gave her an odd look.

That concern was a little out of the blue, she realized. “What exactly happened at Worth’s? When you weren’t yourself.” She didn’t want to bring up a difficult memory, and she was sure injuring Max and almost injuring her weren’t easy for him to think about, but it was important. She needed to know if it would happen again.

“Ah.” He closed his eyes and tipped his head back toward the headrest. After about two seconds, he tipped his head to her, looked at her intently, and said, “I’m sorry. I had a head injury. I don’t think I would have actually hurt you, but I can’t honestly be sure. I don’t remember most of you and Max getting me out of Worth’s compound.”

“I agree. I don’t think you would have hurt me. You snarled at me.” She said it with a smile in her voice.

“God. Seriously? I’m so sorry.” He sounded horrified. Then he must have registered the tone of her voice. “Okay, how does that make you want to laugh?”

“Sweetheart, you don’t snarl at anyone when you’re a wolf. You take their head off. If there is one thing I’ve learned about Lycan in watching you fight…” She had to roll her eyes at her own statement. She couldn’t believe she’d seen these guys fight enough to draw conclusions. “You use your words when you’re on two legs. But once you’re four-legged, there’s no more talking, warning, or much vocalization at all. It’s actually quite creepy. If you’re furry, you just bite.” She smiled. “But you didn’t even try to bite me.”

“So even out of my head, I know you’re my woman,” he summarized with a leer.

“I’m sure there’s a more romantic way to say that—but, yes. And I got a muzzle on you. What are the chances I could do that—even with you injured—without a little cooperation on your part?”

“Good point,” he agreed with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Not to pierce your massive ego, but how exactly did you get the head injury? Harrington and I missed the beginning of the fight. And I already know that idiot, Max, forgot to mention there were two guards.” She was still pissed about that. She heard a grumbled “hey” in the background. Max must have heard his name.

“Why would he? I should be able to smell the number, age, sex, and a number of other characteristics. Especially if I know to check. No, this wasn’t his fault at all. Damn. I meant to talk to Harrington about this before he left.” He looked seriously troubled. When he continued, she could see why. “There was no scent. An absence of scent so extreme, it was like a bubble. I should have noted it, as unusual as it was, but—I was actively hunting for Lycan scent.”

Lizzie had gotten a crash course in warding twice now. Once from Pilar, who was admittedly not strong but could explain the basics, and a second time from Harrington when she’d literally fallen on her ass learning how to cast a sensing ward. It was theoretically possible, she supposed.

“Maybe warding is a possibility? A moving ward—one attached to a Lycan—might be able to scrub the air as it passes.” She was hypothesizing, but that was all she could do without more research.

John looked thoughtful. “What’s the anchor? It can’t be the Lycan, right?”

She considered for a moment. “It would be unlikely. I’m apparently the only animate anchor Harrington, Pilar, or Frank have all come into contact with. I’m pretty sure an object would be used. Easy enough to do if they’re either carrying it or it’s attached to the Lycan’s wolf form after the change.”

Any item on the Lycan during the change wasn’t likely to survive the change, from what Lizzie knew of the process.

“Let me think about it. Then we can toss it around again before I call Harrington. It was noteworthy, for sure.” He reclined his seat, getting more comfortable. “After that, it was simple. They jumped me and bashed my head in by tossing me against a wall. It took me several minutes on autopilot before I was aware of what was happening.”

How he could be so casual, Lizzie didn’t know. It had been a frightening scene to witness. But it would have been even more so if she’d realized at the time how injured he was. “I could see that.”

When he looked over at her inquisitively, she continued, “I could see the moment you became aware. The fight was basically over after that.”

“If it makes you feel any better, two nowhere-near alphas of middling size wouldn’t have lasted a minute if not for the scent trick.” He winked at her.

Winked. After telling her a story where—with a few different twists—maybe he dies.
Men.
But she just said, “We should figure out the scent void. What caused it, if it’s unique to Worth’s henchmen. Warding is so flexible in the right hands. I’m almost certain it’s the work of a caster.”

“Hmm. Good plan. Mind if I take a nap?” he asked.
Seriously. Only a man.

When they arrived back at the Library, they found that they’d only arrived about an hour after Pilar and Harrington. Both had claimed a need for sleep before pursuing the tapestry lead. They’d left the tapestry with Heike. And Lizzie was surprised to discover that she had no concerns for the safety of the piece. She knew Heike would have some good information for them when they met again. Since Heike was well rested, it only made sense for her to work until the rest of the party could rest and reconvene. Lizzie wasn’t sure when she’d turned the corner— maybe when Heike had busted her out of her room?—but whenever it was, she trusted Heike now.

Chapter 37