Spirited Legacy (Lost Library) (4 page)

Logan barked out a humorless laugh. “You know it’s not that simple. This is a moment of transition, and that is when a pack is always at its weakest. You have to be strongest and ready for attack in these moments. And the council? They only have as much power as you and I have granted them. The idea is still a new one. It will be another generation or two before the council is so firmly seated within the pack’s structure that it couldn’t be ripped apart by the right combination of events.” He gave John a narrow-eyed look. “I’m not telling you anything you wouldn’t know under normal circumstances. This woman has blinded you; she’s made you weak.”

“And I think you’re biased, because you never took a mate. The right match can make the pack stronger.” John knew he was touching on a sensitive subject. Logan had lost the woman he believed was his mate when he was a relatively young Alpha. But Logan’s persistent disapproval—when he hadn’t even met Lizzie—was annoying. But it was no more than an annoyance, because it wouldn’t change his opinion or his plans.

“I don’t argue that point. I’m saying she’s not the right match,” Logan said.

“Enough. I’ve made my choice, and I’ll make it work. Do I have your support?” John wanted Logan on his side, but he wouldn’t beg. One thing he knew for sure, Logan would never do anything he thought might hurt the pack.

Logan sighed. “I support you, and I will continue to—so long as you continue to be good for the pack. And you’re my blood.” After a brief pause, it was clear he simply couldn’t resist adding, “But sometimes you’re an insubordinate ass.”

“Likewise,” John said with an amused glint in his eyes. “Keep me updated? While I’m in Prague, I mean.”

John needed a few attentive eyes and ears within the Pack. Being far removed geographically meant that he would have difficulty gauging the mood of the pack. And he needed to know if a younger wolf was feeling emboldened by his absence. He could always come home and kick some impertinent whelp’s ass—but only if he was kept informed.

Logan kicked back in his big armchair, legs stretched out in front of him. “Uh-huh. Need my help already, do you?”

“You’re the best person to ask because you gossip like an old woman. Call it whatever you like—morning coffee, Friday night poker—it’s still gossip.” Logan deserved that, John thought.

Logan didn’t even blink at the accusation.

“I’m telling you, you need to stay.” Seeing John’s expressionless face, Logan shook his head in frustration and said simply, “Yes, I’ll keep you updated.”

“I’ll check in weekly, but give me a call on my cell if anything raises a red flag. You do remember how to use the phone, old man?” John cracked a small smile.

“You’re an ass. I even know how to text, so don’t give me shit,” Logan replied.

The two men parted on good terms, but John knew he’d have to get his personal life in order quickly. If he took too long, a challenge might be the least of his worries. The pack may never accept Lizzie if he didn’t resolve their differences and bring her home for introductions soon.

On the drive back to Lizzie’s, John did some quick math to calculate the difference in time zones. He decided six in the morning was a great time to call the man who had loosed a hornet’s nest on his and Lizzie’s relationship.

“Harrington.” The clipped tones of a very much awake Harrington came across John’s cell. Ah, well. Pulling the guy out of his bed had been a petty thought anyway.

“John Braxton, here.”

Harrington was silent just a hair longer than was polite. “I’ve been expecting your call. What can I do for you?”

“I’m flying to Prague. You’ve discovered a sudden need for a security consultant.” John glanced at the time again. He frowned. Lizzie was probably already in bed. He hadn’t intended to be gone so long from the house, but there had been some construction and an accident that had made traffic ridiculously slow.

“Have I? I’ve employed Lachlan McClellan’s security firm to handle the short-term security needs of the Library,” Harrington replied. His tone turned cautious. “I’m not certain if a consultant would be appreciated.”

“Your problem, not mine. I hold you partially responsible for my current situation. So you’ll do this for me, and I will consider your debt paid—in part.” John considered this conversation a formality. He was going, and he was staying at the Library. It was Harrington’s problem to sort out the various details and soothe ruffled feathers.

Harrington laughed. “You’re a cheeky bastard.” There was the muffled sound of movement in the background. “Done. But you’ll have to deal with Lachlan. I hope, for your sake, he finds your situation amusing.”

John raised an eyebrow at that. He’d have to do a little research on this security firm. Clearly, the man was some kind of magic-user, or Harrington wouldn’t have hired his firm. Some kind that wasn’t too concerned with Lycan.

“As long as he keeps himself to himself, we’ll be fine,” John said dryly, and he hung up. He was in a good mood. His plan was moving along nicely.

John still needed Lizzie’s flight information, but he’d be damned if he let Harrington know he was in the dark. He’d texted Max earlier for the information, and there was a good chance he’d come through. Max Thorton had some serious connections. He was one of the few men John knew who managed to not only stay friendly with his exes but actually be friends with them. And he always knew a guy, or had a friend, who could do whatever he needed. He knew that many people, had that many connections. He was a handy guy to know and an even better one to be best friends with.

Next on the list, get back to Lizzie’s. He’d planned to be back before Lizzie went to bed. Not that he knew what he was going to say—but at least he’d be there. And that was the question. Did he tell her that he was going with her? Pack concerns aside, it was an easy decision to go. Less so talking to Lizzie about it. And that summed up one of his issues—acting was sometimes easier than talking.

When he got to the house, it was dark, except for the motion light in the front. He let himself in with the spare key. The dogs hadn’t barked at his truck pulling up. That was an improvement. Vegas, the pointer, greeted him at the door, but the yellow lab, Beau, didn’t even get up. He just lifted his head and thumped his thick tail against his dog bed. After a rough start, John was now the dogs’ favorite, second only to Lizzie and Kenna. And maybe Kenna’s mother. That woman stuffed them full of tidbits and goodies every time they went to stay with her. He smiled. Lizzie grumped about having to put them on a diet when they came home from Mrs. McIntyre’s house, but he could tell she wasn’t really upset.

John kneeled down and gave Beau a chin scratch. Then he stood up and scrubbed a hand over his face. He quietly walked into Lizzie’s bedroom—and it was hers, because they hadn’t yet tackled permanent living arrangements. She was asleep, curled up with her arms and legs tucked close, like she’d been cold. She probably was. He liked it colder, so she’d cranked the air conditioning to make him more comfortable. He thought briefly about grabbing another blanket but discarded the idea. Shrugging his shirt off, he walked to the armchair in the corner of the room. After tossing the shirt in the chair, he reached down to unbutton his jeans—and paused. She was awake.

Chapter 5

L
izzie peered at John through her lowered lashes. Pissed or not, she couldn’t help but see how the muscles in his back and shoulders bunched and moved as he pulled his shirt over his head.
Thank you, full moon.
Since she hadn’t been sure he was coming back this evening, or if he did, where he’d be sleeping, she didn’t really want to question his sudden appearance—in her room, almost naked. It probably didn’t help that she had been in a deep sleep for a very short time when she’d awoken. So she was groggy and only half awake.

He must have removed his shoes before he came into her room, because he was barefooted. Lord, but she loved how he looked in jeans and nothing else. Bare feet and a bare chest, jeans slung low on his hips…there wasn’t much that was hotter, except John in his bare skin. He paused after unbuttoning his jeans, head tipped down, fingers touching his zipper. She’d just been made.

But after that brief pause, he continued removing his jeans—slowly. After lowering the zipper, he tugged at the waist, first the left side, then the right, and the jeans fell to his knees. He leaned slightly, resting his right hand on the armchair and then, using the chair to balance himself, he leaned down to pull his pants off.

Lizzie’s eyes followed the long line of his thigh up to the muscled curve of his ass—and stopped, lingering. She was pretty sure she sighed. Or exhaled. She’d made some sound that made it clear she was awake, watching, and enjoying the show.

“Hey,” she squeaked.
Ugh. So not sexy.
She didn’t mean to squeak. But just as she opened her mouth to speak—to fess up to her wakefulness—she got an eyeful of full frontal nude John. Who could blame her for squeaking?

“Hey.” His voice rumbled, low and comforting, as he climbed into bed next to her. He pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “Traffic was bad.”

Not exactly an apology, but it was good enough for her raging hormones.

Several sweaty and acrobatic minutes later—even John was panting from exertion—he held her snugly in his embrace and said, “I’m going with you.”

Lizzie just nodded. She wasn’t sure if it was because she couldn’t catch her breath or because she didn’t have anything to say.

When Lizzie woke up the next morning she realized she’d managed to sleep through John getting out of bed. No simple task, since she tended to drift towards warmth in the middle of the night, and she and John slept in a tangle of limbs. Her eyes felt scratchy. She blinked a few times. Ewww. More crunchy than scratchy. She rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom, grabbing her cell off the nightstand as she went. Eleven o’clock? She stopped, turning to check the large picture window. John must have closed the curtains this morning when he got up. She grinned, thinking about their midnight acrobatics. Wait—eleven o’clock?
Dang it.

The list of things she needed to do today started rolling through her head as she stared at the puffy-eyed, dark-haired woman in the mirror. Pick up dog food, drop the dogs off, clear out her garage so her car would fit, pack. One more look in the mirror and she decided it would all wait for a shower. She looked like crap.

Slightly less crunchy, Lizzie strolled into the kitchen after her shower. She raised her eyebrows at the scene that greeted her: Kenna sitting at her kitchen table looking uncomfortable, and John across from her with an inscrutable expression, both of them drinking coffee.

“Hi,” Lizzie said tentatively. “Did I miss something?”

“Half the day, maybe?” Kenna teased. “Don’t you have things to do? You’re still leaving this evening, right?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she bit her lip and shot a quick glance at John.

John stood up and tipped his head to the garage. “I’ll be in the garage making room for your car.”

Lizzie tried not to look guilty. Her garage was a huge mess. She stored her business files, Christmas decorations, boxed up charity donations that were long overdue for delivery, and about twenty other different categories of little-used junk.

“If you think you can manage, and you don’t mind…?” If a look could be disdainfully snarky, Lizzie just saw it. So maybe she was an idiot to ask a Lycan if he could manage shifting a few boxes around. And since the man was trying to give her some time with her friend before she left town
and
he was taking care of one of her list items for the day, she couldn’t help but notice that he was trying.

“Thank you.” She said it before he had a chance to change his mind. There was a lot of junk in her garage, and
she
didn’t want to move it.

She and Kenna moved to her room, but not before Kenna poured her a cup of coffee and spiked it with a large amount of milk and sugar. At the second spoonful, Lizzie had smiled. Now settled on the loveseat at the end of the bed—thankfully cleared of miscellaneous clothes the day before—Kenna eyeballed her.

Lizzie took a sip of her coffee, and laughed. “I must look worse than I thought. You’ve doctored up my coffee like you do when something really bad happens. I’ll be on a sugar high for hours.”

“Hmm. Did you cry yourself to sleep last night?” Kenna asked, looking at her thoughtfully.

“Humph. No, just allergies. Though I might have briefly considered crying.” Lizzie put her coffee on the dresser and busied herself yanking a suitcase out of her walk-in closet.

“But now you’re okay?” Kenna asked.

“Now I’m okay,” she confirmed.
Dang it.
Her suitcase was wedged between a box of scarves and an old photo album. She tugged a little harder. Her bag almost fell on top of her as she gave it a particularly good solid yank. Moving the bag to her bed, she unzipped it and started tossing clothes inside. “He’s coming with me. I think.”

Lizzie could see Kenna still on the loveseat. Lizzie kept throwing clothes in her bag or shoving them back in her closet, debating how much to tell Kenna.

“You think. Last time I talked to you, you couldn’t say with any confidence that you were still dating. And now he’s going to Prague with you. You guys move fast.” Her snort of amusement didn’t fool Lizzie. Kenna was definitely worried about her and John. “Not that I’m saying that’s a bad thing. I’m just having a hard time keeping up,” Kenna clarified. “All right. You need to spill. John was gone yesterday—to see the pack? What’s up with that? And he’s back now. So you guys are good? But I’m thinking not, because there was some awkward going on in the kitchen. And how exactly does John feel about this whole Prague thing? And how do you feel about him coming with you? Shit. Can he hear everything we’re saying?”

Once Kenna took a breath, Lizzie laughed. “Exactly how much coffee did you drink while you were waiting for me?”

“Only two cups, so don’t get all snarky on me. Besides, you can’t talk to anyone else about this stuff. I’m all you’ve got.” Kenna scooted her butt back on the loveseat, making more room for her legs, and then she crossed her ankles.