She liked that one the least. After all, Rook had one master. And Dominic Volkhov sure would give the devil a run for his money.
“Miss Hawthorne.”
Her name in his voice made her skin prickle. Quiet. Courteous. Dangerous.
Layla’s hands were steady only because she forced them to be. “Mr. Rook.”
Behind her, Maddie straightened. “Oh, hey there, welcome to The—”
Layla spun around. “Maddie, why don’t you and the history club ladies go and make a round of coffee before the meeting starts?”
Maddie blinked. “The meeting doesn’t start for half an hour—”
“Then now’s definitely the time to make coffee,” Layla said, her tone just sharp enough to make Maddie hesitate, and then obey. She called to the two ladies, who glanced with blatant curiosity at Julian, before vanishing with them through the doorway.
Silence filled the shop again, sharp as a knife’s edge.
Julian’s eyes followed Maddie’s exit for a moment before returning to Layla. “Human friend?”
“Yes,” she said. “She’s harmless.”
He gave no indication he believed her one way or the other. “You run this place?”
“I manage it.”
He inclined his head, as though tucking the fact away. “You’ve done well for yourself.”
He walked toward the counter, his steps silent, even on the creaky floorboards. Every movement felt deliberate, economical, contained. The air changed with him, like the room itself knew better than to get in his way.
Layla’s pulse thudded in her throat. She’d handled difficult patrons before. Arrogant elders, boisterous teens, even the odd nosy pack female sniffing after information on her brother’s relationship status. But Julian Rook was different. And he would not be easy to get rid of.
He stopped a few feet away. “I’m looking for something,” he said, voice even, “I was told you might help.”
Layla forced herself to meet his gaze. “That depends on what it is.”
“Rare texts. Local folklore, ancient records. Anything pertaining to hybrid legends.”
Her mouth went dry. “Hybrids?”
“I’ll trust you to treat this intel with all due…discretion,” he said, “but I’m afraid the rumors circulating are all true. The hybrids are getting closer. Establishing nests. I need to know how far back their presence runs in the region. I need to find them.”
Layla gripped the edge of the counter to keep from swaying. Relief and fear tangled painfully in her chest. At least he wasn’t asking about magic. At least, notyet.
She nodded, forcing calm. “We have a few references. Historical accounts, mostly speculative. Nothing recent.”
“That’s fine.” His tone didn’t change. “Show me.”
She stepped out from behind the counter, acutely aware of the space between them, and how little of it there was. Her heart hadn’t stopped racing since he entered, and she hated that he could probably hear it. Wolves could.
She only hoped he’d chalk it up to nervousness from his strange presence in her little shop, rather than fear that he might suspect something.
Julian’s gaze seemed to skim everything as she led him through the neatly kept rows of shelves. She saw them as if for the first time through his eyes. The precise handwritten labels. The plants spilling bright leaves over aging spines. The odd note here and there with thebookseller recommends.
When she stopped at the reference section, she kept her tone level. “These are the oldest we have. Some mention hybrid sightings, but it’s mostly superstition. Tall tales from the Russian rule.”
He scanned the spines without touching them. “You’ve read them?”
“Most of them.”
