She leaned toward him to look. The language flowed across the page in careful strokes. Beautiful. Balanced. Completely unreadable. “I can’t read that.”
“I know. Very few of us can.”
She rubbed at her eye, fatigue pressing in. “I don’t mean any disrespect whatsoever.”
“I feel disrespect approaching,” he said.
Was that sarcasm? She opened one eye. “I just think it would be okay if one of the pack elders read the grimoire. You’re a great guy, Solomon. You’re intelligent. But I also think you miss subtlety and sarcasm.”
He looked down at the book and then back up at her. “You think there’s sarcasm in this ancient tome?”
“That is not what I’m saying.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re very literal. There may be gray areas you haven’t noticed.”
“That is possible,” he agreed. “However, the rules state that the librarian keeps the grimoire during any challenge situation. I was voted to be the librarian.”
“Yes,” she said. “But can I look at it if it stays in your possession?”
He leaned back in his chair. “I don’t see why not.”
Hope stirred in her chest. “Okay.”
He pushed the book to the side. “Feel free.”
She walked forward, her heartbeat picking up. “Could I copy it?”
“No.”
Her shoulders slumped. “Come on.”
“Absolutely not. You can read it. You cannot copy it. You are not taking it anywhere. The rules are clear.”
She cocked her head. “They didn’t have copy machines when this was written.”
He blinked.
“I don’t even think they had machinery,” she pressed. “I’m pretty sure they didn’t even have cars.”
“They didn’t,” he said.
She threw both hands up. “Then how can it say it can’t be copied?”
He sighed and tapped the middle of the page. “It says it right here. These words belong to this binding alone. To lift them from their place is to break them. What is broken will not serve the pack.”
She leaned closer, squinting. “Is that really what it says?”
“Yes,” he said, sighing heavily. “Part of it is about the words and the brokenness. But the elders also didn’t want any portion of our laws, histories, or customs shared with other packs. By preventing people from writing anything down, they kept it from spreading.” He shrugged. “Or you can believe the magic. I don’t know. Either way, you may not copy these words. Anywhere.”
“Okay,” Nadia said. She caught a shadow moving on the other side of the kitchen. “Caidrik is outside. I’m not done talking about this.” She moved through the kitchen to the sliding door leading to the back deck.
Caidrik stood tall and broad on the other side of the glass. Today he wore faded jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt that stretched across the wide muscles of his chest. His boots were thick and worn. Somehow, he never seemed cold. Even standing outside, framed by winter light, he looked solid and unbothered.
She opened the back door. “Don’t you ever get cold?”
“Yeah,” he said. “When I dive into rivers to save smart asses.”
She gulped. “Excuse me?”
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “You and I are going to have a talk.”
