Don’t do it. Keep yourass in the booth and watch her; that’s all you’re supposed to be doing.
Yet no matter how many times I repeat the mantra, my feet move in Amara’s direction of their own volition. It hurts to be around her and not intervene, to stop myself from whisking her away from this place and promise that no one will ever lay a hand on her again. Every flinch as someone gets too close dredges up another memory that I’ve spent centuries trying to forget. Every facial tic while she reads and subconsciously mirrors the actions, I find myself drawn deeper into her orbit, knowing that it’s only going to get worse.
She’s my legion-brother’s Fates’ given mark-mate, the one person on this earth that has the potential to ease the hollow ache in his soul or finish shredding what’s left of it. Yet here I am, unable to look away from the woman that was never meant to be mine, trying to figure out a way to challenge powers far greater than I can comprehend for her.
Setting the book down on her desk, I’m careful to stop several inches away from her fingertips when sliding it towards her. “Must admit, I didn’t see that one coming.”
Amara doesn’t even look up from her computer, the light of the screen dancing across the amusement in her golden eyes. “You said you were cool with romance.”
Losing the battle of indifference, my snort has her startling, jerking her head up to finally face me. “Reverse harem dragon erotica, though? How’d you convince the library to stock your monster porn?”
The rigidity in her muscles slowly fades. “What makes you think it was me that requested it? I haven’t even worked here long enough to develop that sort of influence.”
“It’s always the quiet ones. And you, Amara, would give a church mouse a run for its money.”
Her cheeks heat. “I prefer a ghost. Walk through walls, invisible, and haunt a library so all I have to do in my afterlife is read.”
Raising a single eyebrow, I counter, “You couldn’t flip the pages. A librarian ghost not being able to read when she finally has all of the time in the world? That’s ironic hell, not something to wish for.”
“No, I’d be one of the badass ghosts that moves things around to scare people away and screws with the lights. You’re just jealous I thought of it first. Get your own eternity, I called dibs on this one.”
My reply is cut off as we’re interrupted by one of the other employees asking her to reshelve a cart. She nods goodbye, going to work, and I’m forced to return to my booth. Day after day it’s the same thing, and it’s damn near impossible to focus on the words on the page in front of me. It’s one thing when it’s a book that’s associated with her in some fashion, but plucking a random one off of the shelf for the sole purpose of not looking suspicious is far more difficult to get into.
Hours tick by without me absorbing a single word, utilizing the time to take five minute dozing naps to keep myself functional when she’s nearby, and tracking her when she’s out of sight. Our senses aren’t nearly as honed as most shifters’, but like hell a single dragon will ever admit it; that’s a secret we’ve all collectively agreed to take to our graves. Rather than being blessed with sharper senses of smell or hearing, dragons are perceptive to anything out of balance. We’re empaths attuned to sharp spikes in emotion the same way a predator scents the bitter tang of fear, gathering a sense of our prey that transcends simple hunting instincts.
So when a sudden flash of fear jolts me out of my cat nap, I use the guise of searching for a new book to set eyes on her to settle the animalistic drive urging me to level the building and drag her home where I can ensure she’s safe. I find her without issue; I could do so blindfolded, I’m so in tune with the taste of her anxiety at this point. It’s far harder than I thought it would be to keep my distance, though, to simply monitor the situation and not intervene like I have some sort of claim on her.
Seven hundred miserable fucking years on this earth searching for peace, yet two weeks around this woman, and I’m ready to go to war with anyone that gets within five feet of her.
“I’m working, but thank you,” she politely declines, not fully turning her back on the guy, yet slowly inching away like she’s afraid of setting him off.
Not one to take no for an answer, the pompous jackass takes a step closer. “When do you get off tonight, then?”
His hand drops before he can grab her arm when I step between them to snag a random book off the shelf, his mouth clamping shut as he purses his lips. I never claim to be her boyfriend as an excuse to get him to fuck off; I don’t say a single word. I simply make myself an obstacle he’d have to get through in order to continue badgering her, and the silent threat is enough for the weak-willed human that doesn’t understand she’s worth fighting brutal sons-of-bitches like myself for.
Several tense seconds later, he backs off completely. It leaves Amara and I alone in the aisle, but I don’t dare open my mouth when every word burning on the tip of my tongue has the potential to tear my family apart when we’re already hanging on by a thread. While it’s fairly common for female shifters to take multiple mates, mark-mates are a different ballgame, a rare complication for us dragons. They’ve found their perfect match, the two of their souls intrinsically bound together. Even if she were open to the idea, there would always be the glaring reminder that first and foremost she’s Stone’s, and anyone else is unnecessary. Disposable.
Random book in hand, I return to my booth now that the threat’s halfway across the library, wishing it was something she recommended so I can get some more insight on the newest member of our legion.
I need to accept this. The longer I let myself fantasize, the more it’s going to hurt when I have to see her with him day after day. In our home, passing me in the halls, only to climb into Stone’s bed. She’s never going to be mine, and I need to stop pretending otherwise.
I feel Amara coming before I hear her, so attuned to her very essence already that I cannot fathom how she’s managed to elude her stalkers. I’ve barely spent any time with her, yet I’m fairly confident that I could track her to the ends of the earth.
Stopping a short distance away, a flash of determination crosses her face. “Don’t you have a job?”
Closing the book I’m not really reading, I pivot in my seat. Scanning her from head to toe, I note the nerves emanating off of her in tangible waves, the bunched muscles. And though it may piss Stone off, I make the call on his behalf for how to proceed. He’s been choked with indecision for too long, and she deserves better.
“Of course I do.” Not really lying, I slowly state, “But I’m laying low for a bit, and most of the people in the circles I run wouldn’t be caught dead in a library.” She gives no sign as to how my words are received, so I go for broke and ask, “Ironic as hell for people that have all the time in the world to explore different perspectives, isn’t it?”
There it is.
Her muscles tighten further, face pinching in a pained expression, and she takes an automatic step back. Holding her golden gaze unflinchingly, making no attempt to go after her, I mentally sigh in relief when she takes a cautious step closer, then another before she slides into the booth opposite me.
Resting her elbow on the table and cradling her cheek, she studies me for several silent minutes before muttering, “Fuck it.” More of a demand than a question, she stubbornly maintains eye contact, a flash of fiery determination transforming her features. “Is it a wild assumption to guess you have a contact for people whose birth dates start looking suspicious after a while?” Regardless of my answer, she’s putting herself out there, accepting that she can’t stay in this town much longer now that she’s damn-near admitted she’s a shifter.
“Not a wild assumption at all.” Cracking my neck from side to side, I lean back in the booth, even though it goes against every one of my instincts currently screaming at me. “Are you in the market?”
Weighing her words carefully, she dips her head. “Price depending.”
