Defensive Magic: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 3) Read Free

John continued. “I should call your father.”
    By now, it was clear that John knew him. Hell, he knew his father. It made sense that the important players in the Lycan world would know one another, but since they were generally wary of outsiders, she’d underestimated the connections between packs. She wrinkled her nose. Pack politics.
    Posture stiffening again, the blond said, “My father’s not involved. I came on my own.”
    “Oh, I’m sure of that.” Turning to Lizzie, John said, “Let me introduce David Clark. You know his father, Grant Clark.”
    “Alpha of the Idaho Pack, Grant Clark?” Lizzie asked incredulously. Lizzie gave David a hard stare. “I don’t remember you being there when Grant kidnapped me a few weeks ago.”
    He shifted his weight back, and his gaze darted away and back again. “Yeah, about that. I’m really sorry you were involved in that mess.” He even looked like he meant it. She couldn’t believe this guy.
    “Are you kidding? You feel badly about my kidnapping, but you’ll come to my home and plant a nasty note and threaten my boyfriend—I mean, my mate.” She’d worked herself into enough of a huff that she misspoke.
    And then she remembered—she had naked guys in her yard and little privacy with her vine-covered wrought iron fencing. Worse, the fence running along the back side of the yard was unencumbered by greenery and gave a terrific view out onto the adjacent greenbelt. She liked her neighbors, and they still thought she was normal. She’d love to keep up that illusion for at least a little longer.
    “If we’re sure he’s not going to do anything crazy, maybe you guys could get dressed? Or come inside and out of the yard?” Lizzie hated to point out the obvious, but—the neighbors.
    John lowered the gun and turned to the house. Lizzie glanced between him and David. What the heck? Apparently, John didn’t consider David much of a threat. That thought flitted through her mind as she contemplated John’s broad and completely vulnerable back. Her poor mind couldn’t shift from nail-biting fear to trust in thirty seconds, and she’d really rather John’s didn’t either. Her brow puckered in annoyance.
    Over his shoulder, he threw out an invitation to David. “Beer?”
    She poked John in the back and said, “Are you kidding? If he murders us in our sleep tonight, I’m totally blaming you.”
    There was a muffled noise from behind her. “And if you even think about laughing, mister, I can always still shoot you.” She paused. “Or call your dad.” Ha. That shut him up.
    Thinking back on the fight, it was becoming clearer to Lizzie that John had never felt the same sense of fear or the same level of threat that she had. The problem was she’d been terrified for him. She’d suffered the same adrenaline dump and fear that any harrowing experience delivered. What the hell was going on here? Her frustration was compounded by jet lag and the shaky, nauseated feeling of exhaustion that always followed in the wake of terror.
    She took a slow breath, trying to ease the nausea. She just wanted to go to sleep. Or take a shower, she thought, as the icky feeling of having her personal belongings handled returned. What she didn’t want was to entertain a wannabe murderer. She scowled at John’s back as she followed him through the living room. Her scowl deepened when the sight of John’s bare back reminded her that the wannabe murderer was starkers. She snagged the throw off the couch and paused only long enough to toss it over her shoulder. He’d have to be an idiot not to understand what that meant.
     

Chapter 3
    A fter the three of them settled around the kitchen table, beers in hand, Lizzie decided if she had to be awake she would at least interrogate their guest. Drinking beer with someone who’d tried to hurt John was bad enough. Doing so in ignorance was more than her tired, mushy brain could handle.
    To top it off, the three of them were a sight. She was