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

kidnapped by the Idaho Pack.
    Setting the note aside for the moment, John said, “I’m not sure the point was to win.”
    David’s nostrils flared, and his hand clenched reflexively on the neck of the beer.
    “I was approached by someone friendly to the Idaho Pack and offered a gift that would give me an edge. It’s not something I’d normally consider”—his breath puffed out quickly, but quietly, as if he was agitated but controlling himself—“but I thought a new start with new responsibilities might be a better situation for Anna. That it might make her happier, maybe give her a new purpose.”
    David’s nostrils flared again and a muscle jumped in his jaw. Shooting John a look filled with some intense emotion Lizzie couldn’t identify, he said, “I didn’t come here intending to die. I am an enforcer. And—you’re getting old.”
    How he said that with a straight face, Lizzie couldn’t guess. John wasn’t even forty. In Lycan years, he was in his prime and would be for some time. She looked more closely at the blond man. Good lord, he was a baby. His bulk and height had masked the obvious signs of youth. But now that she was looking, she’d guess mid-twenties at most.
    In the ensuing silence, David continued. “Rumor has it you’re not exactly up to your usual….” He stopped, his eyes shifting. Maybe finally realizing his information hadn’t been exactly spot on? She hoped so.
    “Go ahead, enforcer. I’m not exactly what?” John’s face had hardened.
    Oh. Uh-oh. John had really been shockingly good-humored so far. But apparently, David had been about to cross some line, and he’d realized it a hair later than a wiser man would. Lizzie sighed. He was young.
    She stood up, placing her hand on John’s shoulder. “Another beer?” The question was for John alone.
    He smiled slightly. “Thanks.” He turned back to David.
    “Shit. I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.” His elbows resting on the table, David dropped his head down and shoved the heels of his hands against his eyes. When he finally raised his head, his eyes were bleary and red, his voice anguished. “I don’t know what to do. I’m terrified she’ll leave me, or worse—she won’t and she’ll make herself sicker. I just wanted a new start for her.” He turned to Lizzie. “For Anna.”
    Lizzie bit her lip. “Anna’s your wife?”
    As soon as the question left her lips, she knew that, of course, Anna was David’s wife. Anna, the sweet, fragile healer Lizzie had met during a brief, forced stay with the Idaho Pack, was Grant Clark’s daughter-in-law. Since the toga-wearing idiot in front of her was Clark’s son, even Lizzie’s tired and jet-lagged brain could make the connections.
    With a quick bob of his head, David acknowledged that Anna was his wife.
    “How is she?” John asked, his voice gentle.
    “Recovering,” he replied tersely. “She had another miscarriage over the winter. Dad and I are worried…that maybe she’s…” He pressed his lips together and shook his head, not completing the thought.
    Lizzie remembered a frail, worn young woman with fine-boned features. At the time, she’d thought Anna recently ill or generally in poor health.
    After several minutes went by and David appeared to again be his more stoic self, Lizzie decided it was time to move the interview forward—the conversation was certainly no longer any kind of interrogation. “What was the item that allowed you to mask your scent?”
    “A bean.”
    “Huh?” Not her most articulate response. “A bean? I mean, how does that work?”
    David shook his head. “I have no idea. Honestly. I was told to swallow it when I wanted my scent wiped and that it would last for at least two hours.”
    After exchanging a quick glance with David, John burst out laughing.
    “What?” Lizzie looked from John to David, who was grinning, and back again. “Am I missing something? Is there something terribly funny about a murderous wolf with scent-masking