“Sorry! Had to get something to clean it up.”
He gestures to the books on the floor. Books that, thankfully, are still sealed. “Care to explain?”
“The wyvern acted up again, so I had to reseal the book. But I dropped my coffee and then went to get paper towels.” I hold them up as proof even as the lie of omission tastes sour on my tongue.
Mag narrows his brow. “You got them all sealed?”
“Do you see any open?”
“I suppose not,” he replies, though the suspicious gleam in his eye remains. “Thanks for covering.”
“Sure. Of course. No problem.”I’m rambling.“How did your brother do?”
“They lost,” he replies. “But still a good game.” Absently, he lifts the books and shelves them. “You’re sure nothing else happened? The energy here, it’s different.”
“Likely from my stress,” I joke. If the alarms didn’t go off, it means the gnomes were far too busy to raise them.Happy birthday, Ned.So as long as I can get the dragon back into the book and Hoc was not in the library when it happened—which, if he were, he’d undoubtably be down here beside Mag—I should be fine.
Keyword beingshould.
“Sure. Well, thanks. I owe you one.”
I kneel and sop up the spilled pumpkin spice. “Keep my spill a secret, and we’ll call it even.”
Mag grunts an agreement and then disappears into the stacks.
After throwing out the paper towels and now empty cup, I head back up to my apartment. Upstairs, I pause just outside the door and take a deep breath, heart pounding.
I will fix this.
All will be well.
Mood lifted by my confidence boost, I pull open the door and am met with an eyeful of the best ass I have ever seen. In fact—same as with his massive peen—I’ve never actually seen a man's ass in person, but it’s so damned perfect I feel educated enough to deem it the best ass.
World Class Ass. That’s what it should be called.
He turns to face me, and I snap my gaze up to his face before I can get caught checking him out. Our eyes meet, and I still, his piercing blue eyes captivating me. “You are alive.”
“Yes.” I step inside and push the door closed then flip the lock.
His stare is more of a perusal like he’s looking for something. It leaves me uneasy and strangely tingly in places I haven’t ever tingled before.
“What?” I demand.
“You are unharmed,” he adds, finally dragging his gaze back to mine.
I shiver. “Yeah.” My mouth is suddenly parched, but I can’t seem to make my feet move from this spot. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“This is a strange place,” he says, eyeing the small living room and ignoring my question. “What is this?” He points to my fish tank.
“Bruno,” I reply. “He’s my fish.”
“You cannot seriously get enough food from such a small creature.”
I gape at him. “He’s my pet! I’m not going to eat him!”
“A pet fish,” he comments. “Interesting. You said I am in a library.”
“Yes.”