Page 21 of The Mating Frenzy
When the doors opened in the basement, he stepped out of the elevator, his senses glad forescaping.
The basement was cool and the overhead lighting dim, round dome lights like the ones in his car. He walked between the tall stacked bookcases, calm descending upon him. This area of the library smelled like age and knowledge, two things he was intimately acquaintedwith.
At least here he could feel safe, and comfortable for a few hours, away from the rush of the outsideworld.
Halfway through the basement was a thick glass wall, protected by a door with a keypad by it. Kieran punched in the code given to him using his lefthand.
Soon as the door closed behind him, he felt the restrictive lack of air. He steadied himself and counted to ten. Being confined in this darkened room with low lighting was like being placed inside a glasscage.
That had already happened to him once. Never again. His jaguar growled, itching to be free of this place, much as his beast loathedelevators.
He inhaled the smell of parchment and leather, assuring his beast that this was a voluntarycage.
The archives were like a fortress bunker more suitable to sheltering people from overhead bombings, the impact glass housing them hard to break as he pressed his fingers against it. Still, it was no match for magick. He could use his strength to break it, ifnecessary.
Kieran took another deep breath, adjusted his eyesight to the lighting, andproceeded.
The beast calmed as the man’s delight in the treasures here became more obvious. The room seemed to stretch for nearly a mile, containing shelves containing scrolls and thick leather-bound volumes. Wearing the gloves Danica provided, he picked one up and saw it was a parchment letter penned by a 10thcenturyprince.
Written in Latin, it detailed the longing of the prince to unite his kingdom with arival’s.
He set it down carefully. All his years in the Winter Kingdom, he’d spent time at the king’s library, learning several ancient languages now considered dead in the Skin World. It was how he’d learned to escape tight situations in the past onEarth.
The tall shelving ended, blocked by another, even thicker, glass wall with a formidable door. Cabinets and shelving lay beyond the door and he could see the soft glow of a light peeking between thestacks.
Kieran remembered to enter this code with his left hand. The keypad lit up with a soft white glow, sparkling like fairy lights. Hegrinned.
So, not an ordinary archive room, but one containing writings for Others.Excellent.
He headed for the light at the end of theshelving.
The shelving ended, giving way to a section of tables with lamps upon them. At one table sat a certain becoming brunette, her head bent over a large book about half the size of the table. A cylindrical object and a notebook were beside the book, along with a pen, as if she’d been jotting downinformation.
Not wishing to alarm her, he cleared his throat. “Hello. Am I disturbingyou?”
Ella whipped her head up, her gaze filled with mistrust, and then pleasure and then wariness. “Hi, Sir Kieran. How did you getaccess?”
“Learning. Or trying to learn. Ancient languages are myspecialty.”
“I didn’t even hear you.” She shook her head. “Talk about being absorbed in mywork.”
And you would never hear me, except in your wolf form. I have spent centuries perfecting the art of stealth.He indicated an empty seat across from her. “MayI?”
At her nod, he sat down. “Why are you here alone?” He peered at the dark corners, the shadows in the stacks. “There are too many areas where a predator couldhide.”
“Danica never grants access to anyone.” She peered at him. “I’m surprised she gave you the code for this room. She never grants it to anyone butme.”
He wondered how Ella had gained access if she had not used the magick code. “Who lets you into thisroom?”
“Danica does. She has tight control over thissection.”
It made sense. The female called Danica probably had to use her own Other DNA imprint to open thedoor.
“I’m a scholar of ancient languages.” Kieran frowned. “But what if another man who intended to harm you walked backhere?”
A grim smile touched her face as she lifted a leather bag to the table. The shining gun she pulled from the bag gleamed beneath the tablelamp.
“Meet my friend, Smith and Wesson. I have a concealed carry permit and I’m a good shot. My boss knows and approves, too. Although I don’t know if this would fire in low oxygen, I figure the threat would give me enough time to getaway.”
