Defensive Magic: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 3) (9 page)

Hopefully by then he’d figure out exactly how much he wanted to tell Harrington. Their goals were aligned—but they weren’t the same. He had to decide if he was willing to expose the soft underbelly of the Texas Pack in exchange for information, or sacrifice the opportunity to gather the most relevant information and preserve an illusion of complete autonomy. All this assumed Harrington was in a sharing mood.
Fuck.

He entered the living room, clean-shaven and with a slightly better attitude. The routine tasks of shaving, brushing his teeth, and dressing had grounded him. He hadn’t been actively paying any attention to Lizzie’s phone conversation, but one of her questions caught his attention.

“So I’m not going to blow up myself or any volunteers, right?”

He almost laughed, but Lizzie’s question had been dead serious. She’d been touchy about accidental magic ever since she’d injured Worth a few weeks ago. Harry had explained that Worth’s injuries had been an indirect result of her snapping a magical connection Worth had forged between himself and John. But she couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that she might inadvertently throw a cast, thereby injuring someone. Her head knew that wasn’t how magic worked—that magic was about intent—but her soft heart wasn’t totally on board.

Other than hearing Harrington reply in the negative, John didn’t follow the conversation. Partially as a matter of etiquette, but primarily to build trust, he didn’t eavesdrop—unless there was a clear tactical advantage to be gained.

Lizzie spied him and immediately her demeanor changed, lightening. She motioned him closer. “I’ve got John here,” she said right before handing him the phone.

“Can I put you on speaker, Harrington?” John said as he walked into the kitchen.

On receiving an affirmative response, John clicked “speaker” and placed the phone on the kitchen table. “It’s just Lizzie and I,” he said as he sat down in one of the kitchen chairs.

Lizzie sat down next to him, hovering on the edge of her seat.

“Do you know where Worth is?” John said.

“No. He disappeared again after surfacing in Freiburg. IPPC has managed to freeze a large portion of the funds we discovered during our investigation, the hope being that he’d have some difficulty funding any current ventures.” Harrington paused, then asked deliberately, “Do you have reason to believe that he’s in the States?”

“Someone is stirring up conflict within the Lycan community. Worth or someone else, we don’t know. We haven’t discovered evidence that points in any particular direction, but you can understand why we’d be curious about his location.” What John wanted to ask was how the hell IPPC, with standing only inside the magic-using community, had affected results from legitimate policing organizations. No one else could have frozen Worth’s assets.

“You want to know if anyone else is capable and known to operate in the States.”

“If you can tell us that,” John said. And now the tricky part—to inform Harrington of the challenges, or not. Technically, it was Pack business and confidential, but he could swing retroactive Council approval given the circumstances.

“So—what exactly am I looking for? Other than a big operator in North America,” Harrington said.

John considered his words. “Opposition to growing cooperation among the packs. Opposition specifically to the Texas Pack. Anyone with interests counter to Lycan or, more specifically, the Texas Pack.”

“Basically, any criminal or radically traditionalist element in the magic-using community.” Harrington gave a small, very put-upon-sounding sigh. “Think you might narrow it down for me?”

“Contacts in Idaho, New Mexico, and Arizona.” John’s statement was followed by a moment of silence.

“And you know that how?” Harrington inquired mildly.

John caught the angry look on Lizzie’s face, which, for some reason, lightened his mood. “We’ve—
I’ve
had a few challenges originating from those pack territories.”

Harrington made sounds of objection. “If you think that using IPPC as your personal researchers is—”

Lizzie interrupted him. “Seriously? You think John would bring you into this—that he’d bring IPPC into this—if he could avoid it? If there weren’t bigger issues at stake?” The volume of her voice was increasing as she became more agitated. She only stopped because she was too angry to speak. It was cute. No, it was sexy. She rarely raised her voice—and her anger was certainly fueled by a desire to protect and defend him.

He winked at her, and he got a baleful glare in return. Which made him want to laugh. Why was it so much easier to deal with an ass when someone else was upset on his behalf? It was as if the burden of anger shifted from his own shoulders allowing him to think more clearly, be less emotionally engaged. And that moment—the one where his anger was assumed by Lizzie—that was when he decided to provide Harrington with the bulk of the background details. While he knew Harrington held IPPC’s interests above all others, he also knew there wasn’t a conflict between IPPC and the Pack’s interests. Not yet. And if he discovered one—well, he’d deal with that when,
if
, it happened.

When John had finished relaying the basics, Harrington said, “I agree. There’s evidence of some larger influence at work. I’ll get my people on it. We don’t have extensive files on players in the North American community, but we can also look for movement from Europe and Asia to your part of the world.”

“How long?”

Harrington drew an audible breath. “Maybe a week? Could be longer depending on how much information they’re wading through.”

The fact that Harrington didn’t know exactly how much data there was spoke to the ever- increasing size of the intelligence community IPPC was building.

“Good. Then I’ll look for something in a week.” John was surprised his request had gone so smoothly.

“Sooner if I come across something clearly pertinent.” After a curt good-bye, Harrington hung up.

First checking that the connection was terminated, John turned to Lizzie and asked, “Did he answer your mentor questions?”

“Close enough. I can at least experiment in good conscience.”

“You’re—” He started to speak, but then she chimed in and they said simultaneously, “Not going to blow anyone up.”

She pulled a small smile. “So claims Harrington. That’ll have to be good enough.”

John reached for his cell and checked the time. “Damn. I have to go in a few minutes.”

Lizzie frowned in confusion. “Are you going out?”

“Yes—the challenge.” And he felt any humor, any sense of rightness, disappear.

He’d been able to set aside thoughts of the challenge, however briefly. But now, the weight of his decision settled again on his shoulders, and with it a bitter taste filled his mouth. He thought it might be shame, but he wouldn’t dwell on his own needs and wants. His own sense of fair play and honor weren’t nearly as important as making an example of this challenger. He’d do what he could to keep Lizzie and the Pack safe.

Chapter 12

W
hat the hell? He was going to go
alone
? Unless she’d misunderstood, he’d just said he was going without her. Who was she? That’s right—just the Alpha Mate. Not that Lizzie knew what that meant exactly, but she was pretty sure it entitled her to witness challenges. And if it didn’t, it should.

“I’m going, of course,” she stated. No room for waffling, she had to sound firm.

John’s forearms rested on his thighs, and his hands were clasped loosely. His head bowed low, his attention focused on his hands. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

Since she couldn’t tell much from the top of his head, she waited for him to look at her. But he didn’t. Something was wrong.

“Are you worried you might not win?” She was terrified of that, but she hadn’t gotten the impression he was when he’d first come home from his run and told her about the challenge.

His head moved slowly from side to side. “Always a possibility—but no.”

Since that was her greatest fear, she wasn’t sure where to go from there. “Then what? What’s the issue?”

He finally looked up, and his eyes… The look in his eyes made her want to cry. Sad. And tired, like he wanted to give up. But mostly sad. “I don’t want you to see it.”

Her head was starting to pound. She took a breath, and that was when she noticed she was clenching her teeth. She took another breath and tried to make herself relax. Her anxiety certainly wouldn’t help John. Striving for a quiet and calm tone, she said, “I’ve seen you kill someone before.”

“Not like this. I don’t want you to see this.”

“Are you telling me that you’re worried what might happen will change the way I feel about you?”

Lizzie interpreted his silence as a yes. An emphatic yes. Unfortunately, she couldn’t dismiss his concerns out of hand. To do so was to minimize the effect his actions had on how she felt about him. She’d grown to love him because of who he was—and his actions were a reflection of him as a man.

Cautiously, she asked, “You have a reason for what you’re planning?”

He nodded once, his eyes never leaving hers.

“All right then. When are we leaving?”

He considered her words for a moment, appeared to reach some conclusion, and said, “Ten minutes. Ben’s driving.”

Good thing she was fast with the mascara and face powder, because it was more like seven minutes when she heard a car door close from the direction of the front drive.

She pulled her hair back in a hair tie as she walked to the front door. John had disappeared—in the garage?—so she answered the door. She blinked. And then blinked again. The man at the front door definitely wasn’t Ben. So was it truly shocking that she’d say something asinine like “You’re not Ben,” when she answered the door?

The wiry blond man of medium stature—who was clearly not Ben—raised his eyebrows and said, “No. He’s driving. Elizabeth Smith?” As he said her name, he reached a hand out.

She blushed, quickly extending her hand. It seemed her manners had taken a permanent leave of absence. Smiling, she said, “Yes. Um, Lizzie. Nice to meet you—”

“Scott. Scott Varner.”

She smiled again. “Nice to meet you, Scott.”

His hand was warm and dry, his grasp just firm enough to leave no room for her to feel fragile but lacking any attempt at intimidation. Something about him was appealing. His handshake, his friendly but not overly familiar smile—she wasn’t sure—but she wanted to like Scott Varner.

“Scott.” John had walked up so quietly, she hadn’t heard him join her at the door. He reached around her to shake hands. Turning to Lizzie, he added, “Scott is one of my enforcers.”

“Ready?” Scott asked.

Nodding, John motioned for Lizzie to precede him.

And there was Ben, in the driver’s seat of a new model black Escalade. As she walked to the truck, she realized her stomach was churning from nerves. The last challenge had snuck up on her. This was different—there was plenty of warning, which meant time for her to get well and truly panicky. Awesome.

Crap. These guys could all smell her anxiety. She kept forgetting, and then she’d remember at the most inopportune times. Might as well get it out in the open.

“John, I know you’re a machine, and that you’re totally going to kick ass. I have complete faith in you. I’m just panicking, because I love you. And I’m a worrier.” She might be speaking to John, but they’d all hear her. Yay, super-senses. But they’d also know she was speaking with complete honesty. There might be a way to fool these guys, but she hadn’t actually worked that out yet.

John gave her a small, close-lipped smile. “I know.” The underlying tension of their earlier conversation hadn’t dissipated, but he wasn’t going to revisit the conversation in mixed company. He opened the back door for her and followed her inside the car.

“Where are we going?”

Scott answered over his shoulder from the front passenger seat. “There’s a clearing on private property not far from here. We’ve used it for similar events in the past.”

Similar events? Lizzie wasn’t sure what that would be, but she wasn’t asking right now. Maybe she should, however, get some clarification on the rules before this thing got officially started.

“Anything I can or can’t do?”

John took a breath. “Stay out of the field. Stick close to Ben, and you’ll be all right. No interference once it begins.” He gave her a hard look. “None.”

She bit her lip but didn’t disagree. “When is it over?”

Her question was greeted with silence.

Eventually, John replied, “Death or an inability to continue.” But he didn’t look at her.

They lapsed again into silence. Lizzie was loath to break it. She had the basics, and she certainly didn’t want to interfere with any sort of mental preparation.

It was only another few minutes before they turned off the paved highway to a small, well-kept, gravel road. Maybe three or four miles down the road, they turned right onto an even smaller, grassy road. Scott hopped out of the truck to open a gate and immediately hopped back in, leaving it open as they continued on the road. It was more of a worn path in the grass than an actual road. After winding around some trees, Ben parked.

Ben and Scott both exited the car and moved through the small field they’d pulled up to. It was relatively private, enclosed on three sides by dense mesquite and trees. As they’d driven, the knot in her stomach had tightened, and now she felt physically ill. This was part of being with a man like John. She’d known that for some time, but that didn’t make the reality of it any easier.

She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. She wanted to give John a hug—to kiss him and wish him luck. But she could tell he didn’t want to be touched, so she clenched her hands tighter together.

“You can still wait in the car.” She thought she heard a hopeful hint in John’s voice as he spoke.

She tried to decipher something of his thoughts, but his face was inscrutable. One thing she did know—he didn’t want her to see whatever was about to happen, and she was pretty damn sure it wasn’t because he was worried about being hurt.

“Will it make you feel better?”