Page 34 of Saving Destiny

I’d stopped considering Addington a father many years ago, and I only addressed him in that manner because of habit and his preference. The first time he destroyed something important to me, he'd ceased being part of my family. Garrett became the only one I considered a close relation until I arrived at the library. I’ve seen Zosia and my fellow guardians in my visions for years and already think of them as family. In these visions, the library was our home. I'd occasionally wandered this floor, but even my farseeing abilities couldn't pierce its mysteries. I'd seen only fog.

The fog remains and makes it impossible to glimpse the floor in its entirety, but it doesn't obscure everything like it did in my visions. Objects beyond my immediate field of vision are shrouded, though. The magic blurs my vision and forces me to focus only on what’s directly in front of me.

The overwhelming power and magical energy within the books, the furnishings, and the air I breathe should be suffocating, but it has the opposite effect. It's freeing. The intensely arcane and foreign attributes soothe the constant frenetic activity of my thoughts and body. Just like Zosia’s calming presence and touch, it encourages deeper breathing and a refocus on my intentions and emotions. The ancient magic and the sphinx provide the unknown element I've lacked since my birth.

I wander without aim between the massive bookcases but stuff my hands into my pockets to resist touching anything. So many books .... Some are bound in leather or hides, and a few appear etched onto thin pieces of bark or wood and bound together with vines. One section contains only scrolls wrapped in a nearly transparent sheet of bamboo.

The glitter of runes and spells sparkle brightly around the oldest treasures; it's clear that magic is the only thing conserving them. Unfamiliar languages surprise me at every turn. Addington ensured I received education in various ancient tongues, and I’m certain his ultimate goal included deciphering some of these ancient artifacts. I still only recognize a few, though.

The central atrium should permit noise from the ground floor to echo high into the dome and the tenth floor, but this place is as silent as a tomb. The secretive stillness is appropriate because I stand amidst the corpses of trees and long-lost materials that belong to a different world. This world saw the dawning of human abilities to compose, scribe, and translate thoughts into pictures and language.

My eyes widen with wonder and excitement when the bookshelves open into an area with glass display cases; it reminds me of a magicless museum. Stronger, more intricate spells protect the entire area, but they don't prevent me from creeping closer. The first case contains stone tablets inscribed with a language that I recognize as Sumerian. Historians, supernaturals and magicless alike, would pay a fortune to examine these, but very few know they're here.

The first tablet is a famed relic that once belonged to Moses – a mage who could manipulate the element of water with ease. He’d written the rules, which some termed commandments, when a small sect of supernaturals sought to enslave the magicless humans they coexisted with. Fourteen hundred years later, Jesus – also a powerful mage – joined the effort.

Neither could have foreseen the possible consequences of their actions; they didn't realize that the magicless would use their teachings to support the eradication of supernaturals. They'd had mostly good intentions by all accounts because they sought to sow the seeds of cooperation and peace between the two races, but some among them sought power. The few armed with corrupt plans caused wars and conquests of hate by twisting the mages’ original words and infusing them with prejudice and fear.

I don’t have time to inspect every case. The original reason I climbed the many steps compels me to return to the bookcases. One of my many tutors once compared me to a powerful mage named Michel de Nostredame, also known as Nostradamus. It was rumored that he possessed powerful foresight and that he'd written a book detailing his visions. Few of the magicless realized that he’d penned another text too – one that detailed the difficulties and struggles he’d faced while attempting to manage his ability. I set the intention of procuring this particular book in my mind and hope that the library will aid me. The potential of the library’s magic to lead someone to their goal without needing to search through tedious catalogs might be one of the most brilliant aspects of her power.

Midway through my perusal of fourteenth-century European authors, a sudden rush of warmth distracts me. It starts in the center of my chest, where my connection to the sphinx is strongest, before spreading down my torso and into my pelvis. My cock swells with unfamiliar insistence as desire floods me. The heat reminds me of how I felt when Zosia watched the vampire feed on me. My lips twitch with amusement as I realize what must have caused the sensation. I’m uncertain if Avery pushed pleasure magic into his bite, but it appears that our innocent librarian experienced the effects regardless of his intentions.

A roar of pain and frustration echoes from the weight room, but I’m certain it’s a figment of my imagination. Sound shouldn't travel that far, and I'm fairly certain the entirety of our apartments are sound-proofed with magic, just like our individual bedrooms.

The library's magical pulse increases as if she shares Zosia's sexual climax before they both melt into perceived satisfaction. I might be imagining this as well, but it's entirely possible that the library feeds on her caretaker's pleasure. The sphinx's abilities are powered by the library, and few acts are as pure as an unguarded release.

Addington believed that a shifter's orgasms manifested and amplified their power. My brother and I endured several lectures on the importance of containing that energy. Our asshole of a father instructed us to capture that energy and use it to bolster our strength instead of releasing it into whoever we fucked. I remember my brother joking about it the minute we were left alone; he'd said that was the reason all of Addington’s partners acted bitter, cold, and unsatisfied.

As the waves of Zosia's powerful release start to ebb, my emotions crash with it. I fall to my knees on the wooden floor. A cracking sound accompanies the impact, but I ignore the pain. My momentary desire withers as unwanted memories overwhelm me. The man we'd been forced to call father began bringing women to my bedroom after I’d turned fourteen. Addington said it was the only way to learn how to control our urges and preserve our power. The first few times, he’d stayed to watch, and my body refused to rise to the occasion. He’d punished me and hurled insults, but Rhett had convinced him I needed privacy. I hadn't realized until then that he'd been doing something similar to my brother for years. Garrett hadn't told me to protect me.

Most of the women the alpha brought to our rooms had been generously bribed and seemed willing. Some had been blackmailed but were indifferent. Others had acted dazed; they'd clearly been drugged or enchanted. The females represented every race, species, and power level – from magicless to supernatural. They’d been short and tall, curvy and skinny, dark and light, young and old. When I’d sensed a woman’s true desire for me, or she'd begged me to do what had been demanded because the outcome would be worse if I didn't, I'd followed through. I hated myself every single time, regardless of the woman's consent. Rhett endured the same abuse.

I rarely allow these memories to surface. Instead, I keep them locked deep inside me behind a supposedly impenetrable barrier. The possibility of intimacy with Zosia, the only woman I've ever desired without coercion, has coaxed the memories from their prisons. Can I share her bed without suffocating under the weight of this trauma? If I'm with her, I'll do the opposite of what Addington impressed upon us. I will gladly gift her with every spark of power our pleasure creates; this is part of her guardians' purpose. Sphinxes possess higher sex drives than most supernaturals. Their lovers give them power and energy, and it's one of the reasons why they're encouraged to have more than one partner.

The air shifts around me. It’s the only warning I receive before I’m no longer alone, but the pleasant drone of goblin wings reassures me. I remain on my knees, mesmerized by the glittering runes etched into the planks of the wooden floor, and try to maintain my rhythmic breathing before my magic decides to take advantage of my weakness.

“Och. Da sphinx tends to attract trouble outside the library, but ye guardians might be the most troubled group I’ve seen.” The words are faintly judgmental but not untrue and spoken in a compassionate but unfamiliar accent.

The hum of wings stills. I manage to turn my head to see an unknown library goblin leaning against the bookcase nearest me. His arms are folded over his chest. While he's still just a goblin, he's larger than Duggar. His eyes are different, though. It takes me a second to realize that the orange glow of the runes reflects in the black orbs like tiny flames. Eager to latch onto any subject but the one that drove me to the floor, my mind scrambles to identify him.

“Are you Gilly’s other husband?” I ask cautiously. I’m rarely so uncertain, but this goblin has only appeared once or twice in my visions. He isn’t as reclusive as the younger goblins, but he's special in some way. I try to guess how before he can tell me. Little puzzles and riddles are the best diversion from unwanted memories and wild magic.

“Aye. My brethren call me Finatan, but you may call me Fin. My duty is to guard the top floor, so you have wandered into my domain.” The lilting cadence goes in and out as if he doesn't know how to speak, and I can’t pinpoint the accent. Some words are vaguely reminiscent of the British Isles, but my understanding indicates that the goblins spend their entire existence within the library. They don’t have a homeland or place of origin. He might have created the accent, but why bother?

I didn't manage to solve the puzzle before he told me, and his permanence on the top floor partially explains his absence in my visions. My intuition suggests there's more to him than this, but I can't explain it. The glittering runes continue to burn in his eyes, and I sense stronger magic in him than I did in the others. It's understandable that the top floor boasts a dedicated guard; there's too much value here to leave it unprotected.

When another memory threatens, I grasp desperately for a different thought. “The book-eaters … have they been defeated?”

The goblin called Fin assesses me, and it feels like he sees right into my messed-up head. Choosing to answer my question feels like humoring me. “I admit we were struggling, but that burst of energy just now turned the tide. It helped to vanquish them. The battle is over.”

My eyebrows rise. “The burst of energy helped? I thought you and your family were the only weapons that could affect the creatures.”

“Aye, boy, but we'd gotten weak. Goblins need to be powered up once in a while. We get our power from the library, and she gets it from the hub.”

It takes me several seconds to process that thehubis actually Zosia. I don’t like the label because it reduces the amazing, multifaceted woman to little more than a power source.

“Not so,” the magical goblin says in a voice that manages to sound gentle and irritated. “A hub might be the center of power, but it’s also a nexus. A nexus is a connection or an apex and the binding point of several components. In this particular scenario, all of the components are people. I’m not only speaking of yer sphinx, either. She’s the same as us because she needs to up her power, too. Her guardians help her with that, although ye all have inherent power. We all need each other and the library, as ye know. It's symbiotic."

I sit back on my heels and stare at him. The position makes our heights almost equal. “Did you just read my thoughts?"

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