Page 58 of Gifted Destiny

“Bren might not suffice until I’m bonded, right?” I finish the sentence for him, and he nods. I’m not as upset as he expected me to be. I know Bren and I need to bond, but this provides an unexpected benefit. I don’t always have to be the one to appease Avery’s hunger if his assumption is correct.

“Soon,” I tell Avery, although I’m uncertain whether I’m referring to his meal or the bond. It’s not as if I can take a break from work to have sex. I have a job.

As if on cue, three students approach the circulation desk. My muscles tense as I force a stiff smile. Their haughty expressions remind me of the girls who pranked me during my short high school experience. They also resemble the type of female Addington might have chosen for his sons.

A wave of dizziness accompanies the rush of emotions the thought elicits. What if one of them was chosen? Has Garrett already been with one? Or all three? What about Bren? Anger,resentment, jealousy, and the self-pity I’ve been trying to eliminate since arriving here threaten to overwhelm me.

The woman in the center is beautiful, and everything about her is flawless. My new understanding of magic makes me aware that spells might contribute to her unblemished skin and thick hair, but I somehow doubt it. I don’t know anything about designer brands or jewelry, but she smells like money … if that’s possible. The two women to either side of her are perfect bookends. Neither outshines her, but their attractiveness complements hers.

Her expression indicates that she is superior to me, and I feel it in my crooked bones. My legs start to ache for no reason, and I want to retreat into myself like I used to do.

“You’re the new librarian?” Her voice is perfectly crafted to convey disappointment without an outright insult.

I half expect her to match every stereotype or cheesy web-toon by jerking her chin and forcing her minions to present her books, but she carries three of her own. Two are for a business class; the other is on the art of persuasive speaking. I’ve checked several out over the last two days. We have so many copies that the entirety of the dry text is burned into my librarian's brain. Her companions wordlessly step forward to place their books next to hers. The three piles are the same except for their identification cards.

I reach for the books, attempting to quell the shaking in my hands. Except for her question, which could be interpreted in many ways, she hasn’t done or said anything wrong. My past experiences are influencing my opinion of her.

“I am the librarian.” My reply is belated because I couldn’t decide whether to respond. It seems obvious.

My emotions have drawn Garrett back to me. He hasn’t been far since the detectives left, but he slips behind the desk as soundlessly as the cat he is. My jealousy raises my hackles,but his emotions are impossible to misinterpret. He knows this woman, but it’s not the deep familiarity of a lover, and his loyalty and affection toward me are unchanged.

The certainty of our bond calms me when the woman who spoke steps forward and taps her lacquered nails on the counter. The sound is grating, and I’m immediately on edge. I think I’m simply overreacting because the woman who’d tried to enchant Bren had worn fake nails, but the lurid red of the polish combined with the sound seems threatening.

My guardians sense my alarm and step closer while I continue the practiced motions of releasing the materials. According to her ID card, the speaker’s name is Beatrice Pascal, and her surname rings a distant bell in my mind.

Garrett’s hand lands on my shoulder, and the student’s eyes narrow on it accusingly. Her gaze is calculated and hungry, but her lust isn’t sexual. She craves his status and wealth. I have no idea how I know this, and I’m briefly distracted. Is it a superpower – a way to determine true threats?

“Why areyouhere?” Beatrice’s tone implies that she has just found Garrett lying in a dumpster instead of inside a supernatural wonder. The implied insult increases my irritation.

Garrett’s disdainful silence is more damaging than any reply. The manicured tips click faster, and the sound becomes nearly unbearable. I slide her books across the counter. Perhaps I push them harder than necessary or perhaps the library assists, but the thick texts collide with her tapping nails. The woman recoils with a quiet but dramatically enraged scream as if I’ve smashed her hand with a brick.

“You may think you’re important now, but you’re still a useless cripple.” She hurls the unoriginal slur triumphantly, as if scoring a victory.

I sigh inwardly. The entire scene is cliché and overdone. She doesn’t want Garrett the same way I do, but she insists on insulting me to soothe the perceived slight against her.

My sphinx side doesn’t care that the word has been wielded as a weapon several times before or if it’s uninspired. Her snarl harmonizes with Garrett’s growl and Avery’s hiss.

Confronted by three glaring predators, the two students flanking Beatrice instinctively edge away from the counter. Beatrice stands her ground, but her throat bobs when she glances toward Avery. I see the truth click in her mind – his delicate beauty hides a lethal hunter.

The library doesn’t react, and I can’t decide how I feel about this. Either she trusts me, or she has decided that banning every customer who insults me would result in an empty building.

“Leave now,” my sphinx commands. My teeth ache as they sharpen into deadly points, and my eyes burn with the heated sensation that suggests golden light. “I will let your disrespect pass with a warning this time only. If you return with an unchanged attitude, your library privileges shall be revoked.”

Beatrice’s eyes widen and her expression reveals her thoughts. She can’t believe that I – a nobody, a disabled woman, awhatever– is threatening her. She wants to scream with anger, but her companions are wiser. One keeps her gaze on Avery and the other watches Garrett. The clueless woman’s friends make up for her inadequate survival instincts. One darts forward to grab the books and cards with a mumbled apology, careful not to challenge our gazes, while the other drags Beatrice from the building.

I sag with relief when they are no longer on the library’s property. “The building will close in five minutes for lunch.” My words emerge in a customized voice that reaches all patrons regardless of their location. The next five minutes are a flurry of activity as students rush to the desk.

I hear more than one grumble regarding erratic hours, but the privileged students’ dissatisfaction is the least of my worries. The tickle of wrongness I sensed earlier is growing.

The men naturally gravitate toward me as the library closes. Their expectant looks make me wonder if they feel the strangeness as well. I rub my temples and wonder how I went from feeling wonderful to absolute crap in a few hours.

“Let’s search the library. Pay special attention to the areas and floors students visited this morning.” My words emerge as a command more than a suggestion, but they don’t question me. “I don’t know what we’re looking for, but something feels wrong. Use your connection to the library to help you search.” I follow with a shrug, unable to offer them more direction.

My three bonded mates immediately comply, but Bren stays with me. This distribution of duties happens without any conversation, but I understand the reasons behind it. Bren lacks a connection, and his power needs soothing. The student’s insults escalated the instability that began during the detectives’ visit. My mates don’t want me to be alone, either, even though a guard should be unnecessary while we’re closed.

Bren pulls up another chair while I admire the men’s efficiency. They each choose a different section without argument.

“Do you feel it?”

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