Page 12 of Bitten

“Yeah,” Theis said. “But you still told us a lot of information. Information that could get you killed. If we shared the source of it.”

Caelian’s eyes closed again. He squeezed them shut before reopening them. “What is it you want me to do?”

“We need a researcher. Someone to comb through the archives, looking for information. Discreet research… in exchange for that protection spell. I can have the king himself create the spell.”

“Word on the street is the king’s magic isn’t as juiced as it once was.”

Theis eyed the man. “Is that so?”

“He was attacked twice… nearly killed. His magic didn’t save him. Who says it’ll save me?” Caelian asked.

“He’s the strongest warlock in this city.”

“Obviously someone else holds that place, if someone had the king running for his life,” Caelian said.

“Where do you get all this information?” Theis demanded.

“I hear things,” Caelian said. “I spend my days hustling to make a dollar. You see and hear things out there on the streets.”

“When you could be working in the archives and making an honest living.”

Caelian’s face fell. “Have you met my grandfather?” The Library of Midnight’s head—and only—librarian was one major piece of work.

“I have.”

“Would you want to spend hours on end every day of your life with him?” Caelian chuckled. “And don’t tell me he won’t last much longer. The bastard is five hundred and sixteen. He’s outlived his wife, his siblings, all twenty of his children, and a few grandchildren. None of his over a hundred living grandchildren speak to him. Including me.”

“Are there any other of his grandchildren who know the old languages? Maybe they would be more cooperative than you. And they wouldn’t need a protection spell, either. Saves us a lot of time and worry.”

Caelian eyed him. He needed that protection spell… more than anything. “None. I was the only one who could handle him for any length of time.”

“What changed?”

Caelian didn’t answer. The things between him and his grandfather weren’t something he wanted to repeat.

Theis narrowed his lids. “Look, it’s truly none of my business what went on between you and him. All I know is the king has commanded me to search for answers and I need help with that. I don’t speak the old languages, and your grandfather has no time to help me. Either you do it, or I fail my king. Either you do it, or you leave this building looking over your shoulder, wondering if someone will figure out you sang like a bird in here.”

Caelian remained silent a few more moments before releasing a slow breath. “Fine. I’ll help you. But I don’t have to be nice to the asshole.” He paused. “And when this is done and over, I’m not stepping foot inside that archive ever again.”

* * * *

Later that night…

Kane slipped silently into Ralnur’s hospital room and slowly approached the bed. Above the scent of sanitizer and medicine, he could faintly catch the aroma that was all Ralnur. Lavender. A hint of pine. And a slight musky, earthy scent. Need sliced through him so rich, so raw… if he’d needed much air to breathe, he’d be on his knees, gasping. As his body lingered between life and death, his organs needed very little to keep him moving.

He spied the man in the bed as he approached, curled up and shaking in pain.

Mine.

The voice growled inside his mind. He winced, hating the instinct that came over him upon seeing the man. Now was not the time for lust, not when Ralnur was struggling to survive. Even if Ralnur had been in better shape, Kane still would’ve fought that desire.

He wasn’t in any shape mentally or physically to bring another into his life.

Kane had a war to wage. Bringing Ralnur into that would be dangerous for both of them. He didn’t need a weakness… yet he could see this man was already a weakness.

He stood there studying the warlock’s turmoil, willing himself to leave.

Willing himself to give this man the peace he deserved.

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