Page 25 of Bitten

Ralnur turned back to his side and curled up. Theis stared at the man’s curved back, his withered frame, and knew the warlock had given up.

“I’ll bring in the healers now… they’ll feed you the blood you need… and if you fight them, you will regret it,” Theis murmured. His face fell. He hated to have to utter the words. “By the gods, Ralnur—don’t make this any uglier than it has to be. I beg you.”

“Whatever you feel you need to,” Ralnur said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You only delay the inevitable.”

Theis stepped out into the hallway and urged the healers on. He turned and watched once they rolled in and set up the IV, hoping the warlock didn’t refuse. From what he knew, a specially made needle for vampires had been enchanted to puncture his skin. That would explain the alarms as they entered.

He ignored the sound, watching as the healers connected the bag of blood. Theis knew it wouldn’t work as well as ingesting it, but if it could keep him alive long enough until a decision could be made…

It would have to do.

Once the flush came back to Ralnur’s no longer sunken cheeks, he left, hating the situation they all now found themselves in.

* * * *

Inside the Library of Midnight…

Caelian Goodeknight scanned the old tome, his vision beginning to blur together. He lifted his stare and rubbed both eyes with the backs of his hands before gazing back at the same lines once more. How Theis thought he could find a needle in the haystack was beyond him. He leaned back in the hard chair, trying to get comfortable. After finishing the next two pages, he looked up again, staring at the towering stacks before him.Thousands of books spread out along the twenty-foot-high row before and behind him—and those were only two out of the hundred or so stacks in that hallway alone. The Library of Midnight contained over three billion books—if not more at this stage.

Enchanted quills wrote the histories as they happened, filling up book after book with stories of the otherworldlies—paranormal beings like himself.

He glanced to the side and saw his gold-plated babysitter—a cat shifter guardsman who looked as if he was fighting sleep. The library was good for that. The quiet, along with the dust and smell of old books, had that effect on many. He’d napped a time or two amidst the stacks when he was supposed to be working.

A pile of old books slammed beside him, breaking the tranquility. Caelian jumped at the sound, his head whipping to see the cause.

His grandfather— Hoefsra the librarian—glared down at him, his eyes looking bug-like through his thick glasses. “I thought these might be of interest in your search.”

“I didn’t ask for your help, old man. Nor did I tell you what I’d been asked to search for.”

“You think I don’t read the histories being written? I know about the king’s uncle—and their desire to find who changed him. What else could it be?”

Caelian frowned. It was illegal to read the histories as they were written. Only after a span of time had passed were they permitted to be read—once those written about were long gone. But then, Caelian had gotten his knack for rule breaking from someone. Might as well see what he knows.“Did they record who did it? Who changed Ralnur?”

“Nay,” his grandfather spat, staring over the rim of his thick glasses. “Whoever it was, knows strong magic if he can hide well enough to mask his trail on paper and their video security. Theis seems quite sure it’s a vampire—I think he’s barking up the wrong tree. And you are, too, if that’s the direction you search.”

“It’s the only direction I have,” Caelian said.

His grandfather nodded toward the stack he’d just placed on the table. “Now you have another.”

Caelian eyed his grandfather a moment. “Why are you helping me?”

Hoefsra was silent a moment, averting his gaze. Out of the hundreds of grandchildren the elf had, Caelian was one of the only ones who’d even attempted to forge a relationship with the old goat. And failed. Hoefsra was obsessed with books, so much so that he’d turned his back on family—leaving his wife and children behind to become the Master Librarian.

He never left the walls of the library. Once, there had been dozens of clerks and historians who filled the archive. Hoefsra had pushed them all out until he’d had the collection for himself.

He’d rebuffed his children. Ignored his grandchildren when they’d come to meet him.

Caelian had decided to try another tactic. He’d come to the library—and simply read. He’d read every book he could get his hands on, learning the old languages on his own. He’d learned the stacks and even assisted his grandfather without being asked, reshelving old tomes others had carelessly left out. As large as the library was, there was no way the man could do all the work on his own. In time, his grandfather had taken notice—with some disdain at first, but eventually the old curmudgeon had seemed to accept him there.

Until Caelian had unknowingly entered a section on dark magic that his grandfather had apparently forgotten to lock up. Caelian had taken down an old book from a shelf and nearly lost himself within it.

Hoefsra had saved him—only to rip him a new asshole.

No… it had been worse than that.

Hoefsra had laid into him so harshly, cutting so deep that Caelian still bore the internal scars of that tongue lashing to this day. Hoefsra had a darkness to him—a darkness Caelian didn’t wish to be touched by.

Caelian had said on that day he’d never step foot back in the library. And now here he was, forced to return by king’s order, searching for that needle in a haystack he knew he’d simply never find.

---