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But Finn is in his element. He walks away with purpose and then stops, turning to point at them. “Hey, just…don’t touch anything. This place is full of all kinds of irreplaceable shit. I’m just over here.” He points to a sign that has arrows indicating 133.00 to 133.99.

Weaving through the maze of shelves with a confidence that suggests he’s been here many times before (which he most certainly has not), his steps are sure and deliberate. He doesn’t hesitate, barely glancing at the volumes around them as he disappears through the rows of aging books.

“The scent of blood from before? It’s really strong here,” Nix whispers, though his voice barely disturbs the quiet.

Grayson isn’t surprised now that he thinks about it. No doubt buckets of blood have been shed in the creation of these works of art. There’s a reason the saying says “blood, sweat and tears.” It applies to artists almost as much as it does to soldiers.

The wolf isn’t interested in the scent of old blood amongst the books and artifacts, though. Not as much as he is the scent of patchouli. There’s an energy associated with the scent, and he gives in and follows the wolf’s nose.

Leaving Nix and Gideon to trail after him, his heartbeat picks up as he passes rows labeled with 298…299…finally slowing when he gets to a twelve-foot tall shelf of books with a row of scrolls along the very top.

Grayson slides a tall brass ladder silently back along the runners until he stops at 299.2. There aren’t any signs other than the numbers themselves, and Grayson supposes it’s because anyone who is this far into rare collections must already know what they’re here for.

Nix sits in a chair nearby at a long table and digs inside his multitude of sweaters for a snack, only to stop abruptly at the sign that threatens dire expulsion if anyone is caught eating in the special collections areas. “Darn it. Gray, what are you looking for?”

“My thoughts exactly, Kitten. Gray, unless you’re planning on reordering these priceless tomes for sheer chaos alone, then please, get your ass down. I think we should find Dr. Merritt and get out of here.”

“My spidey sense is tingling, too,” Nix shivers, their bond jolting when Grayson ignores them both.

He runs his finger along the series of scrolls on the uppermost shelf untilhe reaches one at the bottom of the stack. It’s the strangest thing—to think these irreplaceable silk scrolls are just lying about—but when Grayson touches this particular one, he gets a jolt of magic.

It’s different from the low-level spells he can feel emanating from every artifact in the place. No doubt, it must take an army of magic users to maintain even the minimal protections across so many floors. Finn had once told them that shifts of magic users were required to keep Lupine General cloaked from humans in Nashville on the spell’s anniversary. But this doesn’t feelbigso much as it doesintense.

As it is, the silk of the scroll should crumble when he slides it out—thousands of years old as it is—but its gold-carved finial glows in the ambient light. And on the tail of that jolt of protection magic, there’s something else—something familiar. It makes the wolf insistent, and, not for the first time, Grayson finds himself following the wolf’s instincts.

“I just need to look at this one thing, okay?” He takes the silk scroll down and then places it on the table where Nix is sitting. Gideon helps him unroll it along the table. It’s written in Sumerian, and where Grayson’s grasp of Sumerian is nil, he has a startling recognition of the ink drawings along its surface.

“Holy fucking shit balls,” Nix whispers, as he brushes a fingertip along his own likeness, then Luca’s.

There’s a hitched breath when Gideon finds his image, in ink but with gold inlaid over his garments, denoting rank. “What is this?”

“I don’t know…fuck, that’s a lie. Sorry. I think…I think I drew this.”

Nix’s head tilts, and his eyes pop wide. “The dreams. I had one in the car! Was thatyou?”

“I think it’sus, Angel. I’ve been having them since we bonded, and now they’re even stronger. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Why? What if they’re not dreams at all, and they’re…what? Past lives? Or other lives? Why would you be sorry?” He grins and moves around the other side of the table. “Look! Leo has long hair! And where is Jamie?”

“Right here,” Gideon murmurs, a finger caressing the figure painstakingly etchedto his likeness’s right, dressed in a red coat. Shoulder to shoulder, much as they are today. The artist—Grayson—has given Jay from that era alpha-red eyes.

Gideon scrambles for his phone, opening the camera before taking a few photos. They’re black when he tries to see them in the phone’s gallery.

“They’re covered by a protection spell, but it’s not the library’s,” a soft voice murmurs from behind them.

They’d been so enthralled with the ink drawings on the scroll that they hadn’t even heard or smelled the newcomers.

It’s the MRI technician, Emmy, from the hospital, and she is with an older woman who looks remarkably like her. The older woman has long, graying black hair and a whiteSpongeBob and PatrickT-shirt stretched over her ample bosom.

Gideon is around the table in an instant, pulling Nix behind him in the blink of an eye. Their omega squawks and wriggles to be free, but the wolf is grateful his King has moved his soulmate out of the way because where Emmy is entirely a normal human, the older woman is not.

Magic radiates from her every pore, glowing bright orange from the center of her chest, causing her hair to swirl and wave in the still library.

The wolf doesn’t wait a single second before he cracks open the place Grayson has avoided for months. A flood of power surges out from his soul and he hears Nix cry out. Without taking his eyes off the magic user he can see Finn barrel into their row out of the corner of his eye. He drops the stack of books he’d been holding when the wolf gently nudges him toward Gideon with a gust of air.

“Leave,” the wolf growls, and he uses his palm to push the same gust of air toward the magic user. But she meets the magic with her counter-gust, and the surrounding books and scrolls fall to the floor.

“Aw…no. Not the books, Gray.” It’s the last thing Grayson hears before he lets the wolf—and the magic—take over.