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“I understand them. I swear I felt it say ‘Found you.’ Felt being the operative word, Roark.” After it chanted Drone through my veins. The hairs on my neck rose. “Something’s not right with me, and to understand what’s going on, I need to understand them. If I could get my hands on an entomology tome or maybe layman’s texts on natural selection and DNA mutation… I need a fucking library.”

He squinted at his curled fingers. I followed suit with impatience. What, did he need manicure?

When he raised his gaze to mine, my stomach dropped. My theatrics had put shadows in those deep green eyes. Oh, my fickle priest. What had I done?

He watched me, seemed to be debating something. Then he straightened his back, decision made.

“I must be a gobshite.” His tone was on the hurtful side of contemptuous. “There’s a university a few kilometers north.”

He stalked to the bike.

Roark found and repaired the break in the pipe without incident. A couple hours later, we stood in the cathedral style foyer of the college library. The mustiness of unused books stagnated the stuffy space. A high window streamed a golden bar of sunlight across the brick floor and illuminated the cloud of dust stirred up by our boots.

A whisper of jade peered from under his lowered lashes as he stepped before me. “We den’ know if we’ve been followed. Root quickly and den’ put the heart crossways in me again.”

“Hold on to your canaries. I’ll steer clear of trouble.”

Even bleak in spirit, his beautiful lips turned up. I rose on tiptoes and tilted a closed mouth over his. He met me with a tentative caress of lips. Too soon, he pulled back.

Head down, he nodded to the right. “Science and Nature is that way.”

We secured the building then separated in the closed off corner of the library. Three stories of stained-glass windows veneered the west wall and soaked up the last hour of sun. I scuffed down the aisles, loading my arms with every primer I found on bugs, evolution and genetics.

Honey-tinged curls flashed between the books one aisle over. I leaned on the shelf that separated us. He pretended to ignore me, keeping his eyes on the text he cradled.

I pushed a few books out of the way. “You must be in the 1000 Ways To Pleasure a Woman section?”

His lips teased a smile. “Actually, this is Temptress for Dummies, but…” He glanced up. “I’m on me way to the How To Make Her Bugger Off aisle.”

Dusty hardbacks framed his sculptured face. As we stared at each other through the opening, something crept from the green lagoons of his eyes. That something spiraled through me, reaching places I couldn’t reach myself. The way he looked at me, I felt attractive, admired, and secure. My body went rigid. I squeezed the books in my arms, thankful for the bookshelf between us.

He nodded toward the end of the aisle and disappeared in that direction. I followed. Snapshots of his heated expression flickered between the books as we advanced.

My mouth went dry. I planted my feet. What would I find at the end of the aisle? A neglected vow? If his control wavered, could I be strong enough for both of us? An irresistible impulse hummed through my body.

Listen to the song.

I lingered in the too quiet stillness, longing to go to him, arousal pumping my pulse.

The scuff of boot treads sent a bird flapping to the rafters. A soft thump up ahead. Another. Then Roark’s shout. “Run—”

My body jerked forward, my feet stumbling to catch up. Toward his voice and around the corner. The books plummeted out of my arms.

He was on his knees. A shotgun barrel pressed against his temple. The man behind the gun eyed me up and down. Twice. Deep pockmarks pitted his face. The curved beak that was his nose angled to the side, the misshaped cartilage toughened and old. His boot pinned Roark’s sword to the floor and out of reach.

A fist wrapped around my hair. “I don’t believe it,” a second man whispered, his pierced lips hovering inches from my face. Faded tattoos sleeved his arm, which aimed a sawed-off shotgun at Roark. “Are you real?” Rot wafted from his gaping jaw. His too-large head bobbled on a pencil neck as if it might fall off if he moved too quickly.

The daggers itched on my forearms. I could maim Pencil Neck next to me, but I wouldn’t be fast enough to stop Broken Nose from pulling the trigger. I needed one or both of them distracted. So I improvised. “I’m a demon sent by God in his scorn for man’s sins to entice thee with”—I cringed—“a voodoo vagina.”

Roark’s eyebrows climbed his forehead.

“Release this soldier of Christ and God will show mercy.”

Silence blanketed the library.

Broken Nose’s saucer eyes didn’t blink. “I thought women…I never thought I’d see one again. But here you are. In the flesh.” He thumbed his ill-fitted nostrils. “Let’s see the voodoo vagina.”