Page 16 of Courted By the Grumpy Dragon (Monsters of Saltford Bay #2)

Chapter Eleven

Nina

If this is going to be the library’s last Haunted House, then it’ll be one this entire town will remember.

I glance up from adjusting my witch's hat to find Kraxon standing in the doorway of the break room, looking absolutely miserable in his franken-dragon costume.

The green face makeup streaks unevenly across his golden scales, while the bolts are clumsily clipped behind his horns.

The old black suit jacket I borrowed from Theo for the costume stretches tight across his shoulders, the stitching already straining at the seams.

He looks ridiculous. And utterly adorable.

"No fire-breathing in the library," I remind him, fighting a smile. "It's on the same list as no running and no food near the books."

"I'll restrain myself." His voice is dry as dust, but there's a warmth in his golden eyes that makes my heart flutter. "Though I can't guarantee the same if Mrs. Stonemason asks me to demonstrate how Frankenstein's monster walks one more time. The woman is evil incarnate."

I step closer to straighten his crooked bow tie, my fingertips lingering against the smooth scales of his neck. "They love you. Especially when you growl."

"I don't growl," he protests, then immediately undermines himself by letting out a low rumble when my fingers brush a particularly sensitive spot.

"Sure you don't." I wink and step back, adjusting my sparkly purple cape. "Ready for the Monster Mash?"

His wings twitch in what I now recognize as resignation. "As I'll ever be."

We step out into the main library together, and I'm momentarily distracted by the surrounding transformation.

Orange and black streamers cascade from the bookshelves, fake cobwebs stretch across every corner, and cardboard tombstones poke up between the stacks with pun-filled literary epitaphs.

Electric candles cast flickering shadows across displays of spooky titles, and the scent of apple cider mingles with cinnamon and the vanilla-like smell of old books.

It looks spooky and mysterious. It looks like Halloween should. It looks like everything I've worked for.

And it might be the last Halloween I ever host in this building .

The thought makes my eyes sting, and I busy myself with rearranging the crinoline on a creepy display doll to distract myself. Tomorrow morning, we'll know if Harold's final wishes will prevail or if Delilah will get to splurge on undeserved riches at the expense of this town’s community.

"Nina!" Theo appears beside me, his face an impressive tableau of zombie makeup complete with artificial wounds that look disturbingly realistic.

I wince internally at how scary he looks and how some of our youngest patrons will react to him, but I don't have the heart to tell him he may have done too much.

"The apple bobbing station is getting rowdy.

Mrs. Peterson thinks we need another volunteer. "

I plaster on my brightest smile, the one I've been wearing all evening like armor.

"I'll be right there. Make sure no one's sneaking candy near past the cordon, okay?"

As Theo shuffles away in perfect zombie character, a small figure approaches, wearing enormous elephant ears and a trunk that dangles unevenly from his face. Bram Kett chews nervously on his sweater cuff, his wide amber eyes darting between me and Kraxon.

"Miss Nina?" His voice is barely audible above the Halloween chaos. "Is the scary dragon gonna read stories again?"

I crouch down to his level, adjusting his lopsided elephant ears.

"Mr. Kraxon will definitely help with story time later. Would you like to be his special assistant?"

Bram's eyes widen to impossible proportions, a mixture of terror and delight crossing his face. He nods once, then scampers off toward the children's section, glancing back over his shoulder as if to make sure Kraxon isn't following too closely .

"Special assistant?" Kraxon raises an eyebrow, the green makeup crinkling.

"He's been talking about the big dragon since you came," I explain, straightening up. "You made quite an impression."

Something softens in Kraxon's expression, and he smiles. "I'll try not to traumatize him further."

I squeeze his arm gently. "Just go easy on the growling."

For the next hour, I circulate through the library like a witch on a mission, directing children to the Ghost Story Corner, mopping up spilled apple bobbing water, and helping with paper bat crafts. All while the knot in my stomach grows tighter with each passing minute.

Occasionally, I catch glimpses of Kraxon across the room.

Despite his initial discomfort, he's surrounded by fascinated children who seem drawn to his scales and wings like moths to flame.

He's adorable in his franken-dragon costume and as the children laugh at his slow shuffle, the knot in my chest loosens a little.

I know I may not get the funding for the library I was supposed to have. I may not be able to do all the things I wanted to do here, but I'll still have this. I'll still have this place and these people.

My eyes trail to the plaque, where the engraving of Harold's smiling face looks down on me.

I'll fight . I'll fight, and I'll keep this place open, somehow. Endowment or not.

Then a short figure appears at my right, pulling me from my personal self-cheering pep-talk.

"That handsome dragon of yours is quite the hit," Mathilda, the gnome proprietor of the Wandering Gnome, says, appearing at my elbow with a tray of pumpkin-shaped cookies.

The gnome's gray hair is piled in a messy bun atop her head, her plump figure dressed in a black cat costume complete with whiskers painted on her cheeks and a tail that swishes when she moves.

"Who knew he'd be so good with the little ones, even while looking terrifying? "

I feel heat rise to my cheeks at her casual use of "your dragon," but I don't correct her. Because she's right. Kraxon is mine. And I'm his.

"He's full of surprises," I say, watching as he carefully helps a small fairy child glue paper wings to her bat cutout.

"The best ones always are." Mathilda winks at me, then bustles off to distribute more cookies.

Moments later, Theo announces it's time for Monster Mash story hour, and I make my way to the children's section.

The area has been transformed into a not-too-scary monster village, with beanbag chairs arranged in a semicircle around two larger chairs decorated with construction paper flames to look like thrones.

Kraxon joins me at the front, settling into one of the "thrones" with a resigned dignity that makes me want to laugh and kiss him simultaneously. We begin taking turns reading from a selection of Halloween books, his deep voice particularly effective during the more dramatic moments.

"The witch cackled as she stirred her bubbling cauldron," he reads, and the children lean forward in perfect unison, captivated.

When he glances up at me over the book, his eyes flash golden and he grins, exposing his sexy white fangs.

Warmth spreads through my chest, momentarily distracting me from my task.

For just a second, I'm not worried about tomorrow's hearing or the library's future.

I'm simply here, in this moment, with him .

As the sun sets and the evening progresses, the crowd begins to thin to go trick or treating around the neighborhood.

Parents collect children dressed as superheroes, princesses, and various monsters, leaving excitedly and chatting about how many candies they're going to get.

I stand by the door thanking families as they leave, my anxiety returning full force as I realize the event is almost over.

Tomorrow's hearing looms closer with each departing guest.

"Great party, Nina!" Mrs. Peterson calls as she shepherds her twin vampires toward the exit. "Every year is better than the last. I can't wait to see what you do next year!"

Next year.

"Thank you," I say, my smile feeling brittle. "Happy Halloween!"

I'm about to start cleaning up when a man in a gray uniform enters, looking slightly out of place among the remaining costumed patrons. He carries a sealed envelope and approaches the front desk with the look of someone on a mission.

"Nina Farrington?" he asks, glancing around the decorated library.

"That's me." I step forward, curious.

"Delivery from Greystone Legal Services." He extends the envelope.

My hands tremble slightly as I accept the envelope, immediately recognizing Harold's distinctive handwriting on the front. My name is written in his familiar sloping script, the sight of it making my throat tighten with emotion.

"I need you to sign here," the courier says, holding out an electronic pad .

I scribble my signature automatically, my attention fixed on the envelope in my hand. As the courier leaves, Kraxon approaches, his wings shifting with tension behind him.

"Is that—" he begins, his voice low.

"From Harold," I confirm, staring at the envelope like it might disappear if I look away. "That's his handwriting."

Kraxon's hand settles on my lower back, warm and steady. "Are you okay?"

"I should open it in private." I nod, suddenly aware that a few patrons are watching us curiously. "I'll go in my office."

I leave the nearly empty library in Theo's hands and walk to my small office at the back of the library, the short distance feeling miles long. Kraxon stays close beside me, his presence grounding me when I feel like I might float away on a tide of hope and fear. When we reach the door, he pauses.

"Would you like privacy?" he asks.

"If you don't mind." I answer, not quite ready to share whatever the envelope contains, even with him. "Just for a minute."

He nods, taking up position in the hallway like a guardian. I slip inside and close the door, leaning against it for a moment to gather myself.

My office is cluttered with the normal chaos of library administration—stacks of paperwork, boxes of decorations waiting to be stored away, and a framed photo of me with Harold at last year's fundraiser.

His smile in the picture is the same one I remember.

Slightly crooked, eyes crinkled at the corners, full of warmth.

I sink into my chair and carefully open the envelope, the paper making a crisp sound in the quiet room. Inside is a single sheet of cream-colored stationery, folded precisely in thirds. I unfold it with shaking fingers to find a letter written in Harold's familiar handwriting.

“My dear Nina,

If you're reading this, then it's Halloween, and I am gone. I've arranged for this letter to be delivered to you today because I know how much you love this holiday and how much joy you take in sharing it with our community through the library.

I want you to know how incredibly proud I am of what you've accomplished with our little library.

You've transformed it from a dusty repository of books into the beating heart of Saltford Bay.

The children's programs, the community events, the way you've made everyone feel welcome: these are achievements that will outlast both of us.

This is why I have absolute confidence in my decision to establish the ten-year endowment. By the time you read this, Kraxon will be working to execute my wishes. He is a man of impeccable integrity, and I trust him completely to ensure that the library's future is secure.

I hope that long after I'm gone, the Saltford Bay Public Library will continue to serve as a sanctuary of knowledge and imagination for our community. I hope children yet unborn will discover the joy of reading within its walls, just as I did so many years ago.

The library—and you, my dear—have given meaning to my final years that I never expected to find. For that, I am eternally grateful.

With fondest affection,

Harold James Greaves”

Tears stream down my face as I press the letter to my chest. Grief and anger collide within me. Grief for Harold's absence and anger at Delilah for denying his true wishes. His voice was so clear in these words, his intentions unmistakable.

How can she do this to him?

The door opens and I turn to see Kraxon entering the room. As soon as he sees me, he rushes over with an air of such concern on his handsome features, I would laugh if I wasn't already crying.

"Nina, why are you crying?" he asks, his voice gentle as he moves closer slowly, like I'm some skittish wild animal he doesn't want to scare.

Without a word, I hand him the letter, watching his face as he reads it. His golden eyes scan the page, his expression softening with each line.

"He loved this place so much," I whisper, wiping at my tears. I know I've just ruined my makeup, but I don't care. "And now Delilah will destroy everything he built. Everything he wanted to leave behind."

Kraxon's eyes suddenly narrow, focusing intently on something in the letter, then he looks up at me with a huge grin on his face. I blink in confusion.

"Nina, did you notice the date on this letter?"

I shake my head, confused by his sudden intensity. "I was too caught up in his words."

He turns the letter toward me, his scaled finger pointing to the top right corner where Harold had neatly written "October twenty-second."

Then, I understand.

"The day before he died." I'm breathless now, and my head is spinning. "That's nearly a week after the date of Delilah's supposedly new will. "

He nods, his grin widening.

"This is it," he says, his voice low and intense. "The direct evidence we needed. A dated document explicitly stating his intentions after the supposed new will was created."

"Will it be enough?" My voice catches as I ask the question.

Kraxon carefully refolds the letter, his movements precise and deliberate.

"Tomorrow, we find out." His wings partially deploy with determination, brushing against the narrow hallway walls.

"Right now I have to call this delivery company to get proof that this was given to them by Harold himself with the instruction to give you the letter on Halloween night.

This part should be easy. They always get signature from their customers for this type of delivery. "

We stand together in the dim hallway, the letter between us like a talisman. Hope and uncertainty hang in the air as the clock on my office wall ticks steadily toward tomorrow's hearing.

Kraxon sets the letter carefully on my desk and pulls me into his arms, his wings creating a private sanctuary around us. His lips find mine, and I melt in his arms, the kiss slow and deep and full of unspoken promises.

No matter what happens tomorrow. I know I’ll still have this.