Page 3 of Courted By the Grumpy Dragon (Monsters of Saltford Bay #2)

Chapter Three

Nina

The grandfather clock in Harold's study ticks in the heavy silence, each sound like a tiny hammer against my already frayed nerves.

I'm perched on the edge of an antique chair that probably costs more than my car, trying not to fidget as we wait for the proceedings to begin.

The leather beneath me creaks in protest every time I shift my weight, which is approximately every seven seconds.

Not that I'm counting.

Actually, I am counting. Counting keeps my mind occupied, prevents it from spiraling into grief or dwelling on the empty space where Harold should be standing, eyes twinkling behind wire-rimmed glasses as he offers everyone tea they don't want but will accept because he's Harold, and nobody says no to Harold.

Was Harold. Past tense.

Get it together, Nina.

I smooth my dress, navy blue with tiny white polka dots, the most somber thing I own that isn't actively depressing, and I try to look dignified. Professional. Like someone who deserves to be entrusted with a significant endowment for the public library of a small town.

Across the massive mahogany desk, Kraxon Ashbane arranges papers with the precision of someone disarming a bomb. I've seen a dragon up close before, but I still can’t help staring.

He's tall, even seated, with scales the color of pale gold that catches the afternoon light filtering through the mullioned windows.

The scales along his hands gleam subtly as he moves, like expensive jewelry that knows better than to be flashy about it, just like his impeccable charcoal colored suit. And his tasteful tie.

Everything about the man screams old money and perfect manners.

His wings are folded tight against his back, nearly invisible in their stillness. If it weren't for the occasional shift when he reaches for another document, I might forget they're there at all.

Who am I kidding? I couldn’t forget about the wings if I tried. Not with their supple-looking texture that seems both fragile and incredibly strong at the same time.

He’s the kind of handsome that I’ve only seen on a movie screen, with angular features, smooth yet manly skin over a sharp jawline and even sharper cheekbones.

Deep-set eyes shine with a deep golden glow beneath arched brows to give his gaze an intense quality that makes me squirm in my seat, and his full, hard lips are set in a severe line.

I feel like a naughty schoolgirl getting a stare-down by the sexiest high school principal in the world.

Jeez girl. Like you’re not awkward enough. Stop fantasizing about the dragon lawyer and focus on Harold .

The thought sobers me some, but when Kraxon Ashbane reaches for a pile of paper with long, lean, and strong fingers, I can’t help but imagine those same hands closing around my thighs.

OMG. I’m a desperate case. I really need to get out of this dry spell I’ve been under for the past several years.

"We'll begin momentarily," he says, pulling me out of my horny reverie with a low and controlled voice, without looking up from his papers.

To my right, Delilah Vance sighs dramatically, checking her immaculate manicure.

Harold's niece is everything I'm not, polished, poised, and perpetually impatient.

Her platinum blonde hair is swept into an elegant twist, not a strand out of place.

Her black dress probably cost more than my monthly rent.

I feel like a bug compared to her.

"Some of us have flights to catch, Mr. Ashbane," she says, her voice honey-sweet with an undertone of vinegar.

"The proper execution of your uncle's will takes precedence over travel arrangements, Ms. Vance." Kraxon doesn't even glance up, but something in his tone suggests he's not a man accustomed to being rushed.

Delilah's perfectly lined lips thin slightly. Next to her, her orc fiancé, Marcus Baird, shifts in his seat, checking his watch. With his olive-green skin and polished tusks, he's handsome in that carefully cultivated way of someone who spends a lot of time in front of mirrors. I don’t know much about him except he’s some kind of influencer in Hollywood.

Everything seems fake about him. Just like Delilah.

The clock ticks again. I resist the urge to count the dust motes dancing in the shaft of sunlight between us.

Finally, Kraxon looks up, golden eyes sweeping over each of us in turn.

When his gaze meets mine, it lingers for just a second longer, so briefly I might have imagined it, before he returns to his papers.

A faint cinnamon smells reaches my nostrils, and I stir in my seat, wondering if the stress is finally getting to me and I’ve started to imagine things.

"As executor of Harold Greaves's estate, I will now read his last will and testament, dated September fifteenth of this year." His voice fills the room without seeming to rise. "Before I begin, does anyone have questions about the process?"

About a million, actually. Like why does grief feel like carrying rocks in your lungs? And did Harold know how important he was to all of us before dying?

"No questions," I say instead, my voice steadier than I feel.

Delilah and Marcus murmur agreement.

"Very well." Kraxon lifts the document, the heavy parchment crackling slightly. "I, Harold James Greaves, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament, revoking all previous wills and codicils..."

I close my eyes briefly, letting the formal language wash over me. This is it. In a few minutes, the library’s future will be secure. Harold's legacy will be preserved. The knot that's lived in my stomach for the past two weeks will finally dissolve.

"To my niece, Delilah Anne Vance, I leave my personal residence at 42 Lighthouse Hill, including all furnishings and artwork contained therein, as well as the sum of five hundred thousand dollars."

Delilah's smile is small and satisfied. No surprise there; she's been eyeing this house since she was old enough to recognize real estate value.

"To the Saltford Bay Public Library, I establish an endowment in the amount of two million dollars, to be administered by the current head librarian, Nina Farrington, in consultation with the library board.

This endowment shall fund building repairs, collection development, and programming for a period of no fewer than ten years. "

My breath catches. This is much more than I ever dared to expect. Two million dollars. Ten years of security. Harold kept his promise, all right.

"Furthermore, I leave my personal collection of first editions and rare books to the library's special collections, with the stipulation that they remain accessible to the public through supervised viewing."

I press my fingertips to my lips, fighting back the sudden sting of tears. Harold's collection is legendary, with over three hundred volumes, some dating back to the eighteenth century. It's a treasure trove that will put our little library on the map.

Kraxon continues reading, detailing smaller bequests to staff members and local charities.

I'm barely listening now, mentally calculating what this means for the library.

New roof. Updated electrical system. Children's summer reading programs. Maybe even another part-time assistant salary, so Theo doesn't have to shoulder so much responsibility.

"Excuse me."

Delilah's voice cuts through my planning. She's sitting even straighter now, one perfectly manicured hand raised like she's in a classroom.

Kraxon pauses, one eyebrow lifting slightly. "Yes, Ms. Vance?"

"I believe there's been a mistake." She reaches into her cream-colored designer handbag and removes a sealed envelope. Her smile turns as warm as a block of ice as she glances at me before returning to Kraxon.

"My uncle executed a new will just last week. October sixteenth, to be precise."

The room goes silent. Even the clock seems to hold its breath.

"A new will?" Kraxon's voice remains neutral, but his wings shift against the back of the chair, making it creak.

"Yes." Delilah slides the envelope across the desk. "This is the original, sealed and witnessed. I have a copy as well, of course."

Kraxon takes the envelope, breaking the seal with a letter opener that looks like it might double as a weapon in a pinch. The only sound is paper against paper as he unfolds the document and begins to read.

I watch his face, searching for any reaction, but it's like trying to read emotions on a statue. Only the faintest tightening around his eyes suggests he's registering the contents at all.

After what feels like an eternity, he looks up.

"This is a complete revision of the previous will that I was never made aware of."

I don’t like the sound of that, but I keep my mouth shut .

"That's correct." Delilah's smile is sympathetic in a way that makes my skin crawl. "Uncle Harold had a change of heart in his final weeks. He realized that family should come first."

The floor seems to tilt beneath me.

"What does it say?" My voice sounds distant, like it's coming from someone else. “The new will?”

Kraxon's golden eyes meet mine, and for a split second, I think I see something like regret flicker there, or maybe it’s pity? It’s gone too fast for me to decipher as his face takes its polished professional neutrality once more.

“The revised will leaves the entire estate to Ms. Vance, with the exception of small bequests to the household staff.” His voice is low and controlled, but I can sense some hesitation in there.

Or perhaps some incredulity. Hard to know with the sound of blood rushing my ears.

“There is no provision for the library.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. No provision for the library. No endowment. No rare books. No after-school story time. No summer reading program.

No legacy.