Page 4 of Courted By the Grumpy Dragon (Monsters of Saltford Bay #2)

"That's not possible." I stand abruptly, my chair scraping against the hardwood floor and tumbling behind me. "Harold promised me, promised this town, that he would secure the library's future. He wouldn't change his mind about something like that. At least, not without telling me."

"People change their minds all the time, Nina." Delilah's tone is gentle, almost pitying. "Uncle Harold simply realized where his priorities should lie. "

"With someone who barely visited him once the entire time he was sick?" The words come out sharper than I intended. "He visited the library every week. He ran children's story hour. He helped me catalog the local history collection. He cared about this library; I know he did."

"Ms. Farrington." Kraxon's voice cuts through my rising panic. "I understand this is unexpected, but—”

"It's more than unexpected. It's wrong." I turn to him, desperate for him to understand. "Harold Greaves loved that library. He told me, just weeks before he died, that he saw this endowment as his legacy to this town. This is what he wanted."

“I wrote and witnessed Harold’s original will, but this document is the most recent.” Kraxon's expression remains frustratingly neutral. “If authenticated, it would supersede all previous versions.”

"If authenticated," I repeat, seizing on the word. "So you're not certain it's legitimate?"

A flicker of something like respect crosses his face.

"As executor, I am obligated to verify all documents before proceeding with probate. This will require investigation."

“This is ridiculous.” Delilah sighs, the sound like silk tearing. “The will is clearly authentic. Uncle Harold's signature is right there.”

"Signatures can be forged," I say before I can stop myself.

The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. Delilah's eyes narrow dangerously as she turns to face me. She remains sitting, but only at the edge of her seat.

"Are you accusing me of something?"

"I'm saying that Harold would never abandon the library." My voice shakes, but I don't back down. "Not without explanation. Not without warning. Something isn't right about this. "

Marcus clears his throat.

"I was there when Harold signed the new will. He was perfectly clear about his intentions."

I turn to him, surprised. "You were a witness?"

"Yes." He straightens his already-straight tie. "Along with Trina Voss, Delilah's assistant. Harold knew exactly what he was doing."

The walls of the study seem to be closing in. This can't be happening. It can't be this easy to erase Harold's true wishes, to wipe away everything he stood for.

"Mr. Ashbane." I turn back to Kraxon, who has been watching the exchange with unreadable eyes. "As executor, you have a responsibility to ensure Harold's true wishes are carried out. This new will contradicts everything he ever said to me."

His gaze stays on me as he gives a single nod.

"I will suspend probate proceedings until both documents can be properly authenticated," he says finally. "This will include verification of signatures, witness statements, and a review of Mr. Greaves's mental capacity at the time of signing."

"This is completely unnecessary," Delilah protests. "You don’t have the power to deny me. This is my uncle’s money, and he left it to me. Your job is to do what he intended, not pass judgment."

There’s a moment when Delilah holds Kraxon’s gaze, but it doesn’t last long. She quickly looks down at her perfect black heels with red soles and smooths her form-fitting skirt.

"This is my job, Ms. Vance." There's a hint of steel beneath Kraxon's measured tone. "If you wish to contest my decision, you're welcome to petition the court directly. "

She stands, gathering her bag with sharp movements. This isn’t what she wanted to hear, that much is clear.

Good. That makes two of us.

"Fine. Investigate all you want. The outcome will be the same." She turns to me, her smile not reaching her eyes. "I'm sorry you were given false expectations, Nina. But a small-town library was never going to be Uncle Harold's priority. In the end, family is family."

I want to argue, to scream, to shake her until the truth falls out. Instead, I take a deep breath and meet her gaze steadily.

"We'll see what the investigation reveals."

Marcus follows Delilah to the door, pausing only to nod curtly at Kraxon.

"We'll expect updates on your progress, Mr. Ashbane."

"Of course." Kraxon rises, his full height impressive even across the room. "I'll be in touch once I've established a timeline for authentication."

The door closes behind them with a soft click, leaving me alone with the dragon lawyer and the ghost of Harold's broken promises.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. The grandfather clock resumes its steady ticking, marking seconds that feel like hours.

Finally, I find my voice.

"He wouldn't have done this. I knew Harold, and he wanted to keep the library afloat. This was his legacy, not funding Delilah's fanciful life."

Kraxon begins gathering the documents, his movements efficient and precise. Detached.

"People often make unexpected decisions near the end of their lives, Ms. Farrington. "

"Not Harold." I shake my head, certainty hardening inside me like concrete. "Not without telling me. We spoke almost every day. He would have said something. Something isn't right there."

"With all due respect," he says, not looking up as he slides papers into his leather briefcase, "your personal relationship with Mr. Greaves doesn't override legal documentation."

"With all due respect," I echo, heat rising in my cheeks, "you didn't know him. Not really. Not like I did."

Now he does look up, those golden eyes narrowing slightly.

"I was his colleague for fifteen years, Ms. Farrington. I knew Harold Greaves as well as one can ever know someone."

This is news and a shock to me, but I'm too angry and too hurt now to back down.

"That second will is a fake. I'd bet my career on it."

Which I kind of am. The endowment was supposed to pay for most of my salary, too.

A muscle twitches in his jaw.

"I will contact you when I have more information, Ms. Farrington."

I step closer to his desk and lean in, palms flat against the polished wood. This close, I can clearly see the smooth scales on his handsome face. His golden gaze flicks to my mouth for just a second and the scent of cinnamon rises again.

Is that coming from him?

"Harold promised me, and Harold never broke a promise. If you knew him like you said you did, then you would know that."

Kraxon inhales deeply, then looks down at the desk, gathering the rest of the documents in his briefcase. The scent of cinnamon gets stronger and stronger, and his movements grow jerkier .

"Promises and legal documents are different matters entirely."

"So you're just going to hand everything over to Delilah?" I can hear my voice rising, but I can't seem to stop it. "Watch her sell off Harold's collection? Let the library close or get turned into what? A boutique hotel? A spa?"

Kraxon's wings twitch at the tips, the only sign that I might be getting under his scales. Good. If he’s going to give everything to Delilah, he should be upset about it.

"I will conduct a thorough investigation," he says, his voice so controlled it makes me want to scream. "If there are irregularities with the second will, I will find them."

"And if you don't?" The question comes out sharp as a knife.

His eyes lock with mine. They are golden, mesmerisingly beautiful, and one hundred percent cold.

"Then I will execute the will as written. That is my duty."

Despair swirls inside my chest, inside my head, then goes to lump high in my throat like a stuck stone.

"Your duty," I repeat, the word bitter on my tongue. "What about what's right? What about what Harold actually wanted?"

I fold my arms around my chest and glare at him for all I'm worth. Which is not much. He's so much taller than me. So much richer than me. So much more powerful than me.

I feel like a mouse arguing with a lion.

"What Harold wanted," he says slowly, measuring each word, "is my one and only concern. Not your library and not Delilah's lifestyle. I was tasked by an old friend to execute his will, and that is exactly what I'm going to do, whether anyone likes it or not. "

The scent of cinnamon grows stronger, and I sniff the air in an involuntary movement as my stomach churns and my belly squirms. And maybe somewhere lower, too.

Since when does cinnamon and anger turn me on? This makes no sense.

"You know what?" I snatch up my bag. "I expected better from someone Harold trusted so much. Guess he was wrong about you if you can't see the truth in front of your eyes."

Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe even hurt, but it's gone so quickly I might have imagined it. For a second, the cinnamon scent becomes so warm and spicy, so inviting, that I salivate and feel dizzy. Then it's gone, replaced by something sharper, like ashes.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Farrington."

Kraxon Ashbane lifts a hand and points to the door of the study. His handsome face is closed off, his eyes dark and his mouth reduced to a fine line.

I storm out before I say something I'll truly regret, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. Outside, the October air is sharp with the promise of coming frost. I stand on the gravel drive for a moment, looking up at the grand old house.

Harold didn’t change his mind. I know he didn’t.

The question is whether I can prove it. And whether the unbearable dragon in that study will help or hinder me in the fight ahead.

Either way, I'm not giving up.

Even if it means going toe-to-toe with Kraxon Ashbane, with his stupidly perfect jawline and his tailored suits that hug his broad shoulders like they were sculpted onto him.

This isn't over, scaly Suit-Daddy. I won't give up so easily.