Page 5 of Courted By the Grumpy Dragon (Monsters of Saltford Bay #2)

Chapter Four

Kraxon

The heavy oak doors of Saltford Bay Public Library swing open beneath my hands, revealing a shocking display of colors that instantly assaults my vision.

Orange and black paper chains droop from the ceiling in festive arches while cardboard bats dangle from fishing lines above the circulation desk.

A life-sized cardboard skeleton grins at me from beside the entry, its bony hand pointing toward a sign that reads "BOO-ks to DIE for!

" in what appears to be dripping blood font.

I suppress a sigh. Halloween decorations have always struck me as juvenile, though Harold had an inexplicable fondness for the holiday. The memory brings an unwelcome tightness to my chest that I quickly dismiss.

The library is quiet, though not entirely silent. Pages turn with whispered rustles. Children's voices murmur from somewhere beyond the stacks. A grandfather clock tick-tocks steadily near the reference section.

At the circulation desk stands an elderly gargoyle woman with silver hair pulled into a severe bun. Her reading glasses perch precariously on her nose as she sorts through a stack of returns. The embroidered pumpkins on her cardigan match the season, if not her serious demeanor.

"Mrs. Stonemason?" I approach with measured steps.

She looks up, eyes narrowing slightly behind her lenses and her long, pointed ears twitch in unison with her dark gray wings.

"Mr. Ashbane, I presume." Her voice carries that particular tone of someone who has spent decades shushing patrons.

"Yes. Thank you for meeting me on such short notice."

"Hmph." She reaches below the desk and produces a thick manila folder. "Here are all the documents you asked for: board meeting minutes for the past five years, donor acknowledgments, and Harold's notes on the endowment planning."

The folder is heavier than anticipated. I take it with a nod of appreciation, noting the meticulously labeled tabs and color-coded sticky notes protruding from various sections. Mrs. Stonemason is nothing if not organized, it seems.

It's quite befitting of a gargoyle.

"This is quite thorough. "

"Organization is the mother of all virtues, Mr. Ashbane. Along with politeness, of course." Her tone suggests this might be a foreign concept to city lawyers such as myself. "Every penny is accounted for, every decision recorded. That's how I run things."

"I'm very grateful for your help." I tuck the folder under my arm. "I'll review these carefully."

"You do that." She adjusts her glasses, eyeing me with unconcealed skepticism. "Nina tells me there's some nonsense about a second will. I hope these will clear everything up for you."

I maintain my neutral expression despite the internal flare of irritation at having my investigation dragged into the open before I can conclude it.

This is why I don't do small towns. The rumor mill runs faster than a bullet train.

"I'm simply doing my due diligence as executor."

"Harold loved this library more than anything in this town, Mr. Ashbane. More than his house. More than his car collection. That niece of his didn't know a thing about him, except his phone number when she ran out of money." Her lined face hardens. "You'd do well to remember that."

"I'll take that under advisement." I turn to leave, planning to return to the carriage house of Windfall Manor where I can review these documents in peace. The sooner I resolve this matter, the sooner I can leave.

I thank Mrs. Stonemason and turn to leave, but the sound of a voice stops me dead in my tracks, with my hand on the door handle. A voice I have no business recognizing and yet, one that I would recognize in a thousand .

The voice of Nina Farrington, the full-time librarian of Saltford Bay's public library and Harold's protegee.

The woman who made my fire rise up and cinnamon pheromones spill from my pores with a heated glare and arguments during the reading of Harold’s will.

"Bram, sweetie, the witch doesn't eat the children in this version! She just turns them into frogs until they learn to share their candy!"

Her voice echoes down the main aisle, bright and warm. Something tightens between my shoulder blades, a tension that wasn't there a moment ago. My heart rate accelerates, and I try to force my feet to move, to leave the library, but my body refuses to obey my orders.

Then it’s too late.

Nina Farrington appears, emerging from the children's section with a picture book tucked under one arm, her free hand gesturing animatedly as she speaks to the small troll child trailing behind her. She hasn't noticed me, and I find myself enjoying the unguarded moment to observe her.

I take in her appearance against my better judgment: those bright, intelligent eyes framed by thick lashes; the elegant curve of her neck disappearing beneath her orange cardigan; the way her dress hugs the soft swell of her hips.

My gaze lingers for a dangerous second on her full breasts before I force myself to look away.

This is ridiculous. I’m not some hot-blooded high schooler.

I flex my hands, willing the heat beneath my scales to subside. That reaction is an anomaly, a temporary lapse in my usual impeccable control.

I need to get away from her. I'm turning away when she spots me .

"Mr. Ashbane!" She hurries toward me, weaving between tables with graceful enthusiasm. Her bright orange cardigan hangs open over a vintage dress patterned with tiny books. Her brown hair tumbles loose around her shoulders, and a pen is tucked behind her ear.

She looks adorable in the kind of way that makes my suit feel too tight and my limbs too loose. In a dangerous kind of way.

She stops a few feet away from me, her smile genuine if slightly cautious. Up close, her eyes are even warmer than I remembered, the color of dark coffee.

Her scent, honeysuckle and something female and musky, travels the room and reaches my nostrils. It’s intoxicating, and I try not to breath in by my nose even as heat stirs underneath my scales in a totally unacceptable way.

This isn’t normal. I need to leave.

"I didn't expect to see you today." She clasps her hands together. "I want to apologize for yesterday. I was upset and said things I shouldn't have. I know you have a job and that if Harold chose you to execute his will, it’s because you’re a good, honest man."

The apology catches me off guard and I inhale a deep, long breath that fills my lungs with the scent of her, releasing another wave of fire under my scales and all the way to my cock.

Shit. This is bad.

"No apology necessary, Ms. Farrington." I take a step backward toward the door, determined to take my leave of her as soon as possible. "Strong emotions are common in probate matters. It’s not my first time dealing with people disappointed in a will.”

"Please, call me Nina." She waves a dismissive hand, spreading her scent even wider in the room until I feel surrounded by it. "Ms. Farrington makes me feel like I'm being summoned to the principal's office."

I hesitate, then nod slightly. "Very well... Nina."

Her name feels strangely intimate on my tongue, like tasting something forbidden.

The corners of her mouth lift in a small smile as she hears it, and I stare in fascination.

Those full lips, those white teeth. The sensation goes straight to my cock, and an inferno rushes under my scale as I struggle to control my arousal.

"And should I continue calling you Mr. Ashbane, or do you have a first name hidden under all that formality?"

She keeps smiling, her eyes bright, totally oblivious to the torture she’s putting me through.

"Kraxon will suffice," I manage to say as my body temperature rises by several degrees.

What's happening to me? This isn't like me. I am not a victim of my impulses.

"Kraxon," she repeats, and something primal stirs within me at the sound of my name in her mouth.

The way her lips shape the syllables, the slight lift in her voice at the end.

It feels like a caress against my scales, sending a dangerous warmth spreading through my chest. And straight to my already stirring cock.

Nina nods, glancing at the folder in my hands. "Find anything useful yet?"

"I've only just received it."

"Right, of course." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Her adorable, rounded human ear. "Is that what brought you here? Just retrieving the files? "

I take another step back to put more distance between us. It takes way more effort than it should.

"That was my intention, yes."

A slight frown creases her forehead. "You weren't planning to actually look around? Harold spent so much time here. I'd love to show you around..."

"I know he cared for this town. He's the one who funded the original opening of the library, way before you or I even learned how to read."

Her expression softens. And I have to flex my fingers to refrain from reaching up and touching her velvety-soft cheek.

"Then you'll be happy to see what this place became." She glances over her shoulder toward the children's section, then back at me with a sudden gleam in her eye. "Actually, you've arrived at the perfect time."

Something in her tone triggers a warning bell in my mind, dampening some of the brain fog. "How so?"

"We're about to start our Halloween story hour, and we're short a volunteer." She says this as if it's a fortunate coincidence rather than what I suspect is an impending ambush.

"I have work to attend to, Ms. Farrington." She frowns, and I add, "Nina."

I lift the folder slightly.

"Oh, it'll only take twenty minutes, tops." Her smile widens, and something tells me she's enjoying this. "And the children would be thrilled to have a real dragon helping with the spooky stories. Wouldn't they, Bram?"

The small troll child peeks out from behind her legs, his mottled gray skin contrasting with his bright orange overalls. He stares up at me with enormous amber eyes, chewing nervously on the cuff of his sweater.