Page 15 of Tempest Blazing (The Dragonne Library #3)

Tess

The door to Books 'n' Brews swung shut behind us, cutting off the street noise. Garanth would be here any minute. My pulse hammered against my throat, but having Draven beside me dulled the sharp edge of panic. His security background meant he'd spot trouble before I even knew it was coming.

"Upstairs?" Draven's voice was low, professional.

I nodded, already moving toward the narrow staircase. "Less crowded."

He peeled off toward a table near the stairs—perfect sightlines, I noticed.

Of course he'd picked that spot. The deliberate way he positioned himself, scanning exits and blind spots, reminded me why I felt so much safer with him here.

The upper level was nearly empty, just two other patrons absorbed in quiet conversation.

I chose a table by the window overlooking the square and spread out my materials. Notebook, pens, the little recording device Pippa had charmed for me. The crystal hummed faintly under my fingertips. Professional. Prepared. Like I had a clue what I was walking into.

Years of reading had taught me one thing—history was always written by the winners. Sanitized accounts from those in power, all the messy truths scrubbed clean. But the real stories? Those lived in the margins, in the voices no one thought to preserve.

That's why this mattered. Every voice had value, especially the forgotten ones.

Seven o'clock arrived, marked by measured footsteps on the stairs. A man appeared—average height, well-dressed in a charcoal suit, the kind of pleasant features that slid right off your memory five minutes later.

"Ms. Whittaker?"

I stood, extending my hand. "Mr. Kreel? Thank you for coming."

His grip was firm, completely forgettable. Like everything else about him.

"Please, call me Garanth. Thank you for accommodating my schedule."

Click-click-click. My pen tapped against my notepad—nervous habit I'd never managed to shake. "Of course. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?"

"I'm fine, thank you." He settled into the chair across from me, eyes scanning the upper level like he was cataloging exits. "Interesting choice of venue. I would have expected somewhere more... formal for an academic interview."

Something cold brushed the back of my neck. I smiled, setting down the recording device. "The Library values authenticity over formality. Speaking of which, I'd like to record our conversation if that's all right? It helps ensure accuracy for the archives."

"Certainly." He nodded toward the device. "Quite a sophisticated piece of equipment for a library."

"We have some talented artificers on staff." I clicked the record button, watching the small crystal flare amber. "So, before we dive into the formal questions, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself? How you got started?"

Garanth relaxed slightly, settling back in his chair. "Well, I started boxing young. Family tradition, you might say. My father ran a gym, nothing fancy, but it kept food on the table."

Too easy. Too smooth. His manner was conversational, nothing about him screaming 'underground criminal.' But that smoothness—it reminded me of my mother buttering me up before the next emotional gut punch.

"And this was all pre-Unveiling?" I asked, scribbling notes.

"Oh yes, long before humans knew we existed. Different world back then." He smiled, all nostalgic warmth that didn't reach his eyes. "Had to be careful about showing too much strength, too much speed. The underground circuits were the only place we could really let loose."

I found myself leaning forward despite every instinct screaming not to. "That must have been challenging, hiding such a big part of yourself."

"Indeed. But we managed. Had to, really."

"How did you transition from fighting to... well, the business side of things?"

He launched into his story—injury, numbers, organizing instead of fighting. His delivery was smooth, practiced. Too practiced. Each answer felt rehearsed, like he'd told this exact story a hundred times before to a hundred different marks.

My pen grew heavier with each evasion. Every response circled back to nothing—vague dates, unnamed locations, convenient gaps in memory. Like watching a play instead of having a conversation.

In the window's reflection, I caught Draven at his table, posture loose but eyes locked on us like a hawk watching prey.

"Fascinating," I said after another vaguely worded response about his business practices. "And you've kept connections to those networks?"

"One never truly leaves that world." That smile again—all surface, no depth. "Though I'm curious—how did someone in your position come to be interested in this particular aspect of supernatural history?"

"The Dragonne Library has extensive archives, but we've noticed gaps in certain areas—"

"The Dragonne Library." Something flickered behind his eyes. Sharp. Interested. "How interesting. I'd heard they'd hired their first human librarian."

My throat tightened. I kept my voice neutral. "That's right."

"Though..." He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he was solving. "I believe you're more than just a librarian now, aren't you?"

The words hit like ice water. For just a second, I could have sworn his eyes flashed red in the café lighting.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Oh, forgive me. Perhaps I'm mistaken. But word travels in certain circles about.

.. unusual developments at the Dragonne Library.

Rumors of something unprecedented happening there.

" His tone stayed conversational, but predatory hunger flickered in his gaze.

"Such interesting times we live in. You must be at the center of quite a few changes. "

My blood turned to slush. I'd never mentioned anything beyond my librarian role. Never even hinted at Thalon. The interview suddenly felt like a trap snapping shut around my ankles.

Movement in my peripheral vision—Draven shifting forward, tension coiling through his frame. He'd noticed the change too.

"We're getting off topic," I said, voice steadier than my racing pulse. "About your current business ventures—"

"Of course. My apologies." But his smile had teeth now. Less salesman, more predator.

We continued the dance—me pushing for real information, him deflecting with practiced ease. Frustration clawed up my throat with each non-answer, each deflection that led nowhere. He was playing with me, and we both knew it.

"How did you hear about me?" he asked suddenly, interrupting my question about legitimate business licenses.

I hesitated a beat too long. "Through the academic underground network. My position at the Library gives me access to certain resources."

Something about this felt wrong—like I was being led down a path I couldn't see.

"Not many humans know about our message systems," Garanth observed, studying me too carefully.

"As you noted, I'm not exactly typical."

"No," he agreed softly. "You certainly aren't."

Ice crawled down my spine. But before I could form an excuse to leave, he reached into his jacket.

I tensed, but he only withdrew what looked like an old coin, tarnished silver with worn edges.

"Perhaps this will help illustrate our old methods," he said, placing it on the table between us. "A relic from the underground networks. We used these for identification, passing messages."

The coin sat innocuously on the dark wood, looking like nothing more than an antique. "Go ahead—examine it. Your Library would probably find it fascinating. You can still feel the old enchantments if you're sensitive to such things."

Every instinct I had screamed danger. My hand jerked back instinctively. My mother had taught me to recognize manipulation, and this felt like bait in a trap. But the coin looked harmless—just old metal with worn markings. And this was my job, preserving supernatural history.

Professional curiosity, I told myself. That's all.

My fingers moved toward the coin. Behind Garanth, I saw Draven surge to his feet.

The instant my skin touched the metal, I knew I'd fucked up.

Ice flooded my veins. Power crashed through me—cold, grasping, wrong. My stomach dropped like I'd missed a step, lungs compressing as reality twisted. Portal magic seized me in an iron grip.

The trap had been perfectly laid, and I'd walked right into it.

Garanth's pleasant mask finally fell away, revealing something sharp and inhuman beneath.

"The boss has been waiting to meet you," he said, voice dropping to demonic registers. "The first human Dragon Rider—what a prize."

"No—" I tried to pull back, but the portal had me.

"Did you really think we wouldn't know? That we wouldn't be watching?"

Draven was already moving, taking the stairs three at a time. His eyes blazed amber, incubus nature breaking through his careful control. But Garanth raised one hand, almost lazily, and invisible barriers slammed down around us.

"Your dragon can't save you here, little rider."

Books tumbled from shelves as magical energy warped the space. The portal widened, reality tearing like wet paper. Someone downstairs screamed. The comfortable atmosphere of Books 'n' Brews shattered.

Draven hit the barrier at full speed, power crackling around him in waves that made the air recoil. His human mask was completely gone now—all incubus fury and lethal grace.

"TESS!"

But the portal had me, pulling me backward into freezing darkness. The sensation was like being turned inside out, every nerve screaming as dimensions folded wrong. The last thing I saw was Draven attacking the wards with raw power, his face a mask of protective rage.

Garanth's final taunt followed me into the void, "Let's see how special you really are."

Then everything went black, and I fell into nothing.