Page 9 of The Alien in the Archive (Galactic Librarians #1)
9
THORNE
W atching her has become my newest habit—one I should break, but won’t.
At some point in my long life that may have been rude or embarrassing. Or perhaps I would’ve been bolder, more domineering, used my influence to force her to spend day and night with me.
As it is, I watch.
And I wait.
I feel fairly confident she’ll return, if her dreams were any indication. I only caught bits and pieces of them, but she thinks so loudly they were hard to ignore.
And they were graphic.
I didn’t mind that.
I lean against the end of a towering bookshelf, observing her from afar, quiet as death itself. She’s seated at one of the narrow study tables in the outer stacks, her brow furrowed in concentration as she flips through a thick, weathered Skoll tome. A glow lamp hovers beside her, casting warm light over her face, her dark hair, the scattered papers covered in her rushed, untidy handwriting .
She works like she’s chasing something—some truth just out of reach, pulling her forward with every word she reads and every note she scribbles.
Her intensity is magnetic.
Maddening.
I’ve seen hundreds of scholars pass through the Obscuary in my centuries here, each with their own peculiarities and ambitions. Mlok cultists…Merati physicists. Each have had fascinating minds, as anyone does who visits this particular corner of M’mir.
But none have ever intrigued me like she does.
None have touched me, mind to mind.
It’s not just that, though. It’s the way she feels— the energy she carries, the curiosity that radiates from her. She’s louder than anyone else I’ve met, even compared to Boreans from long ago.
She doesn’t know how to shield herself. I’m not sure if she cares to.
Did she want me to see?
As she reads, oblivious to my presence, my eyes slide from the profile of her face down her graceful neck…to her waist, her hips. I remember the way she dreamt of me—I couldn’t possibly forget—and it sends me reeling.
You’re curious, aren’t you? Wondering what it would feel like. Wondering if I’d hurt you. Wondering if you’d like it.
They were her words, not mine—but she imagined me saying them, growling in her ear. I wonder what it would feel like to touch her mind-to-mind as she rode my cock, nails digging into?—
She turns around suddenly and I move out of the way, concealing myself.
Can she hear me now, despite all the shields I have in place?
From my hiding place, I listen…but she doesn’t move .
Paper rustles, another page turning.
I look again.
She leans forward, resting her chin in her hand. The motion is so unguarded, so human, that it sends a wave of guilt crashing through me. This woman—this girl, really—is alive. She has a life ahead of her, a different fate.
I’m nothing. Nobody. A ghost.
“What are you hiding?” she murmurs, and it feels like she’s speaking directly to me. She taps her pencil on her notebook, her knee setting to wiggling as it did in my alcove yesterday. “There’s something missing…I know there is. I guess?—”
I read her thoughts when she trails off, creeping into her mind.
I could go to him .
I could give her that missing piece of the puzzle—tell her everything I know before I shuffle off this mortal coil. But it takes time to tell a millennia-long life story, and time with her is dangerous. The more we interact, the more I’ll want to keep her.
Or even worse, drink from her—extract the Elixir I’m beginning to crave.
Since she discovered I was the shadow in the dark, she believes she’s safe here. She’s not; just because a wolf can be domesticated doesn’t mean it’s lost its teeth. If I truly wanted to hurt her, not even meddling books could save her.
Watching her, thinking about her, longing for her and hating myself more and more every second.
She moves, and I brace myself to get out of the way, but she walks toward a far shelf rather than toward me. There’s a ladder there, and she moves it along the bookshelf, then takes hold of both sides to climb up.
She’s halfway up the ladder when I feel it: another flicker of hesitation. Her thoughts are split, some still lingering on the pages she just read, others pulling toward me. She feels like looking at books is a waste of time when she has a direct source.
What if I asked him?
She’s been thinking of me all day.
The realization sends a ripple of satisfaction through me, with more than a little self-loathing. She has no idea I’m here, lurking out of sight.
She takes another step up the ladder, her hand stretching for the next rung, fingers brushing against the edge of the shelf. My focus narrows to the sway of her body, the fragile curve of her wrist as she grips the ladder. She just had to climb to the top shelf, didn’t she?
The ladder shifts.
It happens too quickly. Her hand slips, her boot skids off the rung, and she plummets.
Instinct takes over. I haven’t summoned telekinesis in years—not without enough Elixir to bolster me—but I reach for her with everything I have. The air crackles, the faintest shimmer of power slowing her descent, just enough for me to surge out of the shadows and catch her.
She collides with me, her weight knocking the air from my lungs as my arms wrap tightly around her. The impact reverberates through me, her warmth, her scent, her very presence igniting something feral beneath my skin.
For a moment, the world stills.
Her breath is shallow, her chest rising and falling against mine. One of my hands braces her lower back, the other cradling the back of her head, fingers brushing her soft hair. Her pulse races beneath my touch, mirroring the erratic pounding of my own heart.
A mistake.
But she’s safe .
For that, I’m grateful. And yet, I can’t bring myself to let her go—not yet.
Her eyes are wide, her breath ragged. For a moment neither of us speaks—then she looks up at me.
“I was just thinking about you,” she breathes.
“I know,” I say before I can think better of it.
Her breath hitches, her teeth bite into her lower lip. I can feel the exact moment she realizes what this means–that I was here, watching her, close enough to touch. Her cheeks flush pink, and her thoughts are a chaotic tangle of embarrassment, confusion, and—gods help me—desire.
I set her down gently, stepping back as soon as her feet touch the ground. She stumbles slightly, her balance unsteady, but I don’t reach for her again.
“How long have you been standing there?” she asks, dusting herself off.
“Long enough to save you from your own clumsiness.”
Her lips press into a thin line as she scowls at me. “And you didn’t think to say anything?” she finally says, crossing her arms over her chest. “What, were you planning to stand there all day, lurking in the darkness?”
“I don’t have much of a choice but to lurk,” I murmur. I look over her shoulder, nervous that another scholar might appear. “Remember? I’m not supposed to be here.”
She looks at me again, and this time, there’s a small smirk on her lips. The tension between us shifts, lightening just enough to let me breathe again.
“Well,” she says, gesturing toward the ladder. “Thanks for the save, I guess.”
“You’re welcome.”
She snorts. “Do you make a habit of watching people work?”
“Only the interesting ones.”
She’s blushing again, and she looks away quickly, her thoughts skittering back toward last night’s dreams. She’s flustered, caught off guard by the compliment, and I can feel a faint flicker of pride beneath her confusion.
I shouldn’t have said that.
I should leave now.
I get my excuse when voices echo from the corridor, and I look back toward my hiding place. “I should be going,” I tell her. “But…”
I pause. This is all a very bad idea.
“I’ll be expecting you later,” I continue. “After most people have gone—then I can take you through the stacks, point you in the direction of the most relevant books.”
Her eyes glitter, the silver of Elixir swirling. “Really?”
“Yes,” I say. “But if you do, you’ll have to promise me one thing.”
Her brow arches. “What’s that?”
“Don’t fall again.”
She smirks…and then she laughs , and the psychic resonance of it is like drops of cool, refreshing rain falling onto my skin.
“I’ll do my best,” she smiles.