Bibliophile and the Beast, page 1
Bibliophile and the Beast
Kinship Cove: Books & Baes
Ellis Leigh
Bibliophile and the Beast
Kinship Cove: Books & Baes
Kinship Cove loves a good story, which is why their library is a popular place to be. Welcome to the Kinship Cove library where the local librarian is about to find a happily ever after in the stacks.
As the local house cat shifter, I have three things I adore about my little Kinship Cove life—working at the town library, listening to podcasts about true crime, and dipping into a little catnip on a Friday night. So, imagine my dismay when a man with predator energy and hair the color of a sky on fire comes strolling into my research section and comments on my Dewey decimal system. But when his eyes meet mine and the string of destiny tugs us together, I know this is my fated mate.
There are just a couple of problems.
He’s far too big and dangerous for a little house cat like me. Too predatory for my level of prey. He’s also completely obsessed with me.
What’s it going to take for an introvert like me to tame such a beast?
And what will I do if I find out that taming him isn’t a possibility?
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1
Brittani
You ever just have one of those days when you remember why you really don’t like most people? If you’ve ever worked retail or in food service, I know you have. I was right there with all my brethren slinging fries and refolding shirts, except I worked at the public library.
“Excuse me.” A woman—short, round, tiny hands, beady eyes—came barging into my office and rapped her fist against my desk. “I need to talk to you.”
I tugged out an earbud, paused the podcast I’d been listening to, and pasted on my most professional smile. “Yes, ma’am. How can I help you?”
“You shouldn’t be allowed to wear those things in here. You can’t hear your customers.”
“I’m not in a customer-facing position, ma’am.” I nodded toward the circulation desk across the room. “The man at the desk over there—the one under the Information sign—is here to help customers find what they need.”
“But you’re closer.” She rolled her eyes and coughed one of those angry huffs, as if I’d somehow insulted her by letting her know customers could retrieve information at the information desk. “I need to find a book.”
I sat back, eyebrows raised. “You’re in the right place for that.”
Because—again—library.
“It’s a particular book. One of the ones that romance writer who writes a lot wrote. The real famous one.”
Danielle Steele, Nora Roberts, Beverly Jenkins, Jackie Collins, Brenda Jackson…names began to fill up my brain, the mystery of whom this woman was talking about piquing my interest.
“Well, romance is up on the—”
“It’s not a romance novel.”
My mind screeched to a stop. “It’s not a romance novel, but it’s written by a famous romance novelist.”
“Yes. It’s a mystery. There’s a couple of cops in the city. New York. Or maybe Chicago. I can’t remember.”
That was about as unhelpful as it’s by that one romance author. “Okay, so mysteries—”
“They’re married, you see. The detectives. Married detectives are the main characters in—”
“The In Death series by Nora Roberts writing as J.D. Robb.” I picked up my earbud, ready to get back to work and listening to murdery words. “The first book is Naked in Death and can be found in the paperback area of the mystery section.”
“I don’t want paperback.”
Of course she didn’t. “Well, you can borrow an electronic version. The library—”
“Eh, that’s not reading.” She huffed again. She was a major huffer. “Kids today, reading on their phones. That’s not real reading.”
I would beg to differ, but arguing was not my goal. Getting her away from me was my goal. “What format are you looking for?”
“Hardcover, of course. Large print, too. Size matters in font, you know? I like them big.”
There were so many things to say to that. I chose the high road—waking up my computer so I could see if we even had a large print, hardcover version of the book and ignoring the innuendo. I tapped a few keys and hit enter, searching both our own collection and the regional database.
“Jackpot.”
“You have it?”
“No. But it’s in the region.” I printed off a sheet of paper with the information Ms. Size-Matters would need and handed it to her. “Take this to the man at the information desk. He can order the book for you.”
“You can’t do that for me here?”
“No, ma’am. I don’t have access to the borrowing system back here.”
Another huff, though this time as she turned to walk away. “I don’t know why you’re in a customer service office if you can’t actually help the customers.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her nowhere on my office plaque did the words Customer Service reside, so I let her believe Library Director and Head of Collection Development somehow meant what she thought it did. She rolled on out the door, heading for the information desk where poor Matthew—children’s librarian and the head of our IT—sat. I sent the man a quick text.
Incoming. She’s a huffer.
I watched him look down then immediately back up, his eyes coming my way. They picked up on Ms. Size-Matters right away, and he shot me a nasty glare before refocusing on her and her huffing needs. I would have watched, but I was already over it. Plus, I still had work, a lot of work, to do. Collection development and curation—selecting the books we’d house and what formats to buy them in—was my job. Matthew and I worked closely together on the children’s book offerings, but the rest was placed solely in my lap. I had a budget, a need for new product, and unfettered access to almost every book ever written.
I shopped for books for a living, which truly was as amazing as it sounded.
Earbuds in, podcast picked up where I’d left off, and catalog of upcoming releases before me, I got back to work. Women’s fiction, mystery, horror, literary, crafts…the books racked up dollars in my cart. I preferred nonfiction myself—leaning far into the world of true crime—but my customers preferred lighter fare. Still, I spent a good thirty minutes looking over the upcoming true crime releases and plotting my buying strategy. Some would be needed at the library, but most I’d be purchasing on my own for my personal collection.
I was halfway through the nonfiction catalogs when Matthew popped his head in.
“I’m heading down to close the computer lab. You’ll be all alone up here.”
Up here, as in the second floor. And all alone in Kinship Cove was not nearly as dangerous as he made it sound. “Thanks. I’ll meet you downstairs at closing.”
He gave the doorframe two pats then turned and left. If he was shutting down the lab, that meant the library was likely empty. A quick glance at my phone confirmed that it was awfully close to closing time, but that was really more for customers than employees. I had stuff to do.
I dove back into work, determined to finish the single catalog I had left while listening to a true crime podcast about my favorite serial killer. Not favorite because he murdered people—that was horrific and awful. Favorite because of the story behind him, the way he killed, what happened after he was caught. Those were the details that kept me coming back to true crime. That and the absolutely amazing tales of survival often woven into the depravity. Mary Vincent, you know?
A good twenty minutes of focused work, and I was finished. I was just about to close up—and reaching the pinnacle of the Night Stalker case where Richard Ramirez was about to be found out—when a shadow passed in front of my door. I looked up, prepared to see Matthew again, but found myself watching a man who was definitely not Matthew walk into the stacks across the room. I checked my computer for the time—two minutes until closing—and rose to my feet. My stomach clenched and my body had gone a little cold, the knowledge of being alone on the floor with a strange man late at night bringing out my fear response.
It’s Kinship Cove. Nothing bad happens here.
Which is likely what a lot of victims said of their own small towns.
It was time to investigate. I snuck out of my office, slipping between the bookshelves and slowly working my way across the floor. Being a cat shifter—domestic, not big—meant I had decent hunting skills. I could hear a mouse scurry from across the room and could knock threats off countertops like a boss. Stalking an actual human being? Much harder. Especially in Kinship Cove, a town filled with shifters of all varieties. The man could have the senses of whatever animal he shifted into, which could be bad for me. But I couldn’t stop following him. My hunter mode had been activated, and nothing but a confirmed sign of danger would dissuade me from following him.
Totally ignoring a thing or obsessed to the point of distraction—there was no in-between for me.
The man made it halfway across the library before I caught up with him. I was just sneaking around the corner of the aisle he was in—Section 301, Social Sciences—when he suddenly appeared. He’d tricked me, that wily man. I had assumed he’d exit toward the stairs at the other end, but he’d turned around and scuttled toward the back of the room instead. My cover was blown, my investigation over, my…
Balance. It no longer worked.
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When the man rounded the corner, he startled me. I jumped and lost my balance, landing on my feet but still falling forward. The man caught me, his big hand grasping my arm and holding me up. I was humiliated to have been caught and to have nearly fallen, so I coughed and pulled away, moving to straighten the skirt I was wearing.
“So sorry about that,” I said, finally ready to have him be mad about my following him or laugh at me. I looked up his tall body, my eyes landing on his chin. “I was coming to tell you that the library is—”
I made it to is before I actually looked all the way up to his face. First, the man was handsome. Like, really, really handsome. Reddish hair with enough gray in it to speak of experience in the world, a chiseled jaw that could have sold cologne in any country, and big, dark eyes with laser-like focus. All of that was a bit of a shocker. Second, and much more surprising, was the fact that I felt the tug of fate the second his eyes met mine. That was unexpected, to say the least.
“Oh.” Yes, I was a brilliant conversationalist. I was also reduced to a puddle by those dark eyes and the way his lips had turned up into a half smile. “I…uh…”
“Are you all right?”
I shivered. Totally shivered from head to toe. Unfortunately, the man was still holding on to my arm, which meant he felt my tremble. How embarrassing.
I pulled out of his hold and took a step back, needing a little space. A little air. “I’m fine, of course. As I was saying, the library is about to close. I’d be happy to help you acquire the books you’re hunting for if you’re having trouble.”
He held up a tome, that smile firmly in place. “Found it. God bless the Dewey decimal system.”
“Indeed.” So…that was it. All I had. My brain refused to offer me any assistance in the small-talk category, which meant I was fully stuck in librarian mode. “Well, if you’ll come with me, I can get you checked out.”
“Of course.” He held out an arm, indicating I should lead the way. I slipped past him, my steps quick and long. I’d just met my mate, but he was acting as if nothing had happened. So was I, apparently. Was this some sort of trick? A game the fates were playing on me? Tease the silly kitty with exactly what everyone wants but make it impossible to seize? First, they put me in the body of a house cat with the instincts of a tiger or something, making me more snuggly than feared. It infuriated me to no end to have people pick me up and try to rub my belly when I was in full hunt mode. Second, they throw this man—who was so handsome it hurt, who had a voice that felt like silk against my skin, and who smelled amazing—right at me like some sort of carcass to gnaw on, before yanking him away. How could they be so cruel? How could they—
He grabbed my hand.
I nearly fell forward, the momentum dragging my body out of balance once again as he…held my hand. Just held it, standing there between two bookshelves with no one else around. Pretty sure my heart was about to beat right out of my chest.
“Sir, I—”
“My name is Griff.” He lifted my hand to his lips, turning it so he was presented with the back. “I’m doing this entire thing wrong, but you surprised me. So, I want you to know that my name is Griff, and I felt that connection, too.”
Oh. So, he… Okay. He wasn’t being yanked away. Got it. Good. Now I just needed to—
He kissed the back of my hand, and my entire body shivered again. By the smug little smile he shot me, he felt that one too. My nervous system was fully betraying me tonight.
“It’s nice to meet you, Griff. I’m Brittani.”
“That’s a beautiful name.” He tugged me a little closer, almost leaning over me. “So, tell me, Brittani. May I take you out? I’d love to have dinner tonight or even just drinks so we can get to know each other. Whatever works for you.”
It was so hot in the library all of a sudden. Blazingly so. My face and neck were on fire from the excessive heat. I opened my mouth to accept, had fully intended to say yes to dinner with this handsome man, when Matthew appeared at the end of the row.
“You okay back here, Britt?”
Griff spun, practically shoving me against the shelf and placing his body firmly in front of mine. I would have been thrilled with that move—let’s be real, the daring Prince Charming protecting his woman was an intriguing trope—but then he growled. Long and loud and way too aggressively for the situation. The rumble coming from his chest, the way the sound filled the room, it screamed predator. And if the way Matthew—a massive wolf shifter with instincts much sharper than mine—reacted, if the look of pure rage and hostility that crossed over his face and the returning growl he released were any indication, Griff wasn’t just a predator. He was an apex predator. A threat to even Matthew.
And I was nothing but a tame little kitty cat.
“Stop!” I pushed past Griff, jumping between the two men. “Both of you, just stop.”
The growls ceased, the library once again going silent. Still, I was filled with the weight of something close to dread. Maybe disappointment. Or maybe just the realization that the fates really were being cruel to me. A domesticated kitty and an apex predator were an absolutely ridiculous match. It was as if the fates were playing a wicked joke on me, with my heart being the punch line.
“Check him out, then lock up,” I said, directing my statement to Matthew. I noticed Griff’s head whip in my direction, felt his stare on my body. I refused to look up into those eyes, though. I knew better. One look, and I’d fold. One glance, and I’d follow him to a dinner that would lead to sex that would lead to mating that would lead to…nothing. Death. Murder at the hands of a hunter whose instincts would eventually dictate his actions.
I wasn’t about to become some sort of case study on my true crime podcast. She thought she’d found love, but there was no controlling the simmering rage of her predator mate. No thanks.
Griff tried, though. He stepped closer, reaching for me. “Brittani, I—”
But there was only one thing left to say. “We’re closed.”
2
Brittani
You are an idiot.
That was the thought that played on repeat through my mind as I walked home from the library. It was dark outside, and the streets were pretty well empty. Good thing, considering a tear or two fell when I couldn’t control them. I really was an idiot—the fates had thrown that man, Griff, my fated mate, right in front of me, and I’d kicked him out and told him I wouldn’t go on a date with him. Why? Why?
Okay, fine—I knew why. But I was allowed a little pity party after all that.
I made it home without incident—not surprising—and unlocked the door to my cottage around the corner from the best bakery in the history of the world. Seriously, their Breton butter cakes were to die for. I would need one or twelve in the morning to get over the fact that I had tossed my mate aside without so much as a chance to get to know him.
I released the resin stabber I kept on my key ring from between my fingers and recapped my pepper spray, turned off the app that would alert the police if I didn’t follow the exact route I had set up, and laid all my work stuff on the foyer table. Next came the locks and alarm—engaging one and switching the other from away to home once I entered my code. A quick sweep of the rooms and a double-checking of the locks and windows was all it took to finally relax. I was home—no serial killers or apex predators around to try to kidnap me. I then sent one text for the evening to my friend Margaret, who was also single and lived alone.
I’m safe.
Her response came two seconds later.
Everything locked up?
As if I would forget.
Of course.
I was in the kitchen warming up some milk for a before-bed snack when she responded again.
Good. A new episode of MFM just released, and there’s a discussion on the Discord about a current serial killer in Tampa. Fascinating stuff. Chat later.
And so, my night ended the same way they usually did—me alone, drinking warm milk to relax, being entertained by true crime, and chatting online with other people who found serial killers as fascinating as I did. Not fascinating in a good way—it was still a disgusting act that broke my heart and often left me in tears. Fascinating in an educational way. I was a domesticated hunter without the instincts or abilities to fight off a threat. Heck, even the armadillo shifters could roll up in a ball and pretend to be dead if provoked. I had nothing but speed and smarts.
