To Kiss A Kringle (Southern Sanctuary Book 13)

by Jane Cousins

  “But what if something goes wrong?”

  “Wrong?”

  “Out there, because of something I put in one of my reports. Or something I miss.”

  “Look, you went down the academic path to do your bit to protect the District, I get it. It’s not flashy. You don’t stumble home covered in blood. Unless one of the more violent books gets loose and runs rabid.” Okay, he might have gone a little too far with that description as Larson went very pale again. “And unlike the Enforcement team you don’t have Elijah riding your butt. Who because he knows he can’t always be there, trains his people into the ground so they will have the skills, so they will be ready for what ever comes their way. So it’s up to you, all of you, to cut the cord. Step up, be responsible. There’s going to come a time when it’s all hands on deck. Do you really want to be the weak link in the chain?”

  “Goddess, no. But, what if someone gets hurt as a direct result of something I report?”

  “No one is infallible. Be it the information gatherers, or the people on the front line. Eventually someone is bound to get hurt. All you can do is your damnedest to limit the fall out. It might come down to a gap in your report. Or, it might come down to the person reading that report and ignoring your advice. Or they might just slip in some mud and crack their head open. You don’t know what will happen. You can only be responsible for your part in the chain of events.”

  Larson’s shoulders and back unconsciously straightened as he leaned forward and clicked on the first critical request now sitting at the head of the queue. Cullen stood up, walked over and plugged back in the phones. All three immediately began ringing. He picked up the nearest one.

  “Research Department.”

  There was a long pause and then a surprised female voice answered. “Hello, yes, this is Adelaide Dunst and I was ringing to find out the status of my research query.”

  “Could you tell me the ID number and its priority?”

  “Um, oh… here’s the number, GHL2098. And it’s listed as a low priority, which is ridiculous because I need the information now.”

  “Are lives in danger?”

  “Only fictional ones. I write erotica you see, I’m surprised you didn’t recognise my name. I need to know everything there is to know about knife play and I need it before tomorrow. My publisher is hounding me about deadlines again.”

  “Mam-”

  “Call me Adelaide.”

  “Adelaide. A new system has just been brought on line. Low priority items will be dealt with in a timely fashion but high to medium will take precedence.”

  “But… that’s absurd. We’ve never done it like that before.”

  “Like I said, it’s a new system. Now, if you are unhappy about this I suggest you visit us here at the Library and conduct your own research on… knife play. We have a lot of available and very helpful staff to point you in the right direction. Alternatively, you can be patient and wait until your item is addressed by the research team. Please note that calling, pestering or complaining will see that item dropped lower and lower on the queue. Pass the word. Have a good day.” Cullen hung up, feeling rather pleased with himself until he noted that Larson was staring at him with a mixture of surprise, fear and what looked like a small measure of hero worship.

  Larson shook his head slowly. “You are so dead. It’s been nice knowing you.”

  Shit, had he crossed an irrevocable line in the sand?

  * * *

  Patricia held her hand up for quiet and answered the ringing phone. She ignored the outraged expression on Zartel’s face, a look that if one didn’t squint slightly might be mistaken for a sulky, pouty expression. Hah, he was the one who’d barged into her office first thing Monday morning, four hours early for their scheduled appointment.

  Marta had worked miracles with Patricia’s day planner to get him in so soon but did he look grateful? No. He’d stormed into her office two minutes after she’d sat down and began making demands. She took another look at that full bottom lip of his jutting out. Hmm, lucky for him he was gorgeous, not many warriors could still look handsome while doing the pout… outraged thing.

  She finished advising Great-Uncle Galt of the best and most reliable stockists of Saturn dust and hung up the phone. Quickly holding her finger up once more to indicate she didn’t want to hear a peep out of Zartel.

  She needed to double-check with Great-Aunt Annabeth that the Gardening Club were happy to have Gigi cater their monthly meeting again, scheduled for next week. Numbers permitting, to be held in the central domed room, or they’d move it to the Agricultural and Environment Wing.

  Patricia was power housing through her to-do list when someone cleared their throat. Hmm, what now? Wow, Zartel could make thunderclouds look light and fluffy, that was some scowl. She was impressed, but far from intimidated.

  “You will attend me.”

  “And we’ve talked about your word choice previously.” Patricia shifted her focus back to her computer.

  “I will not be ignored.”

  Patricia, just to prove an important point, continued to ignore him.

  The sound of a fist slamming down on her desk, sending all the contents on it leaping into the air had barely finished echoing around the office when Zartel, much to his surprise and consternation, found himself pinned back in his chair. An invisible oppressive wave beating against him. He couldn’t move. Straining, every muscle bunched, veins throbbing, his face red with exertion, he fought to free himself, but to no avail.

  Whoops, that had been an automatic response, Patricia couldn’t remember the last time she’d unintentionally used her magic, like some newbie who didn’t know better or have perfect control. Shameful. Yet, kind of justifiable.

  At first Zartel’s presence in her office this morning had amused her. Being caught in Alma’s matchmaking vortex was interesting, on a purely analytical level. Growing up she remembered her good friend Marion stomping around seething at Alma’s tactics and the fact that she constantly found an irritating Stormrider under foot every time she turned around.

  Damn, that had been a beautiful meld ceremony held on the high cliffs with Marion and Seth standing in the middle of a water sprout. The audience wisely all wearing waterproof ponchos and anchoring themselves to the ground via a series of complicated cabling. The group surrounded by lightning rods. And as Marion and Seth said their final vows and shared blood, a hundred lightning bolts rained down. It had been magical. It had also taken more than a month for her hair to return to normal.

  Patricia could only assume this mix of emotion, the irritation, the aggravation, the small measure of amusement at Alma’s gall, at finally producing her meld mate, was normal. And the… go on, admit it, reluctance she felt, her and Zartel? She supposed this reaction too was commonplace.

  How many times had she heard family members express exactly what she was thinking? Too many to count.

  But Patricia had given up the dream of joining their ranks long ago. She really did have a perfect life. Her home. Her job. Her wonderful Library. Her friends. Her family. She didn’t need a meld mate.

  Especially one who thought it acceptable to slam his fist down on her desk to get her attention like an infant cracking a temper tantrum. No, not an infant… a Warrior, expressing his displeasure… like a small toddler.

  Clicking her teeth together, cutting off the barely audible hissing sound she was making, Patricia watched as Zartel suddenly collapsed forward. Clutching the edge of her desk, sucking in air noisily, looking around the room frantically for the threat.

  Over react much. Typical warrior. Finding no adversary Zartel’s gaze finally settled upon Patricia. Surprise and a little wariness now lurking in those dark brown depths.

  Sending him a cool, warning look, Patricia then proceeded to pointedly straighten her desk back to the way it had been, before returning her attention to the computer screen. Eight emails and four phone calls later she finally had a moment to catch her breath. Shifting her atten
tion to Zartel she found him eyeing her with clear calculating speculation in those dark eyes.

  “What?”

  “You are clever.”

  His statement set her teeth on edge given the clear surprise in his tone. Grrr, arrogant, posturing, over-muscled man. She was about to open her mouth to give a tart, sarcastic response, when he abruptly stood up. Hmmm, she hadn’t noticed he had swapped the panels of cloth for brown breeches and knee high boots this morning. It was rather distracting to find herself now eye to… well… six pack, only her desk separating her from all that defined, sculpted bare flesh.

  She snapped out of her trance when she suddenly found herself staring at his just as sculpted and defined back as he stalked to the door. “Wait. Where are you going?”

  A haughty dark glare was tossed over a muscular shoulder. “I will be back at the designated time to meet the descendant. I… apologise for disturbing you this morning.” Zartel looked pained as he said the words, as if they left a bitter after taste in his mouth. “Until we meet again.”

  Hmmm, Patricia frowned at the empty doorway. As compliments went, hearing how clever she was didn’t impress her. She was secure enough in her own skills and abilities that she assumed it was readily apparent. And it had taken Zartel, what? Two meetings and watching her work for over an hour to twig that she was smart? Still, it was nice to be appreciated for more than a firm ass and a set of breasts. It showed growth on the warrior’s part, that he had layers, which she had been beginning to doubt.

  She should be feeling some after-glow, shouldn’t she? Not only had Zartel complimented her, he’d apologised. It was ridiculous but she couldn’t help but compare her real life encounters with him to the secret romance books she read. If there was a checklist for slowly bringing the arrogant, blunt Warrior around to being more heroine worthy, than check and double check. She was definitely making progress.

  Except one small problem.

  Yes, she definitely found Zartel to be walking eye-candy. And she definitely got hot under the collar when he fixed her with that dark gaze of his. But shouldn’t that heat be located more, well, further south in her body? The only throbbing she experienced in his company was in her jaw, as a direct result of constantly grinding her teeth together in irritation at his pompous, entitled attitude.

  Shaking her head, Patricia shifted her attention back to the screen in front of her. A rare and wonderful occurrence was taking place, it had been at least ten minutes since someone assigned to Research had sent her a query to sign off on.

  Not that it was unheard of, must mean someone senior was on the roster and thankfully being thorough and taking charge. Hmmm, but that didn’t account for her silent phone. The last two calls had been Cryptozoology related. Usually she was inundated with calls from family and friends wanting an update on the status of their Research request. Dropping strong hints about how vital the request was to settle a bet or stop the invisible sheep from eating all their prized tomatoes. And could Patricia just look into it personally, or light a fire under someone in Research to place their item at the top of the list?

  She should take this as a sign from the Goddess, a blessed event and get some work done. No, call her suspicious but this required investigation. Calling up the Research roster Patricia’s gaze instantly narrowed on the name of the second staff member assigned to the department for the day, Cullen.

  And that wasn’t all she noticed. Now items listed as critical were shaded red, and sitting at the top of the queue, with a countdown clock next to each line indicating when the Requester could expect a response by. Medium priority items were listed in blue, longer timeframes assigned to them. And low priority items were shaded yellow. And there was a stunning number of yellow items.

  Even as she watched one of the yellow items turned orange and the timeframe clock next to it leapt forward by five days. An asterisk appearing next to the clock. Patricia tapped on the asterisk. First offence. What the hell did that mean. First offence?

  That interfering, irritating, interloper. How dare he. How dare he waltz into her Library and make such sweeping changes to one of the Library’s integral service offerings.

  Okay, so she had been pleading with the computer department to update the Research System exactly like this. To streamline it. To make it priority driven. To give everyone easy visibility of where their item stood in the queue and when it was likely to be addressed.

  Problem was, the Library had to share IT resources with not just the High Council but the Liaison’s Office and the Enforcement team. And Patricia just could not compete on the intimidation front when it came to the likes of Darcy, or Aunt Sarah. So far too frequently the Library’s IT needs languished at the bottom of someone’s to-do list, never actually getting done.

  Staring at the blinking asterisk, Patricia frowned, she had no idea what first offence meant. But given how pushy her family could be, incorporating some kind of penalty arrangement in the scheme was only smart.

  But that was beside the point. Cullen had been assigned to the Research Department for all of three hours and he was already causing a massive upheaval. And it would all inevitably come slamming back down on her. Sure, the family might be sensibly avoiding calling to ask for updates, but Patricia would bet her life savings that she would never know a moment’s peace once she stepped outside the Library.

  Grrr, she should stomp over to the Research Department and confront Cullen right now… except, what if he changed it all back?

  She was a smart woman. As had so tiresomely just recently been pointed out. Think. No confrontation. No attack. In fact, why acknowledge the changes at all? She wouldn’t give Cullen the satisfaction.

  But she couldn’t let this gambit of his, to exert his will, his control on her Library go unanswered.

  Come on, think. Grrr, she just had too many irritating, annoying men on her plate, that was the problem. Hold on. Maybe that was the answer. Introduce Cullen to Zartel.

  Patricia found herself smiling at the idea of the very tall, very muscular, very dour, Zartel, clashing with the less than tall, superior, thinks he was in charge, Cullen.

  Yes. It was the perfect sneaky way to send Cullen running for cover. The warrior versus the retired banker, or what ever Cullen used to be. There would be no contest. Zartel wouldn’t even have to break a sweat. He would just scowl the smaller man into submission.

  Smiling, Patricia fired off a meeting invite to Cullen, advising him that he had just been assigned to yet another Special Project. His involvement mandatory, of course.

  Yes. Victory was near, Patricia could almost taste it. Cullen was going down… hmmm, and why did that double entendre ignite a small flame simmering low in her body? Nope, she was imagining things. Too many late night reading sessions of bodice rippers, she should totally cut down.

  Grrr, and she just remembered where the latest batch of newly arrived bodice rippers were, in Cullen’s Potting Shed. See, that was why there was a flame simmering low in her gut, she was angry, nothing more.

  She would just need to take comfort in the fact that by the end of the day Cullen would have received his comeuppance thanks to a large, brooding warrior. And she’d have all her books back where they belonged.

  Then she could focus all her attention on bringing Zartel up to scratch. She wasn’t particularly warming to Zartel currently, but given Great-Aunt Alma’s track record, she supposed that would change… eventually.

  Hmmm, a late summer melding? Or, maybe early Autumn. She’d wear cream, but nothing too grand. It would still be warm enough to have an outdoor venue and Zartel could go shirtless. All that gorgeous, tanned, bared wall of muscle would help distract her from all his rather glaring personality short falls.

  No, that was way too negative. She never failed when faced with a challenge. Zartel just needed a firm and steady guiding hand to teach him to respect women and be less of an Alpha-hole. The fictional heroines managed to change their destined mates in thirty chapters or less, she could certain
ly manage in a few weeks. Grrr, but he was so damn arrogant, okay, maybe it would take a few months then.

  More and more an early Autumn melding looked likely. Maybe she should start looking for a long sleeved suitable dress now, definitely in cream. Nothing too elaborate, not at her age. Something classical. Once she had the dress no doubt everything else would just fall into place.

  Funny though, she could picture her wedding dress all too easily but couldn’t get a clear mental image of her meld mate. Honestly, too fanciful one moment and then fancifully challenged the next. She must have low blood sugar. There was no other explanation. Was there?

  Chapter Five

  “Good work, Cullen.”

  “Love the changes you made to the Research Department.”

  Cullen acknowledged the praise even as a sour feeling bubbled in his gut. What was that? Trepidation? Crap, he had the distinct feeling that he had definitely crossed some invisible line. Certainly it would explain all the – wouldn’t want to be you – looks, that he was also receiving from the grateful staff members in the process of exiting the building. The Library wasn’t closing, but smart staff members and the general public were making themselves scarce.

  “What do you think?”

  Cullen’s attention shifted upwards. “One more bolt, two point nine inches left of your right thumb.” The buzzing of a drill sounded overhead, followed by a satisfied sigh before Erik Valhalla stomped down the ladder.

  “Thanks.”

  Cullen had become friendly with the sculptor slash handyman when Erik Valhalla had designed and installed two water features at the Annexe about a year ago.

  Erik surveyed the domed room and all his hard work. Every brass hanging mega ton heavy pot was doubly secured. For those in the middle of the room he’d added extra chains. For those around the periphery he’d secured them temporarily to the walls. All the candelabras had been removed along with extraneous chairs and tables. And Erik had gone over the Italian vendor’s cart with a fine tooth comb to ensure it was rock solidly secured in place. And as an added precaution he’d unplugged the coffee machine.