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"Dammit." I scowl in the general direction of the doorway, more confident than ever that Ma is up to no good. Well, I'm not playing into her hands. Nope. Whatever she thinks she's going to accomplish here isn't going to happen. I don't care what Dahlia finds. There's nothing here worth riski–
My mind flashes to the cubbyhole hidden behind two dusty tomes in the library. The little metal box tucked away behind those books contains my most prized possessions, things that I'll never be able to replace. What if Dahlia finds them? Throws them out?
I jump to my feet, my tail slashing through the air like a whip cracking. The chair rolls backward, bumping into a table. I ignore the sound of rattling knickknacks, pacing in agitated circles.
Surely, she wouldn't just throw my things away. They have value.
"To you," I growl to myself. "They have value to you." To anyone else, they're little more than garbage, childish things no thirty-year-old of my standing would hang onto. So that's settled, then. I'll just sneak into the library while Dahlia's occupied, grab my stuff, and sneak out.
She'll never even see me.
Jesus Christ. Why do I feel like a SEAL sneaking into a goddamn terrorist stronghold? Oh, right. Because all the blood in my overly large body is in my cock, and I haven't talked to a woman in…well, ever, actually. If I get caught, this is going to be a disaster.
Suck it up, buttercup. It's not like she bites.
Chapter Two
Dahlia
It's quiet in the Woodburn mansion. So quiet you can hear a pin drop. At night, each tiny sound is magnified. My shoes squeak with every step, like balloon animals mating. I'll use a different brand of floor cleaner next time I mop, but for now, I don't want anyone catching me creeping around like a spy. And by anyone, I mean Gretchen's son.
I haven't met her son yet, and she didn't tell me much about him. He works nights and keeps to himself, which makes him sound mysterious. But if he works out in the gym downstairs, he seems more like an ironman than a bookworm. Not that it's any of my business, of course. I don't know the first thing about gyms because I'm allergic to them, but I'm not allergic to gawping at hot guys with muscles.
Technically, I'm not doing anything wrong. Not that I know of. But the library is the only room in the three-story mansion my boss, Gretchen, doesn't want me to clean. She didn't specifically saydon't use the library, but I didn't ask for permission either.
It's a gray area, so I take off my shoes to be on the safe side. There's a bottle of Pledge and a cleaning cloth in my pocket in case I need a cover story.
I fell in love with the library the moment I saw it. Every time I walk past it, I sneak a peek inside, biding my time and waiting for an opportunity to take a better look. I've only been working for the Woodburns for a few days, but curiosity is killing me.
So far, I've managed to creep past the living room, the drawing-room, and a spare bedroom without getting caught. Inky darkness envelops me when I finally manage to sneak into the library. The door shuts, and I take a deep breath to steady my nerves.
Where is that music coming from? Gretchen is upstairs watching TV, and there are no neighbors within earshot of the house, but I swear I can hear the guitar riff from the old Van Halen song, Panama. Weird.
It's quiet again, so I scan the shelves with a flashlight, staring open-mouthed at the delicious spectacle. Gah! So. Many. Books. It's incredible. The shelves are packed to the rafters. If this were my library, I'd attach a basket to a pulley system so I could fill it up with everything I need. I grab ahold of the ladder's guard rail and clamber up the narrow rungs, careful not to lose my footing.
The upper shelves are full of reference books and manuals. The middle shelves have picture books, art books, and other hardcover books, and the lower shelves are full of paperbacks. Surely, they can't all belong to Gretchen?
Okay, let's start with this shelf. Aha!The science section.The Elegant Gene, Origin of Species, A Brief History of Time.
Next shelf? Hmm… What do we have here?I flip the heavy tome around to look at the title.Game Engine Architecture, Algorithms: Their Structure and Interpretation, The Pragmatic Programmer.
"Computer manuals? Not my thing …. but that's okay." The ladder is on casters and pulling myself from shelf to shelf is easy. Where's the fiction section? "I'm searching for books with faraway places, daring sword fights, magic spells, and a prince in disguise!"
Whoops.There I go, muttering to myself again. A tiny giggle escapes when I realize I'm muttering to myself, pretending to be Belle. It's a good thing no one can hear me.
I expect the library to smell musty, like crinkly old paper and dry, leather-bound books. But there's a hint of citrus, bergamot, and something else…something….Um, no, that's just crazy.
What I think I smell doesn't make sense. First, I hear music, and now I'm smelling things? It's probably my overactive imagination, as usual.Get your head out of the clouds and your feet on the ground, girl! You'll never amount to anything unless you — blah blah blah.
Ugh! I can practically hear my dad's critical voice ringing in my ears, and I've just about had enough.
Mrs. Woodburn and I hit it off during the job interview. Gretchen is warm and funny, basically the polar opposite of my dad. She praises every tiny thing I say or do, whereas he points out my flaws at every opportunity. Gretchen told me she interviewed many applicants, but no one was suitable, and though I'm not a qualified healthcare worker, I couldn't refuse when she offered me the job.
I'm no stranger to housekeeping duties, and I welcomed the opportunity to put distance between my dad and me.
As it turns out, Gretchen doesn't need much. She's perfectly capable of looking after herself. The house, on the other hand, well, it'senormous.I had no idea how I'd manage to clean three levels on my own, but it turns out no one uses most of the rooms, so it's easy.
Loud scrapes and creaks echo in the room as though someone is dragging a heavy wooden chair across the floor. The hair at the nape of my neck lifts. I sweep the room with the flashlight but don't see anything.
