2. Katar

Afemale attacked me. A tiny—as in, the top of her head barely reaching my mid-chest—human female. How was that even possible? I was an orc. A warrior.

An undercover agent.

And I was sitting on my ass on the pavement, clutching my head.

I doubted a woman of her size had the ability to permanently take down an orc with my training, but she'd made a good attempt.

With a grunt, I sprung to a crouch and glared at her.

"You . . ." She stretched out her hand before snatching it back. "You . . . You're an orc!"

Good observation.

"A big, green, muscular orc," she said primly. "And I will point out, you're also a somewhat handsome orc." Her hand slapped over her mouth, speaking around it. "I didn't say that."

Straightening, I scrunched my shoulders. "Only a somewhat handsome orc?"

"Would you feel better if I said you were devastatingly handsome?"

"Somewhat."

Her pink lips curved up but smoothed much too quickly.

"You can call me Katar," I said.

"Why would I do something as informal as that? You attacked me," she gasped out.

"And your name?"

"I don't believe—"

"Name?" I barked.

She sucked in a breath. "Bailey. Bailey Everhard."

"Katar Dolkin." I cocked my head in her direction. "Everhard, huh?"

"It's a distinguished name. An English surname derived from Eberhard, a name with Germanic origins meaning wild boar or brave, hardy, and strong."

"Ah." I nodded slowly.

"However, my name does not matter." After fumbling to retrieve her phone from her purse, she lifted it. "You'd better run away immediately, because I'm calling 9-1-1. They'll arrest you for your offense and throw you in jail."

Not much chance of that.

"I didn't attack you," I said. "You attacked me." I pointed to the black object lying on the pavement. "With that."

"It's a stapler." She inched closer to it in her stockinged feet. "It belonged to Helga Merryweather, and she'd be horrified to see her . . . tool used in such a way."

"I don't know who Helga Merryweather is."

With a huff, she snatched the stapler off the ground, clutching it to her chest as if she'd fling it at me again if I took even one step toward her. "I'll have you know that Helga Merryweather was the head librarian for nearly sixty years until her untimely demise, when I assumed the position." She sniffed, and for a moment, I thought she was going to cry. "She was like a mother to me." Turning the stapler this way and that in the muted light, she examined it, her pretty eyes widening. "I believe you dented it."

"I think it dented my head." I rubbed the sore spot, though I doubted I'd have more than a bruise. "Why did you hit me with it?"

"You grabbed me," she huffed. "I merely defended myself."

"I heard you scream." I waved my hand toward the building. "I was . . . passing on the sidewalk when I heard you. I, naturally, only wanted to help."

Her head tilted, and her appearance finally sunk into me.

Petite.

A few years younger than my age of thirty.

Long, lush, dark red hair that blazed like dragon fire in the streetlights.

Brown eyes with incredibly long lashes I wanted to gently stroke with the tips of my fingers. I'd remove her glasses and . . .

A curvy frame that would take my cock nicely.

Fuck. Why was my cock getting involved in this? I was working, not on the prowl for a mate.

Mate? And why had that term popped into my mind?

"I'm sorry." She lowered the stapler to her side. Biting down on her lower lip like I suddenly ached to do, she glanced toward the library. "The library's closed, and I was working. The doors were all locked, but I heard someone in the attic, moving about. I was," her lower lip trembled, and her voice dropped to a bare whisper, "frankly, I was terrified."

All thoughts of what I'd like to do with my cock fled.

"Is this your vehicle?" I snarled, waving to the car. I scanned the grounds surrounding the building but saw no movement.

Her eyes widened, and she nodded. "It's mine, yes."

"Get inside it now," I bit out, placing myself between her and the library. "I'm going into the building to look around."

In a crouch, I moved quickly and quietly across the lot and onto the walkway, taking the paved path with long strides. One leap placed me on the stone decking outside the building, and I peered past the bushes on either side, seeing nothing but park benches. Another leap, and I passed through the open front door and landed in the library's foyer. I pressed myself against the wall and listened, not hearing anything except the tick of my heart.

Bailey tiptoed into the foyer.

"What do you see?" she whispered, squinting around through her cat-eye glasses.

"I told you to wait in your car," I hissed.

"This is my library." She drew herself up stiffly. "As head librarian, I won't permit you to bluster your way inside the building without proper supervision."

I frowned. "Bluster?"

"Thunder, rant, boast, swagger." Her posture tightened. "You know what the word means."

"Swagger?" I winced, shaking my head. "I bet your sixty-plus-year-old woman named Helga Merryweather used terms like that."

"She was eighty-seven when she departed and yes, she was an exceedingly articulate woman. I'm honored to have known her and to take her place in the library, though I doubt I'll ever fill her illustrious role completely."

I rubbed my right horn. "Look. You said you heard sounds in the attic. I need to check it out. See if I can find the perp."

"Perp?"

"Perpetrator, offender, criminal, potential felon. I'm sure you know the word." My voice came out sarcastic, but basically, I was teasing.

And the fire flashing in her eyes and the pinkening of her pretty, freckled cheeks was my reward.

"I'm well aware of what the term means," she huffed.

"If someone's here, I'll—"

"Arrest them? I assume you mean a citizen's arrest." She lifted her phone. "Shouldn't we call 9-1-1? Although, I'll confess, my phone battery's dead, so we'll have to use yours."

"I'll look around before we place a call."

She sucked in a breath. "Very well. I do appreciate that, though I can't let you saunter through the building without me being present."

She was cute, but she didn't appear willing to listen.

"Then stay behind me," I grumbled.

When she just stared at me, I stepped closer, trying not to close my eyes while I sucked down her sweet, spicy scent. This woman was going to drive me to my knees again, though in lust this time, and I couldn't seem to do a damn thing to keep it from happening.

"Not my mate," I growled, taking her hand. Fire shot through me like I'd received an electric shock.

She was my mate. One kiss would confirm it, but I already knew.

What a time to find her.

"Mate?" She blinked up at me through those glasses I wanted to slide off her face. I'd kiss her closed eyelids, her sweet little chin. Her neck. I'd unbutton her blouse and let my lips trail downward to her nicely rounded breasts.

"I didn't say mate," I bit out. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What was I going to do with this information? I knew very well what my body wanted to do. Take her to the nest I hadn't prepared because I never expected to find my fated mate on the planet's surface. Claim her. Show her why she'd never find anyone better than me.

"All right, maybe you didn't say mate." She blinked again. "I could've sworn you did, however, but it hardly matters." Her gaze fell to my arm. "Why are we holding hands in the library's foyer?"

I'd entwined our fingers, latching onto her as if I never wanted to let go. I lifted our hands, marveling at how small she was when compared to me, how freckles danced across her lower arm revealed by the half-sleeve of her blouse. If I kissed each one of them, would she shiver and sigh with pleasure?

Dragging my brain back to the situation at hand, I grunted and tucked her around behind me, still keeping our fingers entwined. "Remain behind me. Don't make a sound."

After tugging her fingers away from mine, she lifted her hand to her mouth and made a zipping motion, giving me a pert nod. "On it."

"No sounds."

"Oh, yes, I do apologize. You see—"

I gently pressed my fingertip against her lips. It was that or lift her to my height, press her against the wall, and kiss her into silence, something I sensed this prim, yet strangely sexy woman might take offense to.

Leave it to me to bond with a true mate who spoke like she was born in the prior century. Fuck.

"No sound," I repeated.

Her eyes widening further, she nodded.

I slowly removed my finger from her plump lips, watching her. When she gave me a sheepish grin that made my heart roar like a beast coming into heat, I took her hand again and, with her behind me, started down the hall.

She crept close to my back, clinging to my shirt, releasing little huffing sounds that I bet she'd make while I drove my cock deep inside her over and over again.

At the end of the hall, we came to an office, and we stepped inside. I shut the door while taking in the decent-sized area made up of stained wood half-walls, overflowing bookcases, and a broad, antique desk with a leather chair big enough for an orc to sit on while a petite librarian straddled his lap—naked, of course.

I needed to keep my mind—and my cock—on this investigation.

A quick sweep of the room told me we were alone.

"Why did you shut the door to my office?" she asked.

"So I can speak without being overheard. Look around. Is there anything out of place?"

When she shook her head, I opened the door, and we reentered the hall. I continued to the end and checked the back door, finding it locked on the inside. A quick scan through the window showed a back lawn bordered with high blooming bushes, well-maintained flower beds, and six park benches where people could sit and read.

Nice.

We returned to the foyer and worked our way through the rooms full of tall shelving holding books, me scanning down each row while tugging her behind me.

We paused at the empty glass case mounted on a stone pedestal.

"This is where the orc tome was secured," she said, trailing her fingertip across the surface. "They haven't determined how the . . . perp got inside the case. When I opened the library that morning six months ago, I found it gone. It's a scandal, I tell you. A horrifying incident for our well-respected library that will go down in infamy."

And that was why I'd come to Mystic Harbor. After the theft of a very special orc tome on loan from the kingdom for a year, the royal family sent me to track down the perp and bring them to justice.

For now, I wanted to remain undercover.

"I think I heard something about the theft," I said, watching her face. She wasn't involved, was she? It wouldn't be the first time a sweet, innocent looking female was the ringleader of a criminal organization.

"The police interviewed me, of course, but I was with a friend that night—"

"A man?" I barked.

She frowned. "Actually, no, my friend Vera. We went to the paint bar, and we . . ." Blinking up at me, she caught me staring. "We were painting. Having wine. But I will stress again, we were at a paint bar."

"I see."

"I don't drink often. I promise you, I only had one glass of wine."

"No need to explain."

"I feel I must. I wouldn't want you believing I get drunk. Ever."

"While painting?"

"That night's offering was an impressionist reimagining of Starry Night. I feel mine is a worthy copy."

"Is that right?" I had no clue what she was talking about, but I did like listening to her talk. She had a low, husky voice that contrasted with her prim wording. Plus lush pink lips I kept picturing stretching around my cock.

However, if she had an alibi for the night of the theft, she probably wasn't involved with the heist—though I wasn't ruling her out yet.

Finally, we found ourselves back in the foyer.

"How do I get to the attic?" I asked softly.

She pointed to a door at the end of the hall by the back exit and tiptoed behind me as I strode in that direction.

"Why aren't you wearing shoes?" I asked.

"I kicked my kitten heels off on the walkway. They're hard to run in."

"Then maybe you should wear practical shoes to go with your practical . . ." From the frown on her face, I sensed I was taking this convo in the wrong direction. "Demeanor," I finished lamely.

Her freckled cheeks pinkened, and she tried to tug her fingers away from mine. I held tight, liking the physical contact, though not the way my cock kept twitching about said physical contact. "I . . . I . . . I'll have you know that I let loose every now and then."

"Let what loose?" My damn imagination was going haywire.

"Everything," she breathed. "I'll also point out that this only happens if I've had two glasses—small ones, mind you—of wine."

I nodded slowly.

"Once, I . . ." She lowered her voice and peered around, clearly worried we weren't alone. "I got up on the stage and performed karaoke."

"What's that?"

"Singing along with the music to a popular song."

"What song did you sing?"

"I don't remember."

"Yeah." I frowned. "If I asked nicely, would you be willing to go to your office, lock the door, and wait there while I investigate the attic? You could sing while you're there if you want."

"No."

I suspected she'd say that.

With a twist of my lips, I opened the door and stepped onto the landing. "What's downstairs?"

"A basement."

I moved in that direction, and she flicked a switch to turn on the light before following. We reached the dirt floor, and I scanned the empty area, seeing nothing of concern.

"Back upstairs," I said, returning with her to the landing.

She promptly switched off the light.

I peered up the dingy, still-lit stairwell, though with only one bulb. "Did you leave the light on up there?"

She gasped. "I did not. That would be a colossal waste of electricity."

"Yeah." I released her hand. "Wait here." I'd barely started up the stairs before she clutched the back of my shirt and held on, climbing after me.

I huffed. "I told you to wait."

Her eyebrows lifted. "I heard you quite well, thank you very much."

"But you're ignoring my . . . suggestion."

"Are you suggesting I must only do as you tell me?"

I sighed. "I guess not."

"Very well, then. Proceed."

With a grumble, I continued to the top, pausing at the cracked open door.

"You do this?" I thumbed toward the unlocked panel.

Her eyes wide, she shook her head.

Listening, I heard nothing, but if someone was here, they would've heard us when we entered the building. I doubted we'd find much in the attic, but it would be a mistake not to check it out after the theft.

I cracked the door wider and carefully poked my head inside, scanning the tidy room with neatly stacked boxes lining the left side of the big open space. A window at the end let in streetlight, just enough to see . . .

Gasping, Bailey stabbed her finger toward the right wall.

Boxes had been dumped out and the contents were strewn all over the wide wooden floorboards.