The Library of Secrets

The Library of Secrets


The library is not what I expected.

Then again, nothing about Rowan's house has been what I expected, so I should probably stop being surprised and just accept that vampires have thoroughly modern interior design sensibilities.

But still.

Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line every wall, packed with books that range from leather-bound antiques to paperback novels with cracked spines. There's a massive window overlooking the lake, the water dark and still in the fading afternoon light. Two armchairs sit in front of an actual fireplace, because apparently vampires appreciate cozy reading nooks despite not needing warmth.

"This is..." I trail off, searching for the right word.

"Unexpected?" Rowan supplies, closing the door behind us.

"I was going to say 'intimidating,' but unexpected works too." I move toward the nearest shelf, running my fingers along the spines. "How many of these have you actually read?"

"All of them."

I turn to stare at him. "All of them?"

"I've had two hundred years. Reading helps pass the time."

Right. Two hundred years. I keep forgetting that this boy—man? vampire?—who looks barely older than me has lived through centuries I only know from history class.

"What's your favorite?" I ask, because apparently my brain has decided to conduct a book club interview instead of processing the massive life decision I'm currently avoiding.

Rowan moves to a shelf on the far wall, pulling out a worn copy of something I don't recognize. "This one. It's about a soldier who falls in love during a war and has to choose between duty and desire."

"Let me guess. It doesn't end well."

"It ends honestly." He hands me the book, and I notice his fingers brush mine deliberately. "Not all love stories end with everyone getting what they want."

I look down at the cover, but I'm not really seeing it. "Is that supposed to be comforting?"

"It's supposed to be truthful."

"Truth and comfort aren't always the same thing."

"No," he agrees. "They're not."

I set the book on the nearest chair and turn to face him fully. "Rowan, what are we doing?"

"You wanted to see the library."

"That's not what I mean and you know it."

He crosses his arms, leaning against the bookshelf with that casual grace that shouldn't be possible but somehow is. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to tell me this is going to work out. I want you to promise that choosing you won't destroy everything else in my life. I want—" My voice cracks, and I hate how desperate I sound. "I want there to be a way through this that doesn't end with everyone I love hating me."

"I can't promise that."

"I know. But I want you to anyway."

He's quiet for a long moment, his gray eyes searching my face like he's looking for something specific. Then he pushes off from the bookshelf and closes the distance between us in three steps.

"Julia, I need you to understand something."

"What?"

"The mate bond—it's not just about attraction or desire. It's about survival. Your wolf recognizes me as essential to your existence because I am. And you're essential to mine."

"That sounds like a biology lecture, not a comfort speech."

"It's not meant to comfort you. It's meant to make you understand what you're feeling isn't weakness. It's instinct."

I want to argue, but the way he's looking at me makes the words die in my throat. There's something intense in his expression, something that makes my pulse quicken despite everything.

"And what if my instinct is wrong?" I ask quietly.

"Instinct is never wrong. But timing can be."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning maybe we met too soon. Maybe in another life, another time, this would be easier."

"But this is the life we have."

"This is the life we have," he agrees.

The weight of that truth settles over us like a blanket, heavy and inescapable.

I move to the window, staring out at the lake that marks the boundary between his world and mine. The water looks black in the dimming light, mysterious and dangerous.

"Amy was right, you know," I say without turning around. "I am being selfish."

"Selfishness implies you have a real choice."

"I do have a choice. I could reject you. It would hurt, maybe kill me, but I could do it. That's a choice."

"Choosing death isn't really a choice."

"It is if the alternative is worse."

I feel him move behind me, close enough that I can sense his presence without touching. "Do you really believe being with me is worse than death?"

"I believe everyone I love will die because of me if I stay with you. That's worse than my death. That's everyone's death."

"What if they don't have to die?"

I spin around to face him. "How? How do we make this work without my family getting executed? Because I've been thinking about it non-stop and I can't see a way through."

"You leave the pack—"

"And they die anyway for harboring a traitor."

"Not if you leave before they find out."

The idea hits me like cold water. "You want me to run away."

"I want you to survive."

"By abandoning my family without explanation? By letting them think I'm dead or kidnapped or worse?"