Claimed (The Lair of the Wolven #1) by J.R. Ward

At the end of the day, so much in life was malleable. Death, however, was the hard stop, the existential rigor mortis that never departed the remains, everything frozen in whatever position it had been in: No more cars to be driven. No more clothes to be worn. No money used or earned, no food consumed in the fridge or wet washing put in the dryer.

She’d learned that sad truth from her grandfather’s passing, especially when she’d packed up their little house and had to give away all his clothes.

Because really, why was she keeping any of them without him?

Trying to get out of her mourning spiral, she was extra careful as she backed out, making sure that she gave Daniel’s Harley plenty of space—you know, in the event her eyes were not judging distances accurately.

Before she put things in drive and gave the engine some gas, she glanced at the bike. The saddlebags weren’t on it.

Because they were still on the floor, in the far corner of her guest room.

And she was glad they were there.

It meant he was still in Walters. Still in her house.

What he’d said when they’d freed the wolf, about not hurting her, had been … a lovely sentiment. Yet instead of the words warming her heart, they’d chilled her to the bone. She felt like death was stalking her house and she knew she was safer with Daniel in it—plus there were other, sexual reasons she wanted him there.

He was an illusion, though.

Although was anyone mortal really any more than that?

Lydia drove off over the gravel. When she got to the county road, she went right and headed down to the highway. The nearest biggish town was about thirty miles north, and she covered that distance by going up only two exits. That was the deal in this part of upstate. Lot of distance between everything.

The high school she was looking for was not far from the highway. No doubt it had been purposely located just off the interstate so that the kids from Walters and the other small satellite towns could funnel in from all four compass points efficiently. As she pulled into the parking lot, there were cars in the spaces—the teachers and staff, and maybe the seniors, too, lining up their sedans, trucks, and minivans, in orderly rows off to the side of the building’s single-storied sprawl. Meanwhile, out in the back, bleachers framed a playing field that was ringed by a red and green track.

The sprawl was right out of the John Hughes lexicon.

She found a vacancy about four rows from the entrance, and after she pulled in, she grabbed her bag and got out of Candy’s sweet-scented smell-mobile. Her purse was heavier than usual, and as she slung it up onto her shoulder, her neck felt the strain.

Striding to the entrance, she jogged up and crossed beneath an overhang that read LINCOLN HIGH SCHOOL in white letters. On the far side of a bank of glass doors, there was a lobby filled with glass-fronted cabinets crammed with trophies, ribbons, and photographs from earlier eras.

The front office was right there, and as Lydia walked in, the receptionist looked up from her desk. “Oh, hi. Are you—”

“Yes, I’m the one who called.”

“I’m glad we have what you need.” The woman pointed to a clipboard that had a pen tied on it by a string. “If you could sign in, I’ll tell you where to go.”

Lydia glanced down—and was struck by the fact that it was the same brand of clipboard that hung by the Plexiglas door to the transition pen. And between one blink and the next, she saw Rick’s notes on her wolf. When he had eaten last and what. When he had taken a drink and how much.

“You okay?”

She shook herself back to attention. “Oh, sorry. Yes, of course.”

Lydia filled in her name under the column marked “Visitor.” Then did the same where you were supposed to put the date and time. Under “Reason For Visit,” she put “Library.”

“Okay,” the receptionist said, “you want to go out of here and take a …”

The woman was very animated, all smiles and hand motions, as if she enjoyed telling people where to go in the school. Absently, Lydia noted that she was just on the cusp of middle-aged, youth still glowing in her face and in her eyes, even though her clothes were a little old-looking for her.

“Great, thank you,” Lydia murmured.

As she stepped back out into the lobby, she had no idea where to go. Hadn’t the receptionist told her to take a left?

Fortunately, there were signs mounted at all the corners and intersections of the halls, and there were even arrows that led to where she needed to go. And what do you know, the library was just what she expected: Glass-fronted, with rows of stacks and a sitting area with magazines and periodicals, it was another throwback to an earlier time, before iEverything and computers made life virtual, even if people were face to face.

Ahhh, the dry, inky smell of books.

The checkout desk was over to the right, and as she stepped up to the counter, a man in a navy-blue button-down and a bow tie with gold stars on it smiled at her.

“Are you the lady looking for the old computers?”

“Word travels fast.” She smiled back to be pleasant. “And I really appreciate this.”

“We get the odd request from time to time and we’re happy to be a resource. Come with me.” The man walked off into the stacks, striding faster than she’d expected or his belly seemed to suggest he’d be capable of sustaining. “The students only use the new PCs, of course. But you never know, and that’s why we keep everything.”