“Bloody hell,” Rhys muttered next to her. “Do they hang meat in here?”
“It’s not usually this cold,” she replied, frowning. Seriously, the library was not always her favorite place, but it usually wasn’t quite this chilly and oppressive. And when she glanced around, she noticed that the few students in there at this time of the morning were clearly feeling it, too, huddled at the study carrels, their shoulders up around their ears.
“Heating must be out,” she said before looking over at Rhys. “Good thing you brought a jacket.”
“Also good thing I’m from a country for whom ‘chilly’ and ‘dank’ could be written on the flag or possibly in some sort of motto,” Rhys said.
Viv opened her mouth, wanting to ask him more about Wales, but she shut it just as quickly, shaking her head as she continued to head for the Special Collections. Bad enough Rhys had found out that she’d studied Welsh history in college and grad school. She didn’t need to make any more small talk with him that inadvertently revealed too much.
Not that she’d studied Wales because of Rhys—she definitely had not. Not even a little. Yes, him talking about it that summer had piqued her interest, but you didn’t devote years of your life to study because a guy you went out with for three months talked about it one time.
Just like her never actually going to Wales had nothing to do with him, either. It was a small country, but she could’ve avoided him because what were the chances—
“Vivienne,” Rhys whispered, leaning down so close that his breath wafted warm over her ear, and now her goose bumps were from more than the cold. “We’re in a library.”
She stopped, confused, and then Rhys put a finger over his lips. “You’re thinking too loud.”
Vivi wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or flip him off, so she settled for ignoring him.
And if she smiled a little when her back was to him, that was her business.
There was something wrong with this library.
Rhys hadn’t been in all that many libraries over the course of his life, but he’d been in enough to know they usually didn’t feel like this. Hell, even his family home, the scariest place on god’s green earth, as far as Rhys was concerned, didn’t feel like this.
It wasn’t just the chill in the air, although as he and Vivienne walked through a pair of heavy wooden doors to access the back of the library, he was very glad he’d thrown on his leather jacket this morning.
It was something . . . unnatural. Something off.
And the feeling crawled over his skin in a way he didn’t like.
Vivienne felt it, too. He could tell from the way her gaze kept darting around. But she wasn’t saying anything, so he wasn’t going to mention it either, even though he knew they were both wondering the same thing: Was this something to do with the curse and the ley lines?
They passed through long rows of shelves, the space between them getting narrower and narrower until they had to walk single file, Vivienne leading the way. She’d worn her hair up today in a messy knot caught at the back of her neck, and in spite of everything, Rhys’s fingers itched to reach out and take it down.
What would she do if he did?
Kick you in the balls as you’d so rightly deserve, he reminded himself, and shoving those feelings down, continued to follow Vivi through the warren of shelves.
Finally, the shelves opened up, and they stood in a dim, circular room, a massive oak desk in the center of it, raised so high that Rhys’s chin barely came up to the edge. Vivienne, tall as she was, had to stand on tiptoes to peer over.
“Dr. Fulke?” she called softly, and an ancient, wizened face suddenly appeared.
“Ms. Jones?”