Daughter of None

4

Lex

As I returned the last of the volumes to their rightful shelves, I glanced at the time. If I was going to make good on my reckless promise to Cas, I’d need to finish soon. I tidied up my workspace, switched off the small lamp that bathed my station in warm light, and slung my bag over my shoulder. With a quiet exhale, I bid the books goodnight and made my way down the spiral staircase to the main floor of the library.

I loved the library at night.

The last blush of daylight had vanished, leaving the building cloaked in deep dusk. Only the sconces and a few scattered lamps remained lit, casting golden puddles of light between the tall shelves. Shadows stretched long and tangled, like they belonged to something with claws. I wove my way through the quiet tables, returning abandoned books to the trolley for the morning crew.

In the far corner, a small pile of books waited on a lonely table. As I reached to gather them, a flicker of movement caught my eye.

A sliver of light. A flash in the shadows.

I straightened immediately, scanning the dark aisle to my right. “I’m sorry,” I called gently, “this part of the library is closed for the evening. I’d be happy to help you find something tomorrow.”

Silence answered me. No footsteps, no shuffling, no rustle of a page turning. Nothing.

I stood still, drawing in a shallow breath, ears straining for any sound.

After a few still, breathless seconds, I let it go. A trick of the light. A shadow. A tired mind making mischief.

Still, I hugged the lamplit paths on my way to the exit.

The heavy door sighed shut behind me, and just before it did, I thought—no, swore—I saw something. A pair of eyes, glowing faintly amber, watching me from the darkness inside.

I walked briskly, the twilight deepening with every step toward home.

---

My apartment was cozy: two bedrooms, two bathrooms, more space than I technically needed, but just enough to feel like mine. I tossed my keys into the porcelain bowl beside the door and stepped into the living room. It was small, but I had managed a loveseat, a low chair near the bookshelf, and a well-loved couch where I spent most nights reading into the early hours.

In the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of iced tea and leaned against the counter, the chill of the glass grounding me.

I debated calling Cas.

A night out sounded exhausting. The idea of heels, smoky rooms, and cocktails with names like “Dead Man’s Wish” made me want to melt into my throw blanket and call it a night.

But then, like muscle memory, my mind wandered.

To the day I met him.

I had just graduated with a degree in art history and landed the job I thought only existed in academic daydreams: archival caretaker in one of the oldest libraries in the state. I was being shown around the basement—the archive’s heart—when Cas materialized from an aisle like something out of a noir film, carrying a bundle of architectural files under his arm and radiating unapologetic swagger.

“Well, hello there, beautiful,” he drawled—to the director, no less. “Here to direct me?”

Director Bennet glared over the top of her glasses, a seasoned look of annoyance softened by amusement. “Castiel, this is Lex. She’s the new caretaker for the older texts.”

“Cas, baby. Just Cas,” he corrected smoothly, eyes already raking over me. “Why don’t you let me give her the private tour?”

His gaze wasn’t subtle. It started at my black heels, skimmed up my bare legs, paused at my skirt, and then lingered on my chest long enough that I actually glanced down to make sure I was still clothed.

The director arched a brow at me, waiting for my cue.

“Of course, Director Bennet. I’m sure you have more pressing matters to attend to,” I said with what I hoped was an air of calm professionalism.

She didn’t argue, instead immediately pivoting to scold someone over flower arrangements for an upcoming fundraiser.

Then it was just Cas and me.

He leaned a shoulder against the nearest bookshelf, loose and lazy, his dark dress shirt hugging the lines of his chest like it had been sewn on. His jeans were dark and worn in the way that always looked better on men like him.

I gestured to the tube under his arm. “What’s in those?”

He blinked, as if remembering they existed. “Blueprints. Original courthouse downtown.” He set them on a nearby table and unscrewed the cap. “Bennet wants to show off our oldest pieces for the fundraiser.”

I pulled a pair of gloves from my purse and carefully unrolled the drawing. A white chalk sketch on dark paper, edges torn and soft with age. Handwritten notes in elegant cursive filled the margins—some dated, some barely legible.

“I can repair the tears and place it behind a glass mount to preserve it during display,” I said, my hands still tracing the air above the paper.

He grunted his approval. “What’s someone like you doing down here with all these dusty old books?”

I turned to look at him, surprised he sounded genuinely curious.

“I love history. And I think it deserves to be preserved. So the future can remember its beauty.”

He stepped closer. His hands braced on the table on either side of me, caging me in. I didn’t back away. I should’ve, but I didn’t.

His eyes darkened, softened, warmed—all at once molten.

He bent slightly, his breath brushing my cheek, his body heat sinking into mine. The smell of coffee and mint wrapped around me.

His eyes flicked to my lips. He inhaled sharply.

And then, his mouth nearly touching my ear, he murmured, “What should we do next, kitten?”

—

As if summoned by memory, I heard the lock click at the front door.

Cas.

Snapping back to the present, I downed the rest of my tea and darted to my bedroom, closing the door just before I heard him step inside.

I needed a shower. And time. And maybe, just maybe, some armor.

Because with Cas, I never knew if I was being hunted… or doing the hunting.