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It wasn’t that he harboured some secret soft spot for the library, or cared much about the building, other than its influence on the town budget. It was the principle of the thing, mostly. How calculated it had been. Regina had waited patiently till he was out of town dealing with some investment crisis to convene the town council for some bullshit emergency meeting and rushed through the hiring of the new librarian, having everyone vote for her pre-selected candidate without much fuss.
She had excluded him from that little meeting because she knew he wouldn’t bend to her will. That he wouldn’t approve the new hire just because she was a herbivore and Regina was trying to entice that demographic to her side for the next election. Adopting a bunny child had been a brilliant move, but it had lost a bit of its shine. And it hadn’t helped her after Storybrooke had featured in an article about towns with all-carnivore civil servants. Everyone who worked for the town, from the sheriff to the mayor, was a predator, a pattern that most people had apparently not picked up on before it was all laid out for a national audience to gawk out. It had gotten people talking, and not in a good way.
Hiring a herbivore librarian was Regina’s PR counter-move, as subtle as a sledgehammer, which was very on-brand for her. The one vote she couldn’t guarantee in the town council to make it happen, however, was his. And since new hirings needed an unanimous town council vote to be fast-tracked she had needed him out of the picture. She knew he wouldn’t approve a hiring simply because she wanted a bit of good publicity before the elections, pushing instead to hire whoever was more qualified, no matter their dietary habits.
And, above all, this put him out of the loop, which he hated. He liked to keep a tight control over most things that happened in Storybrooke, particularly if those things pertained to a public building in front of his own pawnshop. Whoever the mayor had picked was now his new neighbour. And, if Regina had had her wish, she was likely a scaredy little grass-eater, afraid of her shadow and, likely, more afraid of him. A lot of herbivores were bad at dealing with large predators being nearby. Old instincts kicked in and the best one could hope for was stilted politeness attempting to mask the skittish urge to flee. It wasn’t like in big cities, where integration was more advanced, more commonplace. In small towns like Storybrooke small town mentality prevailed, and with it all the old prejudices, buried under a thin layer of respectability and political correctness.
And he knew that he was intimidating, even for a predator. It was partly by design. The way he kept his mane long and teased, how he didn’t file down his claws, kept them trimmed but as long as possible. People read things into those choices that people in big cities wouldn’t.
He felt even more annoyed when he found out the newcomer was an okapi. Okapis were rare and extremely skittish, shy to the point of it being remarked even among prey-animal circles. She was unlikely to just ignore him when she found out he was her neighbour. Wouldn’t be too surprised if she chose to make a scene and be insufferable the first time they met.
He decided it would be better to bite the bullet and go to the library. Meet her in her own turf, see if he got lucky and managed to successfully scare her away. Save himself months of annoyance, and hopefully send a clear message to Madam Mayor about the risks of trying to leave him out of anything that happened around town.
He entered the library silently, old stalking urges asserting themselves, especially given the low ambient light of the library and the way the stacks made a veritable maze, prime for hiding. He was also in the mood to be a bit of a bastard, to make someone pay for the slight done against him.
He threw his head back so his nose could scent the air, delving past the smell of paper and book glue till he caught a delectable mix of blood and flowers, his mouth watering unconsciously as he let the scent coat the back of his throat. The librarian smelled delightful. Perhaps it was because his blood was high, and he was giving in to feral impulses he seldom allowed himself to contemplate, or maybe it was an okapi thing. It would certainly explain why they were very rare, if this is what every predator near them experienced.
He took a deep breath though his mouth to try and regain his composure before following the smell, taking care to be as silent as a church mouse, the way his ancestors had been in the savannah. His ears caught a whisper of sound, someone moving a few stacks ahead. The scent got stronger as he followed it and he practically pounced on the circulation desk, sure the librarian would be behind it. He’d apologise later, a fake smile with his large fangs on display to let them know he did not mean it. But there was no one there.
“Hello, can I help you with anything?”
He turned around abruptly, his nose letting him know before he saw her that the librarian was standing behind him. He first noticed the twin bumps on her forehead, and the shock of reddish-brown hair that framed them. Then he noticed the striped arms and legs, a contrast to the rest of her coat, which was a soft-looking brown. She didn’t seem self-conscious about the stripes, proudly displayed by both the short hem of her skirt and the cap sleeves of her rose blouse.
Her eyes were the only thing that was wholly unexpected. They were big and doe-eyed, like he had expected, but the colour was not the placid brown of her species. Instead, her eyes were a vibrant, almost electric blue, clearly a genetic aberration. She was a tiny thing, even to him, long neck stretched up so he could look him in the eye, calling attention to the velvety shine of her coat. She was eye-catchingly lovely, unlike any other mammal he’d ever seen.
But what struck him the most was how at ease she seemed. Not shying away, not avoiding his gaze, no fidgeting or muscles tense in preparation to flee. Instead, the bold little thing looked at him head on, a certain teasing smile on her lips, as if she knew a secret he did not.
“I beg your pardon?”
His voice came out gruff, accent thick in every word. Far from his practiced, cultured drawl.
“Well, I figured that, after browsing the stacks for so long, you might be in need of assistance locating a book.”
One of her long ears flicked before laying flat against her hair again, reminding him that okapis had a keen sense of hearing, better even than most predators. She had heard him coming. Had heard him as he stalked around and, instead of fleeing or freezing in place she had turned the tables on him, stalking him instead.
It should’ve royally pissed him off. Instead, he felt… impressed. Intrigued. Maybe even the littlest bit aroused. The predator in him saw the challenge, the thrill of hunting down a prey with such an acute sense of hearing. He imagined having to use his powerful leg muscles to their full potential to gain the upper hand. The delight of catching up to her with one powerful jump, feeling that velvety-soft coat against his whiskers as he-
“Are you alright?”
Her voice, also accented, he now noticed, snapped him out of whatever dangerous daydream he had immersed himself in, a part of him appalled at the feel of his claws sinking into the expensive wool blend of his winter coat and scratching the bronze head of his cane. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been that close to going feral.
The okapi really wasn’t helping. She wasn’t backing down, wasn’t putting some necessary distance between them. She was still there, smiling up at him, a bit confused by his prolonged silence but otherwise open and welcoming.
He introduced himself just for the pleasure of seeing the smile fall off her face. The librarian had been in town long enough to have made a few friends, and no doubt they had all warned her against him. The mean old Scottish lion, the terrible landowner, the heartless moneylender. There was a flicker of recognition in her eyes, and a soft acknowledging that his fame, so to speak, had preceded him. People had warned her about him, more than once, but she had dismissed their warnings.
“I don't listen to gossip. I like to form my own opinions.” He was as reluctantly charmed about her words as he was about her accent. “I’m Belle, by the way, Belle French.”
She stuck out a dainty little hoof for him to shake, his paw massive in comparison. He thought about how little she fit in the small town. He had heard a few people say it before, but he had assumed they’d been talking about her race, okapis being very rare and more prevalent in big cities. Now he knew they meant her personality. Brash little herbivore, behaving like there was no distinction between predator and prey, dressing in flirty little outfits and staring down lions. There were a lot of very narrow-minded people in Storybrooke sure to have a problem with that, not that he thought Miss French would mind much. Not if the way she was looking at him, a bit of challenge in her eyes, a defiant tilt to her chin, was any indication.
“I’ll hold you to that, Miss French.”
He felt his tail begin to twitch, trapped and safely hidden under his overcoat and thought, fleetingly, that the mayor’s new pet librarian might prove to be more interesting than he had first thought.