Keira’s feet were throbbing inside the brand-new heels she’d foolishly paired with her little black dress. “Brilliant idea, Keira,” she muttered to herself. “Buy new shoes, wear them for six hours, and then attempt to walk home in them. Genius.”
She’d been trying to leave the club for the past hour, but Sammy and Alison had more energy than a pair of caffeinated toddlers and kept dragging her back onto the dance floor. A wry smile pulled at Keira’s mouth. Her friends had some serious moves, and Sammy especially had no lack of confidence in the dancing department.
Graduating high school had apparently caused their brains to leave the building. It’s been two weeks of non-stop celebrations and an unspoken vow that sleep was for the weak. Tomorrow the spell would break, though. Sammy and Alison would fly off to join their families abroad for the summer, and Keira would stay with her parents in London.
She paused beneath a weak pool of lamplight and glanced back at Poison Ivy. The music’s bass thumped through the concrete like distant war drums. The flickering neon sign above the entrance beckoned her with the promise of warmth and noise. But the thought of her own soft bed—and the long day ahead won that argument. She adjusted her trench coat and kept walking, wincing as the heels pinched again.
A glance at her watch made Keira pick up her pace. The last train to Notting Hill left in thirty minutes. Poison Ivy wasn’t exactly central London; they’d gone because Sammy’s latest obsession had invited them to some “exclusive” party and arranged VIP access.
“Shame he didn’t arrange transport too,” she grumbled, burrowing deeper into her coat. Even in late spring, London’s midnight airhad enough bite to frost her breath.
She rounded a corner and nearly collided with a couple wrapped around each other like an octopus with emotional issues. She murmured an apology—wasted breath; they were oblivious.
Two blocks later the Underground sign appeared up ahead, a welcome beacon. Keira fished her phone from her clutch and sent a quick text while she still had reception:
Sorry to have left, so tired & big day tomorrow! Taking the tube. Have fun & c u at apartment. K x
A scuffle of feet sounded behind her. She turned her head slightly. Something shifted in the shadowed doorway a few metres back.
Probably nothing.
Still, she tucked her phone away and gripped the bag tighter.
“Stupid shoes,” she hissed. For a moment she considered kicking them off and jogging, but the pavement was cracked, littered, and definitely hazardous.
A cat yowled somewhere in the distance. Gooseflesh rippled up her arms.
She scanned the street. Dark buildings, empty windows, no movement. It reminded her uncomfortably of the horror movie she and the girls had mocked a few nights ago.
“Get a grip,” she whispered. “Cliché or not, you’re fine.”
Should’ve waited for a taxi, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind.
“Hey, wait up!”
Keira stiffened. She knew that voice. He’d tried to buy her a drink earlier in the night, persistently, overly friendly, and already drunk.
She didn’t wait.
“Come on, sugar!” he called, trying for charm and landing firmly in sleaze.
Keira quickened her pace. Please leave me alone.
A heavy hand clamped onto her shoulder and spun her around. “Why you in such a hurry, darlin’?” he slurred, leaning close enough for her to smell the brandy on his breath.
“Please leave me alone,” she said, keeping her voice polite, controlled.
“A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be walkin’ alone. Let me take you home.” He reached for her hair. She stepped back and brushed his hand away.
His expression soured. “No need for that. I’m bein’ nice.”
“I don’t need your help.” Keira clenched her fists, willing her legs not to shake.
“I think you do.” He lunged faster than she expected, snatching a fistful of her long dark hair and jerking her forward.
Pain shot across her scalp. Panic surged. He was bigger, stronger, and confident that she was easy prey.
“Comin’ with me,” he rasped, steering her toward a side alley.
“Let me go. I don’t want to hurt you,” she said through clenched teeth.
His laugh was ugly. “You? Hurt me? I’d like to see you try.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He thought she was arguing with him. She wasn’t.
Heat flared under her skin. Dangerous, molten, familiar. Years of strict self-control trembled under the strain. Her instincts clawed at her from inside, wild, furious and untamed. She didn’t scream. Even if there was someone around to help, it had reached the point where she didn’t want to attract attention.
He dragged her behind a rust-stained dumpster and shoved her against the brick wall. The stench of old food hit her just as his hand closed around her throat. She gagged, kicking at his shins, twisting, fighting for breath.
A blow smashed her head against the bricks. Light burst behind her eyes.
And she snapped.
The storm rose inside her. She felt it pour into her limbs, her blood, her breath. She no longer felt the chokehold. She felt no fear.
She felt power.
Their faces were close enough for her to see the anticipation in his narrowed eyes. Slowly, almost gently, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist.
“Shit!” He yanked away as if scalded. Red welts already blazed across his skin.
Wind rushed down the alley in a sudden, furious gust. Trash spiralled upward, a roaring vortex surrounding him. He staggered, arms over his head as a bottle clipped his brow and sent him crashing to his knees.
“Who—what—?” he stammered, blood dripping from his face.
Keira stepped forward. Her hair lifted and swayed around her like a dark halo, animated by ripples of power radiating from her skin. She bent close, her voice soft, regretful.
“I am sorry, but I did ask nicely.”
He let out a strangled sound before collapsing face-first onto the ground. The wind stopped as abruptly as it had begun.
Keira stood still, trembling. The storm inside her raged for another beat, fierce and hungry, begging for release, for retribution.
No.
She took a deep breath, forcing the heat down, burying it as she had done for years. When she could trust herself to move, she turned her back on the alley and walked the final block to the Underground. Her heels clicked steadily now. She didn’t look back.
A few miles away, the old woman bolted upright in bed.
“Keira…” she whispered, her voice threaded with dread.
She reached immediately for the phone.
A few thousand miles away, an elegant head lifted. Dark eyes narrowed with pleased recognition and a slow smile curved his mouth.
“Well,” he murmured. “That felt familiar.” He leaned back, savouring the sensation. “Welcome back.”
The Guardians Chronicles 
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