Keira hated shopping on Saturdays.
Harrods was heaving, busier than usual, a chaotic blend of determined hunters and leisurely wanderers who blocked aisles with complete disregard for anyone else’s existence. The perfume of roasted coffee drifted from Ladurée, irresistible and warm, coaxing her inside.
She ordered a cappuccino. The cheerful waitress convinced her to add a chocolate croissant. Keira gave in with only mild guilt. While she waited, she watched the river of humanity passing by.
Parents with hyperactive children clutching enormous rainbow lollipops. Parents with screaming children who clearly wanted those same lollipops. Nannies in crisp black-and-white uniforms pushing prams behind mothers carrying pastel handbags worth small fortunes. Elderly couples walking arm-in-arm. Lovers in their own private world. Teenagers trailing clouds of perfume.
So much noise. So much life. Keira had never felt more alone.
One day, a soft voice murmured in her mind. You’ll have this. You’ll belong too.
Right, she shot back internally. Any man would be thrilled to discover his girlfriend’s a freak.
“Did you say something, Miss?” the waitress asked as she set down the coffee and plate.
“No,” Keira said quickly. “Just talking to myself.”
She stirred in cream, took a soothing sip, then bit into the croissant. Satin-smooth chocolate melted on her tongue and coaxed a sigh out of her.
I don’t do this every day, she told her conscience, which immediately conjured the image of a scale screaming for mercy.
Coffee finished and croissant devoured, Keira gathered her bags, which included a wrapped Hermès scarf and her mother’s favourite perfume and stepped back into the bustle of Knightsbridge.
A fresh breeze swept down Brompton Road. She paused to tighten her scarf before continuing, moving slowly, half admiring shop windows. She was distracted by a colourful display when a tall figure collided with her. Hard.
Air whooshed out of her lungs as she stumbled backward. Strong, leather-clad arms closed around her, catching her as they both went down—his body absorbing the impact. A jolt of something sharp and electrical snapped through her and then, for the briefest heartbeat, a familiar ripple of energy broke over her like a silent shockwave—there and gone.
“Oh!” she gasped, pushing at his chest.
“Sorry,” a voice said, deep and calm, with a faint accent she couldn’t place. The man stood in one fluid motion and pulled her up with him.
Keira looked straight into cobalt-blue eyes.
Words fled. Her brain short-circuited.
“Are you all right?” he asked, brow furrowing.
“Um. Yes,” she managed, finally dragging her gaze away. Her cheeks burned.
He crouched, collecting her spilled packages. “My apologies. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“It’s fine. I was distracted too.” Keira brushed off her coat, trying to regain some dignity.
“Your knee,” he gestured. “It’s bleeding. Let me help.”
“No,” she dabbed at the scrape with a tissue, tugging her skirt lower. Tears pricked behind her eyes—frustration, embarrassment, leftover panic from last night’s nightmare. “It’s okay. Really.”
“Let me—”
“No,” she said again, voice wobbling. “I need to get home.”
“My car is close. Let me drive you. It’s the least I can do.”
“I’ll take a taxi,” she insisted, backing away. “Thank you, but really, I’m fine.”
He hesitated, studying her with an intensity that made her heart hitch. “Are you sure? It would be no trouble.”
She nodded quickly, desperate to escape the growing awkwardness, and the strange pull in her chest she couldn’t explain.
“All right,” he said at last.
He stepped into the street, raised a hand, and a taxi screeched to the curb almost instantly. He opened the door, helped her in, then handed her bags through the window.
“Here,” he added, holding out a business card between two fingers. “Call me if you need anything.”
Keira took it without looking. Why would I ever need anything from you? she thought, bemused and overwhelmed.
The taxi pulled away. She flopped back against the seat, closed her eyes and let out a shaky sigh.
She didn’t look at the card until the cab stopped in front of the apartment.
Marco Santana, MD
Santana Enterprises
A phone number.
She crumpled the card, shoved it into her coat pocket, and promptly forgot about it.
Marco watched the taxi until it turned the corner.
Then he slowly pivoted, scanning the street.
A Watcher stood half-hidden in the shadowed entrance of a bookshop, eyes locked on Marco.
The two men held each other’s gaze for several long, heavy seconds before the Watcher shrugged and melted away into the crowd.
Marco lifted his hand in a subtle signal. His team, positioned around the block, stood down. A fight here would risk too many civilians.
He pulled out his phone.
“You were right,” he said when Victoria answered. “They’re getting bold. They attempted to grab her in broad daylight, with people everywhere.”
“Is she unharmed?”
“She’s fine. No collateral damage. I put her in a taxi; she’s on her way home. The taxi’s being tailed. A team is already positioned at her building.”
“Good.” Victoria ended the call.
Victoria sat in her study, phone still in hand. The edges of her control trembled.
She looked at her assistant, Simone, who waited with a notebook resting on one knee.
“Call every Council member,” Victoria said. “This cannot be delayed any longer. We convene the meeting this coming week.”
Simone nodded once, scribbled, and left.
Victoria pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose.
I should have told her years ago.
The Watcher reached a quiet side street and dialed a number with trembling fingers.
“Yes?” a voice answered.
“Sir, we failed. Everything was in place. The car was ready. But we couldn’t grab her.”
“Yes?” the voice repeated, deceptively calm.
“Marco Santana intervened. We didn’t know he was shadowing her. We could’ve taken him alone, but he had a full team with him.”
Silence. Cold, suffocating silence.
Then—click.
“Hey, girlfriend!” Sammy called as Keira closed the apartment door behind her with a grateful sigh.
“You’re finally up,” Keira said, tossing her bags onto a chair and kicking off her shoes. Sammy sat curled on the couch in bright yellow pajamas, hair a curly halo, expression deeply unimpressed with life.
“Yeah, I’d have loved another hour,” Sammy grumbled. “But the bloody phone dragged me from paradise. Coffee?”
“No thanks. Had some at Harrods.”
“Brave of you,” Sammy said. “That place is chaos on a Saturday.”
“I know, but I needed a gift for tomorrow.”
“Find one?”
“A scarf and her perfume.” Keira stretched her leg gingerly and inspected the scrape. It stung.
“Ouch. What happened?” Sammy leaned in.
“Oh, nothing. Just… bumped into someone outside.”
“The idiot. Please tell me you yelled at him.”
Keira laughed. “No. It was an accident. He actually helped me up. And offered me a lift.”
“You didn’t—”
“No. I took a taxi. I’m not letting a stranger learn my address.”
“Well, maybe, it depends. What did he look like?”
“Sammy!”
“What?” Sammy said innocently. “It could’ve been deliberate.”
“Why would someone knock me down on purpose?”
Sammy’s gaze flicked over her friend’s shining hair, green eyes, soft sweater and short black skirt that fit perfectly. She sighed dramatically. “Never mind. Continue living on your own little planet. But was he hot?”
Keira hesitated, biting her lip. “It happened fast, but yes. He was tall. Dark hair. Blue eyes.”
“Tall, dark, and handsome,” Sammy crowed. “Please tell me you got his number.”
“He gave me his card. Somewhere.”
Sammy groaned. “Hopeless.”
Keira forced a smile. “Who called earlier, by the way? It wasn’t my mother, was it?”
“No. Worse. A detective.”
“A detective?” Keira’s stomach turned to ice.
“Yes. They tracked us from the club. Since it was a private party, they called guests. Apparently some guy was attacked a street or two away. They’re doing follow-up interviews.”
Keira folded her hands tightly in her lap. “Really? What guy?”
“Just some idiot who gate-crashed the party. They found him in an alley, confused out of his mind, blabbering about monsters.” Sammy snorted. “He was probably high as a kite.”
“Probably,” Keira echoed, throat tightening.
“Oh, and the detective asked for your and Alison’s numbers. He’ll likely call later. Standard stuff. When did you leave? Did you see anything? You don’t mind, right?”
“No,” Keira managed. “Why would I mind?”
Her breath came too fast. Sweat prickled her upper lip.
“I’m going to finish packing,” Sammy said, standing. “Flight’s early tomorrow.”
“Let me know if you need help,” Keira offered weakly.
Across the street, Marco sat in his car, watching the apartment block. He’d arrived minutes after Keira’s taxi. His team had swept the area and found no sign of Watchers. Satisfied, he dismissed them.
Daemon’s people were becoming reckless.
The hunt had begun.
The Guardians Chronicles 
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