Guardian

Guardian

Rhonda Print

Published 2012

ISBN 978-1-59578-904-4

Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509

Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2012, Rhonda Print. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Liquid Silver Books

http://LSbooks.com

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Blurb

Claire Stillwell is on the brink of realizing her lifelong dream of owning her own gallery. But an eerie attack in a dark alley reveals a past she never even knew existed.

Can Claire embrace a life she never dreamed of in the name of love?

Roman Hunt has been assigned to secretly protect Claire. After years of hiding in the shadows as her unseen guardian, a fateful attack brings them face to face. Is Roman willing to risk everything to be with the woman he loves?

When two worlds collide and danger is imminent, can love keep them safe?

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Chapter One

She cursed under her breath as she glanced at the time on her cell phone. “Shit, I’m going to be late,” she said aloud as she hurried along her normal route to work at Bookworms Coffee and Books.

She was never late.

Ever.

It was a matter of pride for her. Claire Stillwell had built her reputation on finishing projects on time, usually sooner than expected. She was known as an artist who could not only create an original work, but produce it on time. Word of mouth was imperative in her business. If it was good, she could soar, her business expanding right along with her, but it only took one or two unhappy clients to sink her plans. And she was just about to sign a lease to open her own gallery.

Claire had already put in her resignation at Bookworms and even though it was her last day there, she still needed to be prompt. She wanted to keep that door open to her in case her gallery … no, she shook the thought from her head. Her gallery would succeed, she needed to believe that.
Visualize success and it will happen.

But she still needed to be on time and it would take another twenty minutes at least to get to Bookworms, unless…

She veered into the next alley. She could take the shortcut through the narrow back paths and be safe and sound at work in less than ten minutes. Right on time.

She’d taken the route once before, shortly after she began working at Bookworms.

Cassandra, her co-worker and persistent worrier, had reamed her a new one when she’d found out.

“Don’t you ever walk those streets again, Claire. What the hell were you thinking?” she scolded her. “There are gang symbols all over the place and God only knows what’s hiding back there, you could have been killed.”

“Don’t be silly, Cassie…”

“No, Claire.” She interrupted. “I mean it. It’s not safe in those alleys.” Claire flashed Cassie a smile but her words were cut off by the impatient demands of a customer, obviously in desperate need of a caffeine fix.

She had to admit, as she looked down the shadow-filled alley, it was kind of creepy.

Tall buildings crammed within mere inches of one another lined the narrow street. Their brick façades were marred by time and grime and tagged with graffiti of various designs.

Gang symbols,
Claire thought as she quickened her pace.

She continued down the alley, sweat beaded at the nape of her neck as her eyes flicked around her, looking for any sign that someone was about to jump her.

As one of the remaining lights illuminating the dark passage flickered and died, Claire wished she had heeded Cass’s advice. For a brief moment she considered turning back the way she came, but she had already come this far and it would take her longer to backtrack than to keep going.

Claire’s own footsteps seemed to echo around her and her heart beat a staccato against her chest. The first trickle of fearful sweat flowed down her spine. Litter swirled around with the wind, twisting at her feet. The alley grew more heavily shadowed the farther she walked and her imagination played fearful images of what may lie in the darkened corners.

A dark figure darted across her path and she screamed, bringing the back of her hand to her mouth, then laughed at herself when a cat gracefully hopped on a low overhang and lazily sat, flicking its tail and watching her.

Claire took a deep breath and raked a hand through her hair. “Get a hold of yourself, girl,” she admonished herself as she continued walking, albeit at a faster pace. She didn’t bother turning when she heard the clang of a garbage can lid hit the pavement. The cat had apparently found its next meal and she was late enough already.

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Chapter Two

Roman sat in the café and sipped his cappuccino, silently watching people as they flitted about the bookstore. The store was small but cozy. Café tables and chairs were centered near the front of the store while rows of dark wood bookshelves encompassed the rest of the area. They were labeled by genre—fiction, non-fiction, romance, mystery and self-help. Even though Bookworms was small in comparison to the super-sized chain stores, you could find most anything here, and if it wasn’t on the shelves, it would be ordered. They always offered the personal customer service that seemed to be missing from most places.

It wasn’t the coffee or the atmosphere that brought Roman here each night though and he cursed himself yet again for not staying away.

He had no right to be here, no rational explanation for being drawn to this café night after night, just before
she
would begin work. He only needed to live in the same vicinity as her so if she needed him, he could get to her in moments.

He was hundreds of years old. He’d seen it all, heard it all and probably done it all too. Anything new that could hold his attention became all the more intriguing. Surely that must be the reason for his fascination with her.

“You seem to be taking a more personal interest in this assignment.” Gideon, a fellow Guardian sat across the table, his eyes intent on Roman.

“Just doing my job,” Roman responded gruffly.

“You’ve had many people under your guard, Roman,” Gideon continued with a teasing lilt to his voice, “I’ve never seen you look at them as you look at her.”

“She has proven to be more difficult to watch over.” Roman took a sip of his coffee.

“And I’m sure it has nothing to do with her appearance,” Gideon said with a grin and a touch of sarcasm.

Claire Stillwell was definitely intriguing. Her easy smile and charismatic laugh beckoned him like a siren’s song. Her hair fell in waves, just past her shoulders, although she usually kept it pulled in a knot at the nape of her neck. Both hair and skin were kissed by the sun, lending a golden hue to both. She was slender in an athletic way he knew she got from sculpting her statues and walking to almost every place she went. Her smile was infectious and he found the corners of his own lips curved each time he saw her.

Roman remembered the time Claire had bent over to retrieve a fallen napkin and Gideon’s eyes walked over her ass, giving an appreciative groan.

Roman had to control the urge to knock the lusty look off Gideon’s face.

Bringing himself back to the present he said, “She has no regard for her own safety.

What might have happened the night she discovered the homeless man rifling through the garbage, looking for a discarded half-empty container of beverage to warm him from the chill of a night on the streets?”

“The man made no move to harm her.” Gideon smiled as his friend tried to backpedal out of the conversation.

Gideon was right.

Roman was there that evening to see her place several cups of coffee, along with left-over pastries and sandwiches, on an overturned milk crate. Other employees would have simply discarded them but Claire left them out for the homeless instead of throwing them away. It was a ritual she now performed at the end of each shift.

“She walks the streets alone in the dark of night,” Roman insisted.

“And you have always been there to see she gets home safely.” Gideon didn’t even try to hide the mocking tone in his voice now. Roman was being baited and he knew it.

He had followed her home many times and watched her from the shadows of a nearby building as she took slabs of clay and wielded them into beautiful works of art, her delicate hands kneading and molding the material until it took the form she desired it to be.

“You spend too much time alone, Roman.”

“It is how it must be.” Roman growled, his patience waning. “Her life is a sharp contrast to the dark world I stalk each night. It is a world she could never be a part of, a world I have no right to bring any female into.”

“Nonsense!” Gideon insisted. “There have been successful matings between our kind and human females. There has to be or our entire race would perish.”

“There have also been many unsuccessful unions as well,” Roman reminded him.

Gideon set down his own coffee and stood. “You do not have to do it alone, my friend.”

“Yes, Gideon. I do.”

Gideon pulled a few bills from his pocket and left a generous tip on the table.

“Thanks for the coffee, Roman. I have some business to attend to. If you need anything, call me.”

Roman nodded then watched his friend leave.

For all of its pitfalls, being a Guardian was not a life Roman regretted. He was proud of his profession and God help him, he relished the kill.

A wave of concern flowing from the young redheaded woman behind the counter roused him from his silent reverie.

“She’s never late…” whispered concerns were easily heard by his enhanced senses.

“I know it’s her last day but something must be wrong…” Roman rose from his seat in the back corner of the café and strode out the door. He knew the way to Claire’s home, he had traveled there many times to seek a few moments of solace in the mere sight of her through the windows of her small rented apartment.

It was where he headed now.

* * * *

Roman had only made it two blocks before a familiar sense of unease set him on alert.

There was a Spirit nearby. He could feel it down the marrow of his bones. With a low curse he changed course and followed his senses toward the threat.

This was yet another reason he could never commit himself to a human relationship.

He was a warrior and duty came above all else.

His mood darkened now and his body ached with the need to take his frustration out on the cause of his distraction. This Spirit would die quickly and painfully. He would see to it.

Roman rounded a corner and found the Spirit. Guardians had the advantage of the ability to sense them; the Spirits, however, rarely noticed a Guardian until they engaged them in battle.

This one took no notice of Roman, its focus directed toward the intended victim whose footsteps could be heard padding quickly along the pavement, though they still remained out of view.

A movement across the alley drew his attention and he was surprised to see a second Spirit lurking in the corner.

Roman would wait until the Spirit was transitioning into the Host, as his kind referred to their victim, before he attacked, when it would be most vulnerable. If he attacked now, he risked the Spirit abandoning this Host and escaping to attack at another time. Once a Host was targeted, the Spirit would be relentless in its pursuit. But which would attack first, or would they do it together?

A sharp intake of breath escaped a woman as a light flickered on above her, revealing soft, feminine curves. One Spirit leapt into action, hovering itself over her like a dark shroud. The other spun itself into the sky, abandoning its prey before its victim noticed it, and escaping Roman’s wrath.

Roman’s heart took one violent thud in his chest when he saw Claire, her eyes wide with terror, as she froze in place. She should have had no knowledge of the Spirit invading her body, yet she reached above her, swatting furiously at the Spirit, then clutched her neck, struggling to gasp air.

Roman could spare no time to ease her fears; he would erase her memory later and replace it with a frightening, yet uneventful walk through a dark passageway. A mistake she would not repeat.

He pulled his dagger from its sheath on his waist and ate the ground between them in long purposeful strides.

Chapter Three

Move, dammit, Move!
Claire’s brain screamed the order to her body and with a sudden rush of energy she began to back away, her arms instinctively extending in front of her to ward off the attack. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and her body began to shake when she saw that faint glint of metal.

Oh, Shit! Knife.

She tried to run just as her attacker’s free hand reached out, clasping her arm in his steely grasp. A scream bubbled up from her throat as he raised the blade above her, her eyes frozen on the knife. It was nothing like she had ever seen before, a long titanium blade with spirals around it like a lethal auger. There would be no quick slice but a slow torturous twist of razor-sharp edges piercing into her body.

“My name is Roman and I’m here to help you.” The man wielding the knife spoke.

His voice seemed to echo in her mind but her eyes stayed locked on the lethal-looking blade in his hand.

“Bullshit,” she croaked as her brain suddenly latched onto the self-defense class she’d taken as a child; she twisted, dropping to the ground. Her throat was still constricted and while she tried to rip away whatever was around it, she simply couldn’t grasp onto anything. Her arm wrenched in his unbreakable grip but she managed to squirm into the position she wanted and swiftly kicked her foot out, connecting with his knee. Claire heard him groan but he still held her firm. Worse, her throat continued to constrict and she was forced to pant in short raspy-sounding breaths. She felt herself swoon, the lack of oxygen threatening to steal her consciousness. Then a shadow, dark and thick like smoke from a fire billowing out of control, surrounded her.

“What is that?” she cried.

“Hold still!” Roman ordered her.

Claire couldn’t believe her eyes as Roman shifted his attention from her to the smoky shadow suffocating her. He drew in a deep breath as he drove the dagger into the tendrils of shadowy mass. Once snared in the dagger, Roman shifted his hand, and Claire watched in horror as long razor-sharp claws extended from where his fingers should have been and sliced through the core of the figure as it fought against him.

“Help,” Claire sobbed feebly.

The darkness took form then and lashed out at Roman with its own hands transformed into sharp blades as it spun a tendril of mist around Roman’s legs, knocking his feet out from under him. Roman landed on the ground, hard, and then spun away, avoiding the slash of blades. The sharp steel made contact with the asphalt, raining sparks across the alley.

Claire cried out again as Roman thrust his own blade back into the shadow above her but missed his mark as the black streams wrapped itself around Claire even tighter, cutting off her terrified screams.

Roman slipped a second blade from its sheath and drove both into the center of the shadowy figure.

Only then did it howl, a high-pitched squeal that cut through the night, causing every dog within three blocks to bark.

Claire sucked in a huge mouthful of air as the tightening on her throat disappeared.

She clasped her hands over her ears as something screeched above her head, cutting through her skull like shards of glass. Roman released her arm and she scrambled away backwards on hands and feet, not willing to let him out of her sight, yet desperate to get away. Her eyes followed the length of his arm to the odd-looking knives he held in his hands, twisting them into a shadowy figure.

She blinked.

Hard. Then tried to clear the tears streaming from her eyes.

Claire thought Roman had been attacking her. But … what if he’d been saving her?

She rubbed her eyes, still unable to focus on the men until she realized her vision was clear. The only thing fuzzy was the shadow twisting around the blade. A black mist of a misshapen man, its body shrouded with a dark fog, head thrown back as the ear-shattering screech came from its ever-widening mouth.

Terrified by the sight before her, Claire watched as the shadow slowly disappeared, swallowed into the spiral edges of the blade.

“What the hell was that?” she croaked when it was finally gone, her voice raw and gravely.

Roman sheathed the daggers and turned toward Claire. He locked his gaze on hers and she felt a shiver weave through her spine.

“What the hell was that?” Claire repeated, standing up on trembling legs. “I don’t understand?” Her head ached in confusion. “You’re the ‘afternoon delight’,” she muttered to herself.

“Excuse me?” He took a step closer and she immediately took a defensive step back.

“The guy from Bookworms,” she nodded in recognition, “extra large cappuccino at the corner table,” she mused, rubbing the chill from her arms caused from sheer terror that had nothing to do with the temperature. “I call you ‘afternoon delight’.” She blushed when she realized she’d said that out loud. “I mean,” she corrected quickly, “you come in every day.”

He placed his hand on her arm and she immediately batted it away while sweeping one leg out to connect with his, using both her arms and legs to ward him off.