Page 25 of Something Worth Keeping
“He might refuse.”
“Then you persuade him.” Thorn’s voice was dry. “You’re citing the bond between you as a means to keep him safe, so use that bond.”
Cillian pulled himself together, forcing his form back into human parameters. The rage still simmered beneath his surface, but it had direction now. Purpose.
“If any of you threaten Julian again,” he said quietly, “fated mate psychosis will be the least of your concerns.”
“Noted.” Thorn moved back to the table. “Now. Let’s discuss Vane’s current operations and identify vulnerabilities. If we’re doing this, we do it right.”
Rook finally stepped back, giving Cillian space. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t actually kill Thorn. The paperwork would’ve been a nightmare.”
“The night is young.”
“That’s the spirit.” Rook grinned. “Come on. Let’s plan the murder of a crime lord without getting suppressed by his fancy chains.”
Cillian followed them to the table, but his mind was still in a fourth-floor apartment across the city, where his beacon sat reading, unaware of the danger circling closer.
Tomorrow, he would tell Julian everything. Tonight, he would devise a plan to keep him safe.
And if Vane came anywhere near his mate before Cillian could act, the obsidian chains wouldn’t save him.
Nothing would.
Chapter Nine
Julian’s coffee canister rattled empty at 6:47 a.m., forty-three minutes earlier than his usual brewing time but completely unacceptable at any time.
He stared at the depleted container, then at his watch, then back at the container as if the beans might spontaneously regenerate through sheer force of disapproval.
They didn’t.
“This is suboptimal,” he informed the kitchen.
The shadows in the corner seemed sympathetic, but shadows couldn’t brew coffee. Julian had asked. Twice.
He pulled on his coat and grabbed his keys. He’d clearly been too busy with his research and obsession with Cillian to calculate the extra coffee needed when a person was suspended from their typical workduties. The reason behind the lack of coffee made sense, but facts alone didn’t replace the beans. The store three blocks east opened at six and stocked the Ethiopian blend he preferred. A quick twelve-minute round-trip accounting for transaction time, and he’d be back before a possible visit from his shadow guardian.
Julian locked his apartment and headed downstairs, nodding to Mrs. Gable in 2B, who was collecting her newspaper.
“Early morning, Julian!”
“Coffee emergency,” he explained as he hurried past, a statement she seemed to find amusing.
The November air bit at his exposed skin as he stepped outside. Julian tucked his chin into his scarf and walked east, mentally cataloging his research progress on guardian lore. He’d found three more references tobeacons in obscure occult texts, though the terminology varied.Anchors. Resonance Points. Light-Bearers.
All described the same phenomenon. They were rare human souls that called to darkness, and who could touch shadow without being consumed.
Julian found the whole thing remarkably efficient from an evolutionary standpoint. If guardians required beacons for stability, and beacons provided anchoring for…
A man in a grey jacket crossed the street twenty meters in front of him.
Julian’s stride didn’t falter, but his awareness sharpened. The street was relatively empty because of the early hour. There were a few early commuters, and a delivery truck unloading outside the corner store. Normal urban patterns.
Except the man in the grey jacket had been leaning against a lamppost outside Julian’s building when he’d left.
Julian turned left at the intersection instead of continuing straight. The store was straight ahead, but the left route would take him past the bakery, which was always busy first thing in the morning. More witnesses. Better lighting.
The man in the grey jacket turned left as well.
