Shadow Guardians: The Promised

Rip, real name Abach, checked his watch for the thousandth time in the last half hour. Where the fuck was the guy? Shit, you’d think since he was so elaborate, he would at least be prompt. But if he was being honest with himself, it wasn’t the dude’s unpunctuality that irritated him. He was reconsidering his choice to drag him…it… into this at all.

And he wasn’t into this whole sissy coffee shop he was made to wait in either.

He absently rubbed his right ring finger. If he were up to his father’s standards, he would’ve been wearing a heavy ring with his family’s crest on it. But he wasn’t good enough—not for his aristocratic father, not for the coven he’d been sent to.

He had spent the last few years doing odd jobs here and there for his father because nobody else wanted to take him in. But all of that was just a ruse, just getting him nice and comfy for the day he was planning to put the boot in his ass. Well, that day has happened. And here he was now, working as a goddamn cleaner in a fucking kitchen.

And now Rip had nowhere else to go. And it was all that dick Uriah’s fault. His jaw tensed.

Maybe it was a mistake to call that guy... His gut twisted uncomfortably. He might end up getting deeper into the mess. But he had spent most of the money he had to get to London just to meet him. It would be a waste to just leave now.

The doors of the coffee shop flew open, and in strode an exceptionally well-groomed gentleman.

Catching sight of him, suddenly the knot of nerves in Rip’s gut just vanished.

He strode over to his table and sat himself down as if he were in charge of the whole establishment.

“Well, here we are at last.” He drawled, taking a cigar from his inner blazer pocket.

“Took you fucking long enough.” Rip snapped. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for months!”

“Yes, well, old chap,” Steve said, “I had important matters to attend to.”

Rip shifted around in his seat, and for some reason his body started feeling all warm and tingly, like he was bent over a whore or something. “Can we just get this over with?”

Steve took a drag, then stared at him as if he’d somehow interrupted his smoking. “There is a Lord Georgiano that lives in Chelsea. I think you would find it beneficial to speak with him. He will help you.”

Rip’s neck extended back. “Another fucking aristocrat? Can’t you just get me into a coven?”

“Get you into one? Why not start your own?” Steve asked, observing him carefully.

Surprise flew over Rip’s face. “Are you kidding me? I don’t have the resources for that!”

“I do,” Steve said. “I can make all your dreams come true, Abach.”

“Rip,” he corrected. He hated being called by that name now, knowing it was connected to his father.

Steve gave him a dashing smile. “Lord Georgiano can help you get a coven together, and I will lend him any financial aid he needs. I’m sure your charismatic skills will be excellent, but I foresee that you may have trouble gathering members. Not to worry, I have plenty of aid I can offer you.”

“You mean you can offer me demons to make up the numbers? Why would I accept that?”

Steve lifted a shoulder. “You’ve already accepted me, the son of an Infernal. Would that really be so much of a stretch?”

Rip frowned and looked down at his empty ring finger. He swallowed hard.

“If you cannot be accepted into a coven, why not start your own? I’m sure there are other rejects like you who would just love to join. Besides,” Steve piled on the charm, “you would make a much better coven leader than Magnus, Abach. And this way, you can have exactly what Uriah has. Even better, it will be all yours.”

Rip considered his options. True, since the first day he set foot in that coven house, he wanted to be like Uriah. He never could understand what made him so damn special. Just because he was a vampire? Pfft. Biased bullshit.

And he didn’t really have a better alternative. At least if he had his own coven, he would have a future. Otherwise, his life was going nowhere fast.

He also had to admit that he’d been hankering for some street justice.

“What does this Lord want?” he asked Steve.

A waitress brought a Mocha Grande, the most expensive coffee in the shop. Steve gave her a charming smirk.

“On the house,” she sang playfully, giving him a wink and sauntering away.

Rip’s brows arched all the way to the moon. She just gave him a $95 cup of coffee for free. He looked at the pathetic instant black he’d ordered.

Slurping with his pinkie in the air, Steve’s brows creased as he scrutinized the coffee, and then he let out a mmm as he approved of the fine taste.

“Lord Georgiano’s daughter was… hm… Kidnapped by Uriah.” Steve said, licking foam from his upper lip. “He wants her back because that would get him back on the council. He wouldn’t care if you hung Uriah upside down from a thousand-foot cliff, so long as you brought Marionette back alive. In exchange, he will give you what you need. He can give you more details. As soon as you agree, I will… inform… him of your impending arrival.”

Rip felt like his blood was slowing down, and he found it increasingly hard to think clearly. But surely he could make a better coven leader than any of those brothers?

They’re just hacks. And they had been kicking nosferi-kind out into the streets for far too long. Someone needed to show them whose boss, someone needed to show them how to run a real coven.

And Uriah. Man, he was getting all zazzed just thinking about getting back at that putz. He might’ve been bigger than Rip, but numbers could overpower him. And if he had Steve’s demons on his side...

Rip extended his hand, and Steve grasped it. “I’m in.”

Steve gave a nod. “I’ll let Lord Georgiano’s driver know. He’ll come and pick you up. In the meantime, would you like one of these coffees?”

Rip smirked. “Hell yes.”