Lights streamed on either side of the road, the wind buffeting them, the city alive and vibrant all around them despite the late hour. Their bodies synced into an easy rhythm as they shifted their weight to take the corners, and he felt her muscles bunch and stretch beneath his hands.
Her Shadows rose, surrounding him with sparking, vibrant energy while his Shadows reached out for hers, settling as they twined together as if they’d finally found what they were looking for.
He wasn’t aware of how long they rode, hardly even aware of where they were going, until he noticed that she’d brought them back into the city and was now slowing down to pass through Hyde Park.
They rumbled down onto Grosvenor Road, and she bumped them up onto the wide empty pavement overlooking the Thames, the lights of Chelsea Bridge twinkling in the distance. It was late, and this part of London, far from the theatres and restaurants, was utterly empty, except for them.
They climbed off the motorcycle and looped their helmets onto the handlebars. His body was still vibrating, and his ears were ringing from the roaring motor and rushing wind. The sudden stillness was warm and calm as she held his hand and led him to the black railing protecting pedestrians from the sudden drop down to the river.
Kay looked forward, out toward the water, wrapping her hands around the wrought-iron spikes. Ethan caged her in, holding the iron rails on the outside of her hands, his chest against her back, his nose in her hair, breathing in her soft scent. “Thank you.” He whispered the words, not even sure if she’d heard them.
She nestled back against him until it felt like they were the only people in the world. It was just them and the lights gleaming off the water.
He felt lighter, as if the wind had blown away the worries and thoughts circling through his mind. Or maybe it was her, touching him.
“How did you know what I needed?” he asked, voice gruff.
She huffed out an amused breath. “Because it’s what I need too, sometimes. To feel like I can be free of it all. To escape, just for a while.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “But you’re so… sure of yourself. You know what you want, and you go for it.”
She snorted softly. “I’m trying to.”
“What happens the other times?” he asked gently.
She spun in his arms, looking up at him with those wide gray eyes, letting her hands settle on his biceps. “Why do you think I became a Guardian?”
“Natural talent?” he guessed.
She huffed a laugh. “Yes, partially. But more than that—they hurt me so much. My parents, I mean. I promised myself that I’d never be weak like that again. I wanted to take all that pain and hurl it out against the world. Fighting back felt so much better than allowing myself to be vulnerable.”
She gave him a small smile. “It’s lonely, living like that. Always fighting. I’m twenty-eight years old and my closest—my only—friends are my triad. Elizabeth says I need to learn to take chances with people.” She met his eyes. “And now….”
“Now?” he prompted.
“Now, I’m taking the chance, Ethan. I want more.”
“What does ‘more’ mean, to you, Kay?” he asked, gripping the rails.
“I want this. With you.” And then she lifted her face and kissed him.
Standing there, surrounded by glimmering lights and moving water, the rush of speed and air and Shadows still vibrating through him, she kissed him. Ethan sank into the kiss, into the feeling of her capable body wrapped up in his arms.
It was utterly terrifying, but he wanted it. He also wanted more. With Kay.
ChapterSeventeen
Kay rubbedat the tension in her temples and closed the spreadsheet she’d been scowling at, opening a series of online forums and news websites instead.
Two cups of coffee, a short break spent looking out her window, and a blinding headache behind her right eye later, she opened a brief article about a security consultancy called Oracle.
Oracle was a small firm specializing in counter-terrorism. Specifically, predicting and preventing attacks. They were featured because they were hoping to secure a meeting with the Joint Committee on National Security Strategy to discuss a 50-million-pound grant.
The article gave several different examples of how the consultancy had forecast a series of dangerous incidents. Among them, they claimed to have predicted—just minutes before they happened—the men on Oxford Street as well as the hoax call at the school, giving time-stamped computer analyses as evidence. The grant they wanted was to improve their models, aiming to grow the prediction window wide enough that security forces could intervene in time.
Everything about the article felt wrong. Wrong enough to raise the hair on the back of her neck. Oracle was claiming that someone had built a system that could forecast those two attacks when not even Elizabeth had been able to predict them accurately.
Seers had their limits, for sure, but it seemed highly unlikely that an algorithm could make these particular forecasts. What would the algorithm be based on? No one else knew about Shadow Weavers. No one else could predict the dark Shadows. Or rather, no one outside the Order.
