Immortals of London: Immortals of London

By K J Baker

My name is Marney and I am immortal.

I walk the night, hunting rogue vampires, and keeping humanity safe. I work alone. I prefer it that way. Anyone who gets close to me ends up dead.

But when a hunt for a deadly rogue goes wrong, I'm forced to accept help. And that help comes from a man whose smoky good looks and easy charm begin to thaw my heart of ice.

There's only one problem: he's a vampire.The sworn enemy of an immortal.

My duty tells me one thing, my heart another. Can I figure this out before the whole of London pays the price?

Immortals of London is an action-packed enemies-to-lovers paranormal romance with a kick-ass heroine, a hot-as-hell hero, and a host of characters you'll fall in love with. This box set contains all three books in the series: Rogue Hunter, Shadow Dancer and Night Walker. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: K J Baker
• Release date: Apr 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224863518

Book preview

Rogue Hunter

Chapter 1

HIS TRAIL HAS LED ME here, to the South Bank of the River Thames in the middle of the night. Through the inky darkness I see expensive loft apartments creeping down to the river’s edge.  No lamps shine in the windows, but from across the river the glow of London shimmers in the water. But for the lapping of the river and the occasional bark of a fox, the night is utterly silent.

My nostrils flare suddenly. Yes, there it is. There’s no mistaking the stink of vampire. Goosebumps prickle my skin. Okay, I admit it: I’m a little nervous. What rogue hunter wouldn’t be when their quarry is finally within reach? Tonight, after weeks of chasing, I’ll confront the bastard.

I check my weapons: the swords strapped to my hips, the silver knives tucked into the top of each boot. Everything is ready.

I step from my hiding place and turn in a slow circle, searching for spying eyes. Nothing moves on the water or amongst the apartments. I’m not surprised. Perhaps they sense something is going down tonight and are wisely staying indoors. Or perhaps they’re just asleep. Oblivious.

Following the scent, I pad silently to the back of one of the buildings. A fire escape hugs the outer wall. Wrapping one hand around the railing, I climb. My boots make no sound on the slick metal. At the top I jump onto the roof and pause.

From this height I can see London spread out around me, the lights glittering into the distance like some multi-faceted jewel. If I close my eyes I can feel the heartbeat of the city and see the thousands of tiny life-sparks of its inhabitants.  Sometimes I envy them. They go about their lives unaware of the predators that stalk them in the night.

And unaware of the sacrifices we make to protect them.

Moving to the edge of the roof, I lightly jump down onto a balcony several feet below, pick the lock, disable the alarm, and slip into the apartment. It’s large, opulent. Typical of Hugh Montgomery. Each room faces the river, with floor-to-ceiling windows. I pause as I catch my reflection in one of them.  I could easily be mistaken for human. Perhaps even a pretty one. Blonde hair spills down my back in a braid and blue eyes stare back at me from the glass.

But I’m not human. I’m an immortal. It is my fate to walk this earth long after humans have turned to dust. In the end, we’ll all be alone.

I shake my head, smiling wryly. Where do these morbid notions keep coming from? They’ve become a habit of late. Ever since...what happened. Frowning, I push the thoughts away and concentrate on my task.

Faint noises echo from nearby. Reaching down, I pull a knife from my boot then move soundlessly through the apartment and pause outside a closed door. The sounds come from beyond. A rhythmic grunting and high, feminine gasps.

Shit. I may already be too late.

Without a sound, I turn the handle and slowly push the door open. A naked couple are on the bed, bodies writhing in passion. The woman’s legs are wrapped around the man’s hips and she makes little moaning sounds as he thrusts on top of her. Neither has noticed me standing there like some seedy voyeur. The woman’s eyes are screwed shut and her head is thrown back, exposing her throat. Two bright red puncture wounds mark her smooth dark skin.

My stomach sinks. Yes, I’m already too late. She’ll have to die.

I draw one of my swords. The sound of the metal scraping free alerts the man. His head whips round, black eyes fixing on me. Then his lips pull back into a smile that shows his bloodied fangs.

Marney Stone. You are one persistent little bitch.

In a movement so quick I barely register it, he leaps off the woman, glides through the air and lands in the middle of the room, dropping into a fighting crouch.

As his glamor fades, the woman’s eyes snap into focus. She squeals as she sees me standing there, knife in one hand, sword in the other, and yanks the covers over her. She scoots back to sit hunched against the wall, eyes wide with terror.

I watch Hugh Montgomery warily. A vampire lord gone rogue, he’s one of the most dangerous adversaries I could face. He’s left countless dead in his wake and thwarted all my attempts to corner him. Well, not any more. Tonight it ends. One way or another.

You know, he says, cocking his head to the side. I’m getting a little tired of this. When are you going to give up? You can’t stop me. Besides, we really shouldn’t be enemies. We’re the same, you and I. We’re both hunters, after all.

I can feel the power of his glamor hammering at me, trying to seduce me the way it did the human woman. He’s handsome—they’re always handsome—with sculptured features and glossy black hair that falls onto his shoulders. His white body is muscled and strong. The woman never stood a chance.

I straighten and speak the words I’ve been waiting to say for weeks. Hugh Montgomery, you are under arrest for murder and violation of the Treaty. You’ll return with me to the Council to face trial.

A mocking smile curls the corner of his mouth. The Council? That bunch of self-serving weaklings? I don’t recognize their authority! They have no power over me!

I shrug, expecting this answer. Then you leave me no choice.

I’m moving before the last word leaves my mouth. My sword flashes diagonally towards him but he spins away and it swishes through the space he’s just occupied.  I’m prepared for this, and I swing my other hand, punching my knife into his body. He pulls away, ripping the weapon from my grasp. My hand catches something around his neck, a necklace that snaps and clatters to the floor. Barely seeming to notice, Hugh looks down at the knife-handle sticking from his abdomen and slowly grins.

I lick my lips. Shit. I’ve missed his heart. With a grunt, he yanks the knife from his belly and flicks it nonchalantly from hand to hand. There is no blood. I growl under my breath. Dammit. Now he’s armed.

So fast his movements are a blur, Hugh leaps at the wall and uses it as a springboard to launch himself at me. The knife slashes at my face and I jam my sword up to catch it, then sweep his feet from under him, sending him crashing to the floor. I stab down, but he rolls away, and my sword scores along the wooden boards.

He grabs my wrist and twists. A stab of pain rockets through my forearm and my hand opens involuntarily, sending my sword thumping onto the floor. Hugh grabs my shoulders, rams me against the wall, and pins me there. He leans close, his face inches from my own. His scent envelops me. It’s raw, primal, full of an earthy power. And, I realize, it’s full of arousal.

Suddenly I’m all too aware of his naked body almost touching mine. Despite myself, my eyes rove over the muscled contours of his limbs, his chest, his belly. I swallow.

He leans close so that his mouth brushes my ear. His breath is warm against my skin as he whispers intimately, We could do great things together, Marney. I could show you ecstasy. If you’ll let me.

His finger trails down my side, sending a shiver through my body. His glamor is powerful, I’ll give him that.

Don’t fight it, he purrs. You know you want it. You know you want me.

Don’t touch me, I growl through gritted teeth.

Oh, come on, he says, pouting as though hurt. How long is it since you had a man, Marney? Has there been anyone since your little...accident?

I go cold. With a surge of anger, I punch him in the stomach and then dart from beneath his arms.

Shut your mouth! You have no idea what you’re talking about.

Don’t I? he answers, whirling to face me. A smug smile twists his mouth. Why do you work alone, Marney? They say you have a heart of ice, but you weren’t always this way, were you? We both know what you did. What you always do. You destroy those who get too close.  So tell me, how are you any better than me? At least I’m honest about what I do.

Don’t listen, I tell myself. He’s goading you, trying to make you angry.

Trouble is, it works. I throw myself at him.

We exchange a series of lightning blows. I aim punches and kicks in his direction but he blocks them all. Shit, he’s good.

Feigning weakness, I stagger back a few steps. A thrill of triumph crosses his face and he swings his knife at my abdomen. I don’t attempt to block his stroke. That way, he leaves his own chest exposed. So, as his blade slides into my stomach like a freezing icicle, I pull two knives from the tops of my boots and punch them into either side of his chest.

His eyes go wide with surprise. He stares at me for a second, then his knees buckle, and he crashes to the floor.

For a moment, I pause, doubled over, sucking in deep breaths. In, out, in, out. Then I grab Hugh’s knife and yank it from my belly in a shower of blood. I may be immortal but I’m not immune to pain.  I cry out as searing agony rockets through my body.

It lasts only a moment. When it’s passed I stoop, retrieve my sword from the floor, and move to stand over the kneeling Hugh. My knives have punched through his upper chest near his shoulders, slicing nerves and rendering him momentarily immobile.

But it won’t last long.

He watches me as I step up to him, sword held in both hands. Am I imagining it or does he have a faint smile on his face? As if he knows something I don’t? No matter. In a moment it will be over.

I raise my sword, ready to take his head, but then grunt as something slams into me. With a jolt, I realize it’s Hugh’s lover jumping onto my back and screeching like a cat. Shit. I’d forgotten all about the woman. She wraps an arm around my throat and yanks me backwards towards the bed.

Leave him alone, you bitch!

I grasp her forearm, throw my weight forward, and hurl her over my head. She lands on the bed and scrambles up to face me. Her lips pull back in a snarl and I see the sharp points of her fangs. Dammit, she’s turned already.

I watch her warily. New-born vampires are dangerous, unpredictable and flighty. Right now, this one seems driven by one imperative: the need to protect her master.

There’s very little of the human woman left.  Her features are the same. Her dark hair and skin are the same. And yet, nobody would believe that she’s human any longer. She moves with the grace of a predator and the look in her eyes speaks of insatiable hunger.

I realize that something’s been bothering me ever since I saw the puncture wounds in her neck. Why did Hugh turn her? He kills his victims. He doesn’t turn them. So what’s changed? I realize the answer almost immediately. He’s recruiting. Making more of his kind. It’s forbidden by the Treaty but that wouldn’t stop a rogue like Hugh. But why? What is he involved in?

The woman watches me silently. Probably thinking of a hundred different ways to kill me. Stupid. She should be thinking of a hundred different ways to run. I go very still, waiting.

With a wordless shriek, she springs at me. I raise my sword and she impales herself on the razor-sharp blade. It rips through her chest, punctures her heart, and exits her back. She hisses, clawing at my throat, but all the strength leaks out of her. Her movements become slower, slower, slower. Then stop.

Gently, I lower her to the floor and close her staring eyes. With a sigh, I pull my sword from her chest and wipe it on the expensive bed covers. After a moment, her body collapses into a pile of ash.

As always, I feel a pang of regret. My job is to save them, not to kill them. But the woman was already dead. There’s nothing else I could have done. Slowly, I straighten and turn to Hugh.

And see only an empty space where he’d knelt.

The bedroom window is open, the curtains gently swirling in the night breeze.

No!

I cross to the window and look out but there’s no sign of him. No. No. No. Not again. How does he keep thwarting me like this?

I close my eyes. Draw in a deep, calming breath. Open them again. There will be other opportunities. This isn’t over. I won’t rest until I have him.

I retrieve my weapons then slowly gaze around the apartment. The authorities will be here soon. They’ll cover up the woman’s death so that no awkward questions are asked. It makes sense. I doubt anyone would want to know the truth.

Something on the floor catches my eye. Kneeling, I pick it up and realize it’s the necklace I ripped from Hugh’s neck during our fight. It’s a medallion made of gold with a strange symbol embossed on one side. Frowning, I tuck it into my pocket.

Without looking back, I leave.

THE STREETS OF LONDON are busy. It’s a Saturday night and crowds of partygoers are spilling out of the clubs and bars. Soft drizzle is falling and neon lights glimmer in the puddles.

Nobody takes any notice of me. It’s as though there’s some kind of invisible barrier around me. It’s just as well. I prefer to be alone.

Hugh’s words come back to haunt me. You destroy those who get too close.

The words were meant to hurt me. Weaken me. Yet, they were true all the same. A familiar stab of guilt cuts through me and I lean against a lamp post, suddenly gasping for air.

I’m sorry, I murmur to the face that forms in my memory. I’m sorry.

Ah, hell. Will it ever get easier? Time, they keep telling me. Time.  But it doesn’t seem to make any difference. Perhaps that’s why I work so hard to hunt down rogues and protect humanity.

Perhaps I’m searching for absolution.

I turn into a wide, tree-lined street. Tall, Georgian townhouses march away in grandiose symmetry. Most of their windows are dark but a candle burns in one. I approach, press my palm against the black lacquered door, and mumble a word under my breath. The door swings silently open.

I find myself in an antechamber with a marble floor and a large closed door at one end. Before the door stand two guards with drawn swords. They smile as they see me.

Marney. Any luck tonight? says the taller one.

I shrug. Depends on your definition of luck. Is the Council ready?

He nods. We got word of the engagement about half an hour ago. They’re waiting for you.

With a nod, I push through the door. The interior of the Council is a series of offices, meeting rooms, training facilities and holding cells. The Georgian houses are a facade, hiding the Council from prying eyes.

I jog lightly through the corridors until I reach another set of gilded doors. I knock once and then push inside.

The room beyond is large and circular. A round table sits in the center. Despite the late hour, the table is occupied by five people. One of them stands as I enter. He has silver hair and looks perhaps fifty human years but he’s much, much older than that.

Ah, Marney. We’ve been waiting for you. Please take a seat.

Yes, Father.

I slide into a vacant seat, feeling the eyes of the others fixed on me. Beside my father sit two humans: Marcus Finch and Isabella MacIntosh. They’re the liaison between the Council and the British government. They nod a greeting, neither smiling, and I acknowledge them with a nod of my own.

My eyes slide further along the table and I freeze. Two men watch me steadily. No doubt they can smell Hugh on my clothes.

I stare back at them defiantly. I’ve never hid my disapproval of having vampires on the Council.

The elder vampire, Lord Matthias, speaks in a refined voice. You look as though you’ve been in the wars, Marney. Hugh not as easy a victim as you imagined?

I narrow my eyes at him. Is he mocking me? Is he glad Hugh escaped? He shouldn’t be. Hugh is a rogue, breaking the terms of the Treaty by hunting humans. His actions could break the alliance and bring the wrath of the humans down on us.

And then we’d all be in trouble.

I scowl at Lord Matthias and look away without answering. My gaze settles on the second vampire. He’s much younger, with dark hair and blue eyes. He watches me steadily.  What the hell is he staring at?

And you are? I snap.

This is Ciaran Connor, Lord Matthias says. He arrived from Belfast an hour ago. I asked for him specifically. He has—how shall I put it? Special skills when it comes to hunting rogues.

My jaw tightens. There were rumblings that the Vampire Synod would send an elite tracker to London following the recent spate of killings. As if we’re not capable of dealing with the threat. As if I’m not capable.  

I fix Ciaran Connor with my most piercing glare. It doesn’t seem to have much effect. He smiles then speaks in a lilting Northern Irish accent.

It’s nice to finally meet you, Marney. I’ve heard a lot about you.

What is that supposed to mean? Have they been discussing me before I arrived?

I don’t need your help, I say coldly.

Oh, really? Lord Matthias says, raising an eyebrow. So it’s not true that Hugh Montgomery escaped you tonight? It’s not true that a human female was killed in the process?

In my lap, my hands curl into fists. I long to jump across the table and slap his smug face. But I don’t. He has every right to criticize me.

He was stronger than I expected, I mumble.

Stronger? Than an immortal? It’s lucky we’ve brought in some help then isn’t it?

Oh, how I hate the satisfaction in his voice. It’s only made worse by the fact that he’s right.

Lord Matthias smiles indulgently then waves a hand. Why don’t you tell us what happened?

Ignoring him, I turn to face my father.  You were right. He returned to the South Bank. He had a human female with him—

Rachel Moore, Isabella MacIntosh suddenly cuts in. Her name was Rachel Moore.

I incline my head. He had Rachel with him. But he didn’t kill her, he turned her.

My father frowns at me. Turned her? Are you sure?

I smile wryly. I’m pretty damn sure she wasn’t born with those fangs.

This isn’t like Hugh Montgomery, my father says, rubbing his chin with one hand. His disgust for humans is well known. He’s never turned one, only killed them.

Isabella MacIntosh clasps her hands on the table in front of her. Did he give you any indication of why he’d done that? Did he let anything slip, Marney?

I shake my head. No. But that’s how he got away from me. Rachel attacked me and he ran.

Isabella and Marcus share a look. I can guess what’s going through their heads. It’s no longer just a murder enquiry. Hugh’s actions take this to a whole new level.

I take the medallion from my pocket and toss it towards Marcus. It bounces on the polished table top before coming to a halt in front of him. He picks it up in his bony fingers and turns it over, inspecting it in the dim light. After a moment Marcus hands it to my father who inspects it before passing it to Lord Matthias. My father and the vampire lord stare at each other. Something unspoken passes between them. Do they recognize it?

What is it? I ask.

Lord Matthias hesitates. Where did you get this?

Hugh was wearing it. I glance at my father then back to Lord Matthias. You recognize it, don’t you?

Lord Matthias tosses the medallion onto the table with a ‘clink’. It has a stylised face with large, staring eyes and a protruding tongue. It looks more like some ancient Aztec symbol than something I would expect to see around the neck of a vampire. And yet... something about it stirs my memory.

How much do you know of vampire history? Lord Matthias asks.  When I shrug he sighs. "Then let me enlighten you. The Treaty between immortals, humans, and vampires was signed in 1592 in the time of Queen Elizabeth I. However, not all accepted the Treaty. A group of rebels formed a sect known as The Church of the Prime—the prime referring to the superiority of vampires.  The Church recruited many to their cause and there was civil war amongst my kind. Your father and his warriors managed to stamp them out in the last decades of the 17th century but not before they had decimated the vampire and human populations of Europe. They had an emblem. This emblem."

I glance at the medallion. It seems suddenly full of menace. Why did Hugh have such a thing?

Now that is the question isn’t it? my father says. His voice is cold as he glares at Lord Matthias. Why would Hugh Montgomery wear a token of a dead cult?

Lord Matthias doesn’t answer.  He stares at the medallion, his expression unreadable. But my father won’t be put off. What do you know of this, Matthias?

The vampire lord shrugs. Rumors. Scaremongering. Nothing more. At least, not until tonight.

My father’s eyes narrow. And now?

Lord Matthias licks his lips. He knows better than to annoy my father. This is probably a hoax. Someone’s idea of a joke.

Marcus Finch leans forward. You’re a poor liar, sir. You understand more than you’re letting on, that much is clear. If the Church of the Prime is operating again, we have to investigate.

He fixes Lord Matthias with a hard stare. Matthias glares back, his disdain for humans plain on his face. But Matthias is no fool. He’s all too aware that Marcus and Isabella, although human and physically weaker than any of us, hold much power on the Council.  Vampires are few, immortals even fewer, but humans are everywhere. If they decided to make war on us it would be bloody and savage and the outcome anything but clear.

It’s for that reason that Lord Matthias treats Marcus and Isabella with about as much respect as any vampire can treat a human. He forces a smile onto his face, one that makes him look like the snake he is, and says, Of course. It will be investigated. That’s why Ciaran is here. He will make enquiries and take whatever action is necessary.

I’m on my feet in an instant. "He will not! This is my investigation!"

You’ve already proven you’re incapable! snaps Lord Matthias. Ciaran is our best tracker—

I don’t give two shits what he is! I yell, one hand going to the hilt of my sword. He will keep away from me!

Ciaran slowly stands and I turn to glare at him. Who the hell does he think he is? If he gets in my way, I’ll kill him. I can’t read the look he’s giving me. Something halfway between amused and annoyed?

I’m here to help, Marney, he says in his soft Irish accent. You want to find Hugh, don’t you? That’s what I want too. Shouldn’t we help each other?

He’s one smooth bastard, I’ll give him that. He sounds so helpful and reasonable that it makes my objections look like I’m a spoilt brat throwing a tantrum. But I know vampires. They can’t be trusted.

I turn to my father. I can handle this. I don’t need any help.

I’m better alone. Please don’t make me work with him.

My father regards me. He’s frowning the way he does when he’s thinking hard. Then he shakes his head.

This must be resolved before any more humans are killed. We can’t afford to let Hugh escape a second time.

I wince. He may as well have said: You screwed up, Marney. Big time.

You and Ciaran will investigate together.

But father, I—

No arguing, Marney. The Vampire Synod has as much invested in a successful outcome as we do. It’s only right they’re involved. You and Ciaran will track Hugh and find this cult if it’s surfaced again. Report back to the Council with whatever you find, but don’t move against them yourselves. Is that clear?

Ciaran nods. Yes, sir.

I grind my teeth.

My father raises an eyebrow at me. Marney?

Fine.

That’s settled. It’s late. I suggest we all get some rest. Ciaran, Marney, present yourself to the Ops staff first thing in the morning. They’ll get you kitted out.

I nod stiffly, turn on my heel, and walk away. I make sure the door slams behind me.

Chapter 2

Ilie on my bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to take me. It doesn’t. I always find it difficult to rest after a hunt. Too wound up, I suppose. Instead, Hugh’s words keep echoing in my head.

They say you have a heart of ice, but you weren’t always this way, were you?

No, I wasn’t. I used to be very different, but I learned my lesson, and I won’t show such weakness again. Not when I understand the consequences. I screw my eyes shut and try very hard to clear my thoughts. I don’t want to go down that road. Not now. But despite my determination, a face suddenly appears in front of my closed eyelids.

I gasp, jerking upright. Pressing a hand against my chest, I feel my heart thundering. I shake my head, forcing the image away. I won’t think about him. I can’t. If I do, I’m lost.

With a snarl, I throw myself out of bed, pull open the door to my balcony, and pad outside barefoot. A cool breeze swirls around me. The night-time sounds of London reach my ears: the bark of a fox, the blaring of a siren, the growl of passing traffic. I lean on the railing, sucking air through my nostrils.

I need to get started. I need to begin my mission. Or finish it, depending on your point of view. But the sun isn’t up yet and I’ll need to see Ops before they let me go.

To pass the time, I do some training. I jump into a kick, aiming high, then spin and land exactly back where I began. The sudden rush of adrenaline clears my head a little, so I move from stance to stance in quick succession. In my mind’s eye, it’s Hugh I’m fighting. Or Lord Matthias. Or Ciaran Connor. Any of them will do.

By the time the sun rises, I’m sweaty and panting. I finish the last of my routines, then clasp my hands at my heart and make a bow to my imaginary opponent.

I take a quick shower, change my clothes, take the time to ensure all my weapons are in top condition, then make my way from the Council’s living quarters and down into the basement area that makes up Mission Control and Operations.

Ops is at the heart of the Council’s activities. It’s here that our intelligence is collected, hunters are briefed, equipped, and sent out on missions and where we bring our evidence once a mission is completed.

The first time my father brought me here, I was wide-eyed with wonder at the maze of labs, testing facilities, training rooms and weapons stores. Now it has little effect on me. It’s early, so the corridors are quiet as I make my way to Olivia’s lab. As I punch the door release and stride through, I freeze.

Ciaran Connor is sitting in a chair, waiting.

Good morning, Marney.

I know I should be friendly, but I just can’t help myself. I scowl as I stalk past him and throw myself into a seat, drumming my fingers on the arms. What does he expect? He’s a vampire, I’m an immortal. May as well ask a wolf and a lion to be bosom buddies. It’s never going to happen.

Although, it seems nobody has told Ciaran that.

Sleep well? he asks in his soft, lilting accent.

I shrug.

Personally, I can never sleep after a hunt. Too wound up.

I raise an eyebrow at him. You’re a vampire. You don’t need sleep.

True. But I’ve never understood vampires who like to slink about at night, looking all moody and threatening. Night is for sleeping. Day is for having fun.

Most people think vampires can’t go out in daylight. I’m not sure where that came from, but its crap. They can go about in sunlight just as we can.

And what does a vampire do for ‘fun’? I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He waves a hand. Oh, the usual. Read poetry. Go for walks in the countryside. Feed the ducks at the local park.

I stare at him incredulously. You’re kidding me, right?

His blue eyes sparkle. Am I?

I shake my head. Ciaran is a vampire and a rogue hunter at that. He should be serious, taciturn, full of his own self-importance. But he’s not at all what I expected. He smiles way too much for a vampire and has a sense of humor. What the hell is this?

I narrow my eyes, trying to tell if he’s mocking me. Finally, I look away and suck in a deep breath. So. I recommend we start at the apartment where I found Hugh last night. We might find some clues as to where he’s gone. At the very least, we should be able to track him from there.

Ciaran nods. Possibly. But that will be time consuming and may turn up nothing. We know Hugh is connected to the Church of the Prime. I say we start there.

How? I ask, fighting to keep my voice civil. How dare he disagree with my suggestions?

I have a few contacts.

What contacts?

He taps his nose. All in good time, Marney. All in good time.

I open my mouth to give him a verbal tirade, but at that moment the door slides open, and Olivia enters. She has always been something of a surrogate aunt to me. Small, quick-witted, and with a tongue that would send even the most battle-hardened soldiers running for cover, she’s run Ops my whole life. I doubt even Lord Matthias would dare cross her, even though she’s human.

She smiles and ruffles my hair as though I’m five years old. Take that scowl off your face, young lady. If the wind changes you’ll stay like that.

Ciaran jumps to his feet and holds out his hand.  Ciaran Connor, Ma’am.

Olivia raises an eyebrow as she shakes his hand. Ma’am is it? Well, not quite. Maybe one day, eh? If Her Majesty sees fit to give me the honors I deserve. Introductions aren’t necessary. I know who you are. She marches towards the inner door. Follow.

Inside the next room, racks line the walls. They’re filled with all the apparatus needed for an operation: weapons, clothes, tracking equipment, paraphernalia that I recognize neither the use nor the name of.

Olivia beckons Ciaran forward and eyes him critically. Skills?

He looks confused. Um, skills? I’m not sure—

Not sure? You’re a rogue hunter, aren’t you? She throws up her hands. Honestly! How the bloody hell am I supposed to kit you out if you don’t even recognize what you’re good at? And here’s me thinking the Belfast lot actually know what they’re doing! Seems I was wrong!

Ciaran stares at her, dumbfounded. Two spots of color mark his cheeks and he works his jaw soundlessly, unsure how to respond.

I stifle a smile. A part of me feels sympathy. I’ve been on the receiving end of Olivia’s temper more times than I care to admit, but another part of me is glad to see him brought down a peg or two.

She means your weapons, I say. What do you normally fight with?

Oh, Ciaran shoots me a grateful glance.  The staff and crossbow.

Olivia purses her lips as she studies him. Well, you can’t have a staff. That would be too conspicuous. Unless you want one that’s disguised as a walking stick? She shakes her head, dismissing the idea. No, that wouldn’t look right either. How about this?

She moves over to one of the shelves and returns carrying a leather satchel, no bigger than a camera case. Pressing a catch on one side, the case pops open and Olivia reaches inside to pull out a small metal contraption.

I frown, unable to make out what it is, but Ciaran’s eyes go wide and he takes it from Olivia almost reverently. Olivia watches him, nodding to herself. Is that approval I can see in her eyes?

I’ve only seen one once before, Ciaran breathes. He glances at Olivia. May I?

She gestures with one hand. Go ahead.

Ciaran flips the contraption over and then starts fiddling with it, pulling bits of metal out and slotting them in elsewhere. In only seconds a miniature crossbow is assembled.

Olivia nods. A stealth bow. Easy to assemble, easy to hide but packing all the power needed to bring down a rogue. This is for long range attacks and stake-outs only. It will be useless in close combat. For that, you’ll need these. She hands Ciaran a brace of knives. Lift your shirt.

Obediently, Ciaran lifts his top. I swallow involuntarily as my eyes settle on his body. His skin is darker than that of most vampires, a golden color rather than the obligatory white. As I would expect from a rogue hunter, he keeps himself in shape. His chest and stomach ripple with muscle and his biceps are thick, with cords of muscle standing out like tree roots. Then I  notice something else. His torso is criss-crossed with tiny white scars.

My mouth goes dry. I hadn’t taken Ciaran seriously. I’ve been working hard to convince myself that he is just a jumped-up little shit playing at being a rogue hunter. But if his sculpted and scarred body are anything to go by, he’s far more than that.

Ciaran notices me watching him. His gaze suddenly locks with mine. His eyes are a deep blue, like the sky.

Marney, your turn.

I jump at Olivia’s voice. She straps the brace of knives around Ciaran’s chest and turns to face me.

Sorry, what? I say, flustered.

Are you even listening to me? Come here, girl.

I rise to my feet and move to stand in front of her. My eyes flick across the rows of weapons on the wall behind. The Council’s weapons are designed to be small so that we don’t get noticed. My swords are an indulgence. The Council lets me keep them because I’m good with them. Until now.

Olivia holds out her hand. Give them here, Marney. You know you can’t walk about London wearing those things. You’ll be arrested in minutes.

I scowl, even though I know she’s right. I shrug off the harness and hand it over. I feel oddly naked without the swords’ reassuring weight against my hips.

Olivia lifts my chin with one finger. Now, now, there’s no need to look like a child who’s lost her toy to the wicked witch. I’ve got something much better for you.

She hands me a short gray tube. It’s cold to my touch but the ridged surface makes it easy to grip. What’s this?

She makes me stand in the center of the room, well away from both her and Ciaran. Press the button at the top.

I do as she asks, jumping with shock as three feet of gleaming, sharp metal comes shooting out of the end. It’s a sword, razor-sharp and slightly curved like a samurai. I lift the blade, marveling at its construction. It’s made of several interlocking pieces of steel that fold together so it can fit inside the handle. The balance is flawless, and as I waft it around experimentally, I realize the reach is better than my swords. As though it was made for me.

It’s perfect.

Yes, I thought you’d like it, Olivia answers. You’ve always had an unhealthy fascination with blades. You can conceal this under your clothes but be careful you don’t pass any metal detectors or you’ll set them screaming like a banshee.

Olivia holds out two small, gray cards, one each for me and Ciaran. Your safe keys. However, if you can manage it, I would much rather you didn’t have to use them. It caused an awful mess last time.

With a wry smile, I take the safe key and tuck it into my pocket. Should we get arrested or tangle with the British Secret Service, these keys will notify those in authority so they can extract us without too many questions asked. MI5 know all about the Council—they help us out on occasion—but they’re never too happy when we tread on their toes.

Olivia stands with her arms folded, looking us up and down. Finally, she holds out the bluestone rings that act as our communication devices. You’ll do. Try not to mess this up, okay?

Yes, Olivia, I mumble obediently.

Is it just me, or is Ciaran stifling a grin? Scowling, I turn on my heel and march from the room. I don’t bother to wait for him.

WHY HAS HE BROUGHT us here?

I glance at Ciaran as we stride across the courtyard to the main entrance of the British Library. This is the place where some of the country’s oldest manuscripts are kept. It’s popular with tourists and locals alike. And it’s always busy. As we step inside, I’m suddenly on edge.  What is he playing at? This is hardly an inconspicuous location. If we get caught here, all hell will break loose.

I come to a halt in the foyer, making him turn and face me. Well? Care to explain?

Ciaran smiles crookedly. Like I said: contacts. We’re here to see an old acquaintance of mine.

Here? Are you mad?

He shrugs. My contact works here. Where else would we find him at this time of day?

Before I can speak, he stalks off, forcing me to trot at his side. We weave through the public spaces and then up a flight of stairs to a door guarded by a security desk. Ciaran has a quick chat with the guard and we’re let through as easy as anything.

We enter a long corridor with doors down one side and a glass wall on the other that overlooks the public cafe. Ciaran halts outside a door and raises his hand to knock.

I’ve had enough of this. I grab Ciaran’s arm. Wait. Do you expect me to just walk in there on your say-so? Without the slightest bit of explanation?

Don’t you trust me, Marney? he asks.

What a ridiculous question. He’s a vampire. Of course I don’t trust him. This whole thing could be a trap. A set up. And yet, as I look into his deep blue eyes I suddenly feel ashamed of my distrust. It’s not an emotion I expected.

In his soft accent he says, His name is David Sullivan. He’s something of an expert in our history and he keeps his ear to the ground. If the Church of the Prime is back, he’ll have heard about it.

And what makes you think he’ll talk to us?

Ciaran sweeps a stray lock of dark hair from his face. Because he values his life. He got into some bother a few years ago. The Synod spared his life in return for his help should we need it. Well, now we need it.

I don’t like this. I don’t like that I’ve never heard of this ‘informant’. I don’t like the way I’m reliant on Ciaran’s leads. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me now, all intent and serious. I wish he’d look away. I lick my lips. Clear my throat.

Fine. Let’s get on with it. I thump on the door.

It’s open! comes a muffled reply.

We enter what appears to be a conservation lab. Manuscripts in varying states of preservation lie in glass cases along the wall. In the center, a man sits with his back to us, hunched over a sheet of Egyptian papyrus.

Kate, would you take a look at this? he says without turning. "I’ve never seen this hieroglyph before. I think we might need to rethink the date of this piece. I reckon it’s probably much older than we