Fire Maidens: London Read online

  Fire Maidens: London

  Billionaires & Bodyguards

  by

  Anna Lowe

  Book 2

  Fire Maidens: London

  Copyright © 2019 by Anna Lowe

  [email protected]

  Editing by Lisa A. Hollett

  Proofreading by Donna Hokanson

  Cover art by Kim Killion

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental.

  Sincere thanks to my team of star beta readers who take time from their busy lives, careers, and families to make a good story great. Colleen, Jen, Linda, Cindy, Renee, and Beth — thank you all so much!

  Other books in this series

  Fire Maidens - Billionaires & Bodyguards

  Fire Maidens: Paris (Book 1)

  Fire Maidens: London (Book 2)

  Fire Maidens: Rome (Book 3)

  Fire Maidens: Portugal (Book 4)

  Fire Maidens: Ireland (Book 5)

  visit www.annalowebooks.com

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  Desert Wolf: Friend or Foe (Book 1.1 in the Twin Moon Ranch series)

  Off the Charts (the prequel to the Serendipity Adventure series)

  Perfection (the prequel to the Blue Moon Saloon series)

  Contents

  Other books in this series

  Fire Maidens: London

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek — Fire Maidens: Rome

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  Fire Maidens: London

  “Rebel with a cause” Gemma Archer flees Boston one step ahead of a creepy stalker. Now she’s in London, trying to build a new normal — and absolutely, positively not getting involved with any men. That is, until an irresistible stranger prowls into her life. Liam is a sweet, sexy modern-day knight who sparks her sizzling desires. The problem? He’s as loony as some of her relatives. Dragons? Lion shifters? Werewolves? The poor man really seems to believe the tales he spins.

  Liam Bennett is fresh out of the military and doing his best to adjust to civilian life. But fitting in was never his forte as a shifter of mixed blood. He’s part lion — a member of London’s most noble family — and part rogue, with “undesirable” dragon blood. When the Guardians of London hire him to help maintain law and order, Liam jumps at the chance to prove himself. Soon, he discovers nothing is as it seems — not among allies, enemies, or even his own family. The only thing he can be sure of is the danger Gemma is in.

  A deadly foe has stalked Gemma for thousands of miles, and Liam has no choice but to spirit away his destined mate to his ancestral dragon home — the remote castle in Wales he’s been avoiding for years. But hiding out is not enough. Can Liam and Gemma survive cunning enemies and the deceptions of the past?

  Chapter One

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  * * *

  Gemma clutched the overhead railing as the subway car rattled around a curve. It was just a normal afternoon in London, and yet the hair on the back of her neck prickled. The minute she’d left her floating home — a barge in Regent’s Canal — she’d had the sensation of something afoot. As if someone had left an unsigned note that said, I’m coming for you, sweetheart. Ready or not, here I come.

  Which would have been paranoid — except for one thing. She had moved to London in a hurry, fleeing a creepy man who had been stalking her in Boston. Petro was his name, and he’d claimed she belonged to him. Belonged, like a goddamn pet.

  You, Maiden. You are mine, and I shall have you.

  A shiver went down her spine, and she reminded herself how careful she’d been to leave Boston without a trace. She’d flown via New York, changed airports and airlines, and paid in cash. So, technically, she had little to fear.

  Still, those internal sirens refused to stop wailing, keeping her on edge.

  She scanned the subway for the tenth time. Most of the other passengers had that checked-out look typical of commuters on the London Underground. Other than a tourist couple murmuring to each other while pointing out stops along the Northern line, everyone was silently scrolling through their phones. People of all nations, religions, languages, and cultures — something Gemma loved about London, one of the most multicultural cities in the world.

  Still, that edgy, I’m being followed feeling didn’t let up. But surely, London was far enough — and big enough — to shake off the man who’d been so obsessed with her back home?

  Gemma turned her bracelets nervously. What if she hadn’t been careful enough? She traveled to London regularly to visit her father, so how hard could it be to track her down?

  “On your way to Hyde Park, love?” someone asked.

  Gemma nearly jumped out of her skin, even when she turned to find an older woman with a friendly smile.

  “How did you know?”

  The woman motioned to the Say No to Racism sign Gemma held. “My granddaughter told me about the rally.”

  Gemma exhaled and gave her sign a little wave. “Yes, I’m going. Are you?”

  The woman shook her head. “Not today, sadly. But I did sign the petition.”

  Gemma nodded. It was a start, she supposed. But if people really wanted to see significant change, they had to work for it, and that meant informing themselves, attending rallies, and voting to make their voices heard.

  Still, the change she most wished for was to shake that ominous feeling she’d had all day.

  “The next stop is King’s Cross St. Pancras,” a recorded announcement blared. “Change for the Victoria, Piccadilly, Metropolitan, and Circle Lines.”

  The subway rattled into the station, and Gemma stepped out, trying not to worry. Still, she kept throwing glances over her shoulder and peering into the mirrors set up at blind corners of the twisting underground walkways. When she reached the Piccadilly line platform, she paced. The next train would arrive in only three minutes, but that felt like an eternity, and her heart hammered. The sense of looming danger intensified, as if someone were chasing her and getting nearer all the time. Why?

  Finally, the train rolled in, and she scanned the passengers quickly and boarded.

  “This train is ready to depart. Please stand clear of the doors,” the announcement said.

  “So, go already,” Gemma muttered.

  Doors all along the train slid shut, but one in the next car bounced open when a last-minute passenger rushed in. As the train rolled into motion, the man turned, peering down the length of the subway. When he spotted Gemma, he grinned.

  Gemma’s blood ran cold. That wasn’t Petro, the man who’d been stalking her at home,
but they looked a lot alike. Hell, they acted alike, right down to that weird sniffing action, as if they were part dog. And the faces… The resemblance was close enough to make that man and Petro brothers.

  Gemma’s mouth opened in a silent cry as the train rolled into motion. She backed up slowly, praying she was imagining things. Still, she dug out her keys and anchored the longest, sharpest one between two fingers as she’d learned in self-defense class.

  Help, she wanted to cry out. I think that man is after me.

  Petro had never physically threatened her, but it had started to feel as if he might. And this man was even scarier. Voldemort-scary, even if his face wasn’t disfigured by anything more than a cruel frown. He shoved through the set of connecting doors and entered her car, still grinning. Not a friendly, fancy seeing you here grin. If anything, his expression was cruel and triumphant, like that of a man about to crush a bird under his boot. And his eyes… God, they were glowing, just like Petro’s had.

  Got you, those eyes said. Now where will you go?

  Gemma eyed the emergency brake. Emergency was right, but halting the subway between two stations wouldn’t help. She gripped her rally poster harder. The cardboard stapled to the top — Say No to Racism! — wouldn’t be much use as a weapon, but the wooden handle might help.

  Step by step, she backed up to the last door in the car. And step by step, Petro’s look-alike approached.

  “The next stop is Leicester Square,” an announcement said.

  Every muscle in her body tensed. Should she jump out at the next station and run?

  The man raised an eyebrow, and his cocky smile said, Sure, run. I can run too, Maiden.

  Her hand trembled. The man hadn’t uttered a sound, yet Petro’s words had echoed through her mind. Maiden. What did it mean?

  She’d met Petro at a rally on Boston Common — Stop cruelty to animals — and though he’d come on strong, she hadn’t thought much of the encounter, especially once she’d shaken him in the crowd. But he had turned up at a PETA meeting a week later without showing the slightest interest in the cause. He just stared at her the whole time. Next, he had appeared on her bus ride to work. When she’d stormed over to demand what the hell he wanted, he had flashed that I know something you don’t know grin and uttered, You, Maiden. You are mine, and I shall have you.

  Which was creepy as hell. What kind of person came out and uttered something like that? And what was with the Maiden part?

  She stared at the man in the subway. Like Petro, he was a tall, twentysomething with short dark hair. She might even call him handsome if it weren’t for the cruel glint in his eyes. His designer slacks and black silk shirt gave him the look of a young stock trader who’d left his jacket in his corner office. No tie, but his sleeves were anchored by shiny cufflinks. All in all, he had the same look as her stalker. If he spoke, would he sound like Petro too? Petro had a trace of an accent, like the son of a wealthy Italian banker who’d topped off a private school education with four years in the Ivy League.

  And, geez. Why would a guy like that stalk a girl like her? She was pretty enough in a girl-next-door way, but hardly the type to drive a man to extremes.

  I want you, Maiden. And soon, I will have you, the man in the subway car mouthed, just as Petro once had.

  Gemma raised her chin and made sure her eyes telegraphed defiance, not fear. No man would bully her into anything.

  But, dammit. The man’s eyes sparkled in amusement, as if that was all part of the fun.

  There were three sets of doors in that subway car, and as the train decelerated toward the station, Voldemort paused by the first set, ready to follow if she made a break for the platform. Gemma stepped to the third and last set of doors, leaving one exit between her and him. If she were lucky, there would be enough of a crowd to mask her movements, and she could decide whether to rush out or to remain on the train.

  The train stopped, but the door didn’t open. She thumped on it. “Dammit…”

  “Mind the gap,” the announcement said as every door on the train opened except hers.

  Only then did she spot the notice taped to the doors. Out of order. Please use next exit.

  She could have screamed. Now what? Passengers stepped on and off, using the door between her and the stalker. But when she took a step toward that exit, Voldemort advanced, ogling her through the crowd.

  Got you, sweetheart.

  One last passenger boarded the car, stepping between her and him. The doors closed, and the train slowly got under way.

  At first, Gemma tried peering around the newcomer to keep an eye on Voldemort. But once she registered the new arrival, it was impossible to look at anyone else. Her spinning mind coasted for a moment, giving her time to take in the details. Enjoy them, almost.

  Unruly golden-brown hair wound around the newcomer’s ears, and wide shoulders tapered to the waist of his jeans. His head brushed the ceiling, he was that tall. His skin had the healthy, bronzed tint of a man who spent time in the sun. Definitely not a banker, lawyer, or marketing type. His eyes were distant, as if he were thinking about the rugby game he was scheduled to star in, how much weight to dead-lift, or how things at his construction job were coming along. At least, that’s what Gemma imagined, because he could easily have been any of those things.

  Then his eyes met hers, and a warm, genuine smile spread over his face. His eyes lit up, and for a moment, Gemma wondered if she knew him and even fumbled for his name. Richard? Michael? Will?

  Lancelot, a corner of her mind decided. A knight in shining armor.

  Then she remembered the stalker, and her smile faded. Voldemort was at the far set of doors, she was at the near set, and Lancelot was at the exit in the middle of the car.

  Please, she wanted to whisper to Lancelot. Help me. Please.

  Behind him, Petro’s look-alike leaned into view, and Gemma froze. Her alarm must have shown, because Lancelot’s smile vanished, and his nostrils flared as he spun to face the stalker. Everything about his stance bristled with power.

  The stalker’s expression changed too, and he and Lancelot stood facing off like a couple of gorillas. They didn’t actually rage and beat their chests, but they did give off serious vibes. Vibes packed with testosterone, anger, and…something she couldn’t quite define. A raw, elemental force that made the air around their shoulders shimmer.

  They were so still, it was frightening. The orange-red hue of the stalker’s eyes intensified, and he balled his hands into fists.

  “The next stop is Piccadilly Circus,” an announcement declared. “Change for the Bakerloo line.”

  Voldemort’s eyes shifted to her, then snapped back to Lancelot, and Gemma swore she heard a mafioso’s voice in her mind.

  She’s mine. Mine, I tell you.

  I’m nobody’s, she wanted to yell, though the other passengers would have thought her nuts. Was no one else aware of the energy crackling between those two men?

  The train screeched into the next station, and Gemma held her breath. With the nearest exit out of order, all she could do was wait or rush for the middle door. If she did, would the stalker grab her, or would Lancelot stop him, giving her the chance to flee?

  The doors slid open. The stalker’s eyes became those of a cobra aiming its venom, but Lancelot didn’t budge.

  “This train is ready to depart,” the announcement said. “Please stand clear of the closing doors.”

  Lancelot leaned toward the stalker as if to say, Yeah, asshole. Time for you to depart.

  Gemma held her breath. Lancelot’s shoulders stiffened in one final warning, and—

  The stalker shot Gemma one last, lethal look, then stomped out. The doors closed, locking him out. As the train chugged away, he stood on the platform, eyes blazing, lips moving with one parting message.

  You are mine, Maiden. And soon, I will have you.

  Gemma shook inside, but on the outside, she bared her teeth. Try me, asshole.

  Then, zoom! The train accelerated ar
ound a corner. Lancelot watched her stalker disappear, then stepped over to Gemma.

  “Everything all right?”

  His voice was smooth as golden honey, his eyes concerned.

  Gemma nodded and tossed her hair. “Fine.” Which she was, now that Voldemort was gone and she got to gaze into Lancelot’s eyes.

  And, wow. She’d never seen eyes quite as deep or sparkly as his. Sweet, gold-green eyes that could draw a girl in and tempt her with all kinds of things.

  “Truly all right?” he asked.

  She gave herself a little shake. She’d never been the swoon-over-a-man-at-first-sight type, but she could barely get a word out. “Yes, thanks.”

  He motioned over his shoulder. “You know him?”

  “No. Do you?” She could have sworn there’d been a glint of recognition in the stalker’s eyes.

  Lancelot shook his head, though she wasn’t convinced.

  She tilted her head. “Do I know you?”

  It felt like she ought to, though she was sure she didn’t. It was more like they’d met in a previous life or had a mutual friend who’d told her all about the wonderful guy she simply had to meet.

  He cracked into a grin, and just like that, his relaxed, easygoing side returned, though the sense of coiled power remained. For some reason, she imagined him as a lion — roaring away his foes one moment, and the next, snoozing peacefully in the sun.

  “You know me now. Liam Bennett. Pleasure to meet you.”

  The moment his hand covered hers, heat rushed through her veins, and she swayed. But that was just the motion of the subway, right?

  “Gemma,” she said. First name only, in case Lancelot turned out to be a creep.

  The train lurched around a tight corner, and she all but stumbled into his arms. She nearly stayed there too, it felt that good.

  She cleared her throat and forced herself away. “Sorry.”