Shadow Guardians: The Promised
Chapter 3

Chelsea, London

“My dear man, what a pickle you have gotten yourself into.”

Lord Georgiano watched the finely dressed stranger flick ash from his cigar into the tray with all the elegance of a feline. He sat with one tuxedo’d leg crossed over the other. Apart from the black tux, his raven hair was slicked back. He had a gallant face and the kind of finesse that Georgiano was raised to respect.

What a pickle indeed Georgiano held, and he had no opinion of what made him share his dilemmas with this polished stranger.

The man was simply so…magnetic.

He couldn’t seem to stop his mouth from laying bare his skeletons. He’d shied away from the humiliation of his ways, but the stranger remained fascinated by his troubles.

“And now the aristocracy believes you are a fool for letting her slip from your grip?” The stranger continued relentlessly. “Perhaps you are an idiot indeed, but let me reassure you, your interests are important to me,” he raised a glass of fine red wine with a boastful smirk, as if in toast to Georgiano.

Once the insult sunk in, Georgiano leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms defensively over himself. “You know nothing of me or my family. I’m not exactly sure why I even revealed it all. You’re not even a part of the aristocracy.”

But Georgiano found that he couldn’t remain cross with the man. One picture-perfect smile, and his defenses crumbled all over again.

What was it about the stranger that seemed so familiar yet unknown, and that wrung all of his innermost wishes out of the pits of his soul?

“What did you say your name was?” Georgiano asked him, taking his own glass in hand and briefly and suspiciously glaring at the wine.

“Steve,” he reminded him, pinching a fleck of dust from his tuxedo. He glowered at the restaurant where he had arranged to meet with the Lord.

He thought the place was cleaner than most, but this fleck of dust was a serious matter to take up with management, especially if they expected him to settle his end of the bargains he made with them.

He had promised them he could make all their wishes come true, including their deepest temptations. And he was about to do the same for poor, down-on-his-luck Georgiano.

“Why do you want to lend me aid, Steve? You barely know me, and frankly, I don’t trust you…” Georgiano leaned forward, as if that would reinforce his opinion.

Steve gave a chuckle, a sound that sent curious flurries into Georgiano’s gut. “Oh, Georgiano, of course you trust me!”

The Lord curved his brow in thought. Yes, clearly he did trust him. “Of…course…”

“And as I’ve told you, dear forgetful Georgiano, I am helping you because I take personal interest in these matters. It is not all about your social status. I have a sister to avenge. At least, that is my justification for being involved.” Steve confessed scornfully. “It is also to my benefit if you were to retrieve your misplaced, cherished daughter.” His tone was seeped in cynicism.

Georgiano appeared unfazed by the insult, showing little concern save for Steve’s desire for him to recover Marionette. Steve also held his best interests in his hands.

Georgiano acknowledged that the council’s opinion of him would greatly improve with her marriage to the nosferi prince in Poland, as it was promised. However, her disappearance and his inability to keep his promise had strained relations between Poland and the council he sat on, who held him responsible for the damage to their relationship.

Georgiano felt peculiar. His entire body was prickly.

“What is,” he cleared his throat, which had suddenly gone cardboard dry. “What was your sister’s name? What…what did they do to her?”

Steve grinned self-assuredly. “Doris, they killed her. And although I never could stand the sight of that old prune, it is a delightful excuse for a spectacle.” Steve’s expression seemed to fleetingly turn acidic. “Also, my father demands retribution.”

“How can you help, then?” Georgiano asked.

Steve pushed forward over the table, and the Lord felt himself growing dazed as he fell into a stupor. “Why Georgie… I can make all your dreams come true. You see that chocolate cake over there? Every woman on a diet’s dream. Lucky for those who know me! And that man over there has his eye on the waitress. I plan to go to him later. Poor fellow is stuck in such a boring marriage, he should have the liberty of following his dream, don’t you think?”

Steve’s gaze swept over the restaurant’s crowd, and he drew Georgiano’s attention to a table in the corner. “Look there, that lady with the plush bosom and the full cheeks. She’s a minister, she wants to overthrow the major. We had quite the party last night, me and her. I was her dream man, no really, and,” he sniffed the air, “ah, I can still smell the perfume between those two luscious tits. She will be major in the coming months.”

Georgiano absently bobbed his head.

“You see, Georgie? Temptation is the name of my game,” he sensually wiggled his upper body, much to the lord’s entertainment. “Now then. I have a – contact, whom you may replace you have something in common with. I’ll send him to you. He has been trying to get a hold of me for months, alas, I didn’t have the time to entertain the poor chap.”

Steve guzzled his wine and stood, his chair screeching over the floor. “I really must be off now. Do enjoy your espresso mousse torte.” He placed his top hat on his head and tipped the rim to Georgiano in greeting.

As Steve approached the doors, the crowd parted for him. But he paused and whispered in the waitress’s ear to give the lord his torte for free—he was in dire financial situations after the council had booted him—and promised the waitress a night filled with the most sensual sexual pleasure in exchange. The waitress’s eyes sparkled with interest, and she gave a resounding but subtle yes as she smiled and batted her eyelashes at him.

Steve left the restaurant, pleased with himself.