Kieran's POV
The first attacker doesn't even see me coming.
I move faster than human eyes can track, my body shifting mid-leap. Silver fur ripples across my arms. My fingers extend into razor-sharp claws. I catch him by the throat and slam him into the wall so hard the plaster cracks.
"Big mistake," I growl, "coming for what's mine."
Two more attackers flank me from both sides. They're fast—Harvesters always are—but I've been doing this for three centuries. I spin, using the first one as a shield. Their weapons crackle with dark energy, missing me by inches.
Behind me, I hear Elara's sharp intake of breath. She's terrified. Confused. Still sitting on the floor in that ruined dress, surrounded by the plants that are screaming warnings in her newly awakened mind.
I need to end this quickly before she gets hurt.
The second attacker lunges with a blade that hums with supernatural energy. I dodge left, grab his wrist, and twist until I hear bones snap. He screams. I kick him through the already-broken window.
Three down. Two to go.
"Kieran, watch out!" Elara's voice cuts through the chaos.
I turn just in time to see the fourth attacker aiming some kind of weapon at her. Not at me. At her.
Red rage floods my vision.
Nobody touches her. Nobody.
I cross the distance between us in a heartbeat, putting myself directly in the weapon's path. The blast hits me square in the chest and pain explodes through my body like lightning. I stagger but don't fall.
"Run, Elara!" I roar. "Get out of here!"
But she doesn't run. Of course she doesn't—she's too brave for her own good. Instead, she does something I never expected.
She screams.
Not a scream of fear. A scream of rage.
And every plant in the apartment responds.
The ivy on the bookshelf shoots forward like striking snakes, wrapping around the fourth attacker's legs. The basil plant—now massive—drops seeds that explode into vines, tangling around his arms. Even the half-dead succulent on the windowsill sprouts thorns that look sharp enough to cut steel.
Within seconds, the attacker is completely immobilized, wrapped head to toe in vegetation that tightens with every breath he takes.
Elara stares at her glowing hands, her eyes wide with shock. "I... I did that?"
"Yes," I say, trying not to show how much that blast hurt. "You did."
The fifth attacker sees his opening and charges at Elara while she's distracted. I intercept him mid-stride, my claws finding his shoulder. He goes down hard, groaning.
Silence falls over the apartment. Five attackers, all neutralized. Glass and leaves everywhere. The wall has a Kieran-shaped dent in it.
I shift back to my human form, pulling the shadows around me to repair my torn clothes. The wound in my chest throbs but I ignore it. I've had worse.
Much worse.
"Is it over?" Elara asks, her voice shaking.
"For now." I move to the window and look out. More dark figures are gathering in the street below. "But they'll send reinforcements. We need to leave. Now."
"Leave?" She shakes her head. "This is my home. I can't just—"
"This apartment belongs to Adrian's family, remember? You have three days before they evict you anyway." I try to keep my voice gentle even though urgency is screaming through me. "And now that you've awakened, staying here is a death sentence. The Harvesters know where you live."
She looks around at her tiny apartment—at the plants she's nurtured, the secondhand furniture she fixed herself, the small life she built from nothing. I see the moment her heart breaks all over again.
"I don't understand any of this," she whispers. "An hour ago, my biggest problem was that my fiancé cheated on me. Now plants are talking to me and people are trying to kidnap me and you—" she looks at me, really looks at me for the first time, "—you're not even human."
"No," I admit, crouching down to her level. "I'm not. My name is Kieran Ashwood. I'm a Guardian—one of the oldest supernatural beings in existence. We were created thousands of years ago for one purpose: to protect Garden-Speakers."
"Garden-Speakers," she repeats. "That's what I am?"
"The last one alive." I watch her face carefully, waiting for the fear, the rejection. "Your bloodline is the rarest in the world. Garden-Speakers can communicate with any living plant, make them grow with a thought, command nature itself. You're so valuable that entire wars have been fought over your ancestors."
"Valuable," she says bitterly. "Everyone keeps using that word. First I was valuable as an organ donor. Now I'm valuable as some kind of... of magical battery?"
"No." I reach out and take her hand, even though I probably shouldn't. "You're valuable because you're you. Because you have the kindest heart I've ever known. Because you fed a stray cat even when you were hungry yourself. Because you talk to plants like they're your friends. Because you see beauty in broken things."
Her green eyes meet mine, shimmering with unshed tears. "How long were you planning to stay a cat?"
"Forever, if that's what it took to keep you safe." I squeeze her hand gently. "Ancient laws forbid Guardians from revealing themselves before a Garden-Speaker's natural awakening. You were supposed to gain your powers gradually over the course of your eighteenth birthday. But extreme emotional trauma can trigger early awakening."
Understanding dawns on her face. "The engagement party. The betrayal."
"They planned it that way." Anger makes my voice rough. "The Moss family work for the Harvesters—the organization that hunts supernatural beings. They adopted you specifically to monitor you, to keep you weak and isolated until you awakened. Then they were supposed to hand you over."
"The organ donor story..." She presses her free hand to her mouth. "That wasn't even the real reason?"
"No. It was just the cruelest lie they could think of. They wanted to break your spirit completely so you'd be easier to capture." I let her see the fury in my eyes. "Tonight was supposed to be your surrender. They thought you'd be so destroyed, so hopeless, that you wouldn't fight when they came for you."
"But I fought." She looks at her hands again, still faintly glowing. "I didn't even know how, but I fought."
"You've always been a fighter." I smile despite everything. "Even when you thought you were weak, you were the strongest person I knew."
A crash from downstairs makes us both jump. Voices echo up the stairwell. More Harvesters.
"We need to go," I say urgently, pulling her to her feet. "Right now."
"Wait." She grabs the struggling succulent from the windowsill, cradling it protectively. "I'm not leaving them."
"Elara, we don't have time—"
"I'm not leaving my plants!" Her voice is fierce, final. "They've been my family longer than the Moss family ever was."
Something warm spreads through my chest. Even in the middle of danger, even after everything she's learned, she still cares about her plants.
This is why I love her.
"Fine." I grab the two biggest plants—the basil tree and an ivy—while she gathers smaller ones. "But we move fast."
We run for the fire escape. Behind us, heavy footsteps pound up the stairs. Voices shout orders. Weapons charge with that distinctive hum of supernatural energy.
I help Elara through the window first, plants and all, then follow. We're three stories up but I've jumped from higher. I gather her close, one arm around her waist, plants squished between us.
"Hold on tight," I tell her.
"Wait, what are you—"
I jump.
Elara screams as we plummet. The ground rushes up. At the last second, I twist, taking the impact on my legs and rolling to absorb the shock. We tumble across the wet pavement, somehow keeping all the plants intact.
"Are you insane?" Elara gasps.
"Frequently." I grin at her shocked expression. "Come on!"
We run into the maze of back alleys. Behind us, Harvesters pour out of the building. Someone shouts orders. I hear the distinctive sound of motorcycles starting.
They're not giving up.
I pull Elara deeper into the shadows, my mind racing. We need shelter. Somewhere they won't think to look. Somewhere with protections strong enough to keep us hidden while I figure out our next move.
The old greenhouse. It's perfect.
I guide us through a series of turns, using every trick I know to lose our pursuers. Elara keeps pace surprisingly well for someone who just discovered magic is real. The plants she carries are already growing in her arms, responding to her stress.
Finally, we reach an abandoned building at the edge of the industrial district. It looks condemned from the outside, but I know better. I press my hand to a hidden seal on the door and it swings open.
"Inside," I urge. "Quickly."
Elara stumbles through and I follow, sealing the door behind us with Guardian magic. The protection spells activate immediately, cloaking us from supernatural detection.
Safe. We're safe. For now.
I turn to check on Elara and find her staring at the interior of my safe house. It's not much—old furniture, basic supplies, weapons hidden in every corner. But the entire back half is filled with plants. A forest of them, cultivated over years.
"You grow plants?" she asks, surprise in her voice.
"I thought..." I feel strangely embarrassed. "I thought it might help me understand you better. What you loved about them."
She looks at me then, really looks at me. Past the supernatural abilities and ancient power. Past the Guardian who watched her from the shadows. She sees me.
And in that moment, something shifts between us.
"Kieran," she says softly, and I love how my name sounds in her voice. "Thank you. For saving me. For protecting me all these years. For—"
A terrible cracking sound interrupts her.
We both freeze.
I know that sound. The sound of magic breaking. The sound of protection spells shattering.
Someone found us.
Not just someone. I sense the power signature and my blood runs cold.
"No," I breathe. "It can't be."
The door explodes inward in a shower of splinters. A figure steps through the smoke and debris, her eyes glowing with sickly green light. Dark vines writhe around her body like living armor, covered in thorns that drip with poison.
Elara gasps. "Lydia?"
Her adoptive sister smiles, but there's nothing human in that expression anymore. "Hello, little sister. Did you really think you could hide from us? We've been tracking you since the moment you awakened." She raises her hands and the vines around her body grow longer, sharper. "Victor sends his regards. He's very eager to meet you."
Behind Lydia, more Harvesters flood into the safe house. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.
We're surrounded. Outnumbered. And Lydia has somehow gained Garden-Speaker powers—twisted, corrupted versions of what Elara can do.
This is bad. This is very, very bad.
"Stay close to me," I tell Elara, my body already shifting for battle. "No matter what happens, stay close."
Lydia laughs. "How touching. The Guardian thinks he can protect her." Her corrupted vines lash out like whips. "Let me show you what real power looks like!"