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On his fifteenth birthday, Colin’s mother, Evelyn, and his cousin, Reilly O’Malley, had given him a birthday gift together—a silver pocket watch.

The face of the watch was amber, engraved with a red lion that proudly reared up on its hind legs, and the numbers were more like symbols.

When Colin questioned it, Reilly told him a tale of a family who had a secret to protect; only one person from each generation was entrusted with the task of keeping that secret—and that family—safe.

Reilly explained that he, Colin O’Rourke, was that person, and his secret was that of time travel.

He could bend time, and he could move others through time as well.

The true purpose of the power was to protect his family line when it was in danger of being exposed or threatened with annihilation.

After Reilly brought him to Ireland and showed him exactly what his power could do, Colin eagerly accepted the gift.

With the knowledge of that power came immediate instruction: swords, knives, street fighting.

Tactics that would keep him alive in times not his own—martial arts, strength exercises, and even dance lessons to increase his flexibility and agility.

Years of training with Reilly chiseled his body and sharpened his mind, and Colin had reveled in it.

If he had only known then what he knew now.

He learned in his early twenties there was always a “but.” The Fates were a mystic force, which Reilly spoke of in respectful, and sometimes derisive, tones.

Part of Colin’s training was understanding the Fates and the powers they wielded.

Reilly explained they were the ones who gave everyone life, death, and time…

and they controlled the Protectors. Reilly never discussed where or when he himself came from, but he spoke of the Fates as if he’d known them for hundreds of years.

As Reilly’s time-bending power was much stronger than his own, Colin often wondered what, exactly, Reilly’s role really was to the Fates.

Colin still wasn’t sure how old Reilly truly was, and Reilly deftly danced around or outright ignored the question any time it was asked.

When Colin was twenty-two, after a particularly bloody battle in which he had watched dozens of his sixteenth-century clan members die, he decided he didn’t want to be a Protector anymore.

He’d seen enough adventure to last him a lifetime…

but unfortunately, that wasn’t the way it worked.

And despite Reilly explaining it to him countless times, Colin didn’t care.

He renounced his Protector oath, and was subsequently brought before the Fates.

Though Reilly stood stoically by his side, Colin was not-so-secretly terrified of the three Fates in front of him.

He knew from all Reilly’s teachings that the three women in front of him—one young, one middle-aged, and one elderly—could choose to end his life on the spot, or painfully draw it out.

They could be merciful or merciless, and rarely were second chances given.

Perhaps it was Reilly’s silent support. Perhaps they thought Colin young and foolish…

but whatever it was, that day, they let Colin live.

They denied his renouncement, and, at Reilly’s suggestion, agreed Colin needed to learn a different kind of lesson.

For three years, one for each Fate, Colin would be tasked to save one of his direct descendants.

If he failed, his very existence would be erased.

It was, as they told him, the only chance he’d have to determine his own fate.

The first year, his assignment was a fifteenth-century maiden named Claire, who’d been kidnapped by a vengeful laird.

She was the spitting image of his cousin Brianagh…

and he later learned that she was, by twists of fate he dared not question, Bri’s daughter.

The second year, he saved a mother—Brianagh herself—from certain death at her father-in-law’s hands.

And the third and final year, he rescued his own great-grandmother from the Black Death by helping her and her family flee Ireland and come to America.

Maiden, mother, crone. He didn’t miss the significance.

Throughout each of his lessons, he learned many things, but one of the more resounding ones was his lesson in love.

He saw it in each time period: the men in his family tree had a single soul mate.

The woman would be one they’d be willing to die for; it was an everlasting kind of love, and if not claimed, legend had it that the lovers’ souls would not rest in peace until they were united.

Colin had seen the shells of the O’Rourke men who hadn’t claimed their loves when given the chance, and he saw the richness of those who had. It left an impression, to say the least. But he had met only one other Protector, other than himself and Reilly, who hadn’t claimed his own mate. That man…

Colin shuddered when he thought of him. Shea O’Rourke, born in the seventeen hundreds, worked with Colin on an assignment years ago, and the man was a shattered soul.

Shea claimed his mate when he had the chance, but she didn’t love him in return.

He had no chance at finding love again, and the result was enough for Colin to swear off serious relationships forever.

He kept only to shallow women. Ones only looking for a good time, or one night; nothing permanent, nothing real.

Finding a mate sounded good only in theory; in practice, he had no desire to claim one.

The risk was too great; he did not want to become the next Shea O’Rourke.

When Brianagh decided to start a matchmaking company, she convinced Colin to join her.

Despite his dating record, he was sharply intuitive about people, and she recognized it.

When Brianagh found her own true love, she left the company to Colin, and he took it to new heights, firmly believing that helping people find love was worth every ounce of his energy.

It became his calling, and as the years passed without him ever feeling the spark of recognizing his mate, he began to think that perhaps the Fates wouldn’t be so cruel as to introduce him to her.

Aidan snapped his fingers, drawing Colin’s attention. “Glad to see you’re still alive, Col. I’ve called your name three times!”

“Sorry. Woolgathering,” Colin murmured.

Aidan merely raised a brow. “Well, I was saying that you’re still young by modern standards, so you may have plenty of time to find your woman.”

Colin stood briskly. “You know as well as I do that means nothing. I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but don’t bring it up again.” He pushed down the hollow feeling in his chest as he spoke the words aloud. “I’ve chosen my destiny, and it doesn’t involve anyone but me.”

Aidan let out a low whistle. “Now you’ve done it.”

“Done what?” Emma questioned.

He shook his head slowly. “He just challenged the Fates again. Didn’t he learn his lesson the first time?”

Colin rolled his eyes. “Leave off, Aidan. I speak the truth, and they know it.”

“Yoohoo! Eleanor dear!” The proper—if shrill—voice of Winifred Emsworth rang through Ellie Carberry’s small bookshop, which lay nearly hidden down a side street in the Knightsbridge area of London.

“Eleanor! You know it’s unbecoming of you to force me to shout, dearest. Where are you hiding yourself? ”

Ellie stepped out from behind a tall stack of used books, duster in hand.

She quickly untied the small apron from her waist and headed toward the front of the shop, patting her dark brown hair back into its proper bun.

She pinched her cheeks quickly and rounded the corner, pasting a large smile on her face.

“Winnie! What a surprise!” she exclaimed, kissing the elderly woman on the cheek. “What brings you to Knightsbridge?”

Winnie peered at Ellie through her spectacles, assessing. “You look pale, my darling. You’re cooped up in this tiny store for hours each day. It’s depressing. Let’s go shopping.”

Ellie inwardly grimaced. She loved her aunt—she was all the family Ellie had—but they were completely different people. Aside from their shared love of reading, they had little in common. Ellie preferred to stay indoors with a good book while Winnie would rather be shopping for one.

And while Winnie had time and money to spare, Ellie did not. She wasn’t a pauper by any stretch of her imagination (and it stretched far and wide, as her mind tended to delve into the absurd sometimes), but London was expensive, and every penny counted.

“I’m sorry, Winnie. I’m not off until six.” Ellie glanced at the clock and blinked. It was seven. Which was strange, as the last time she’d checked, it had only been three.

“You’ve got to get that pretty head of yours out of the clouds, Eleanor,” Winnie chided.

“I’m assuming you received a new shipment of books?

Of course you did. And you became involved in cataloging them, didn’t you?

Come now. Close up shop.” Her voice brooked no argument, and Ellie sighed.

Arguing with London’s most celebrated columnist took a lot of energy and verbal skill, so Ellie chose her battles with her aunt carefully.

She didn’t often go head-to-head with Winifred Emsworth, but when she did, it had to be worth the fight.

“Okay. It’ll take an extra few minutes, as I’m closing the shop for the weekend. Remember that I’m going to the shore for a few days?”

Winnie owned a small house on the Irish coast, just south of Dublin. Ellie could relax there, and after the hectic spring she’d had, she needed a recharge before the summer hit. Tourists loved her shop, and she was normally busy from morning through night during the high season.