A Kingdom of Iron & Wine : New Adult Fantasy Romance (The Ironworld Series Book 1)

by Candace Osmond

  “Oh, that’s a downer, for sure. Is there anything I can do?”

  Tomas was too sweet. “Not unless you can be in four places at once.”

  He snapped his fingers with a mock frown. “Shucks. Don’t think I can help you out there. Coffee?”

  I exaggerated a sigh. “I guess it’ll do.”

  He quickly poured me a to-go cup, and I waved as I turned to head out. Fishing for my keys with my free hand. But my new phone slipped from my pocket, too big to properly fit, and I groaned as it hit the floor. I bent and grabbed it in a quick swoop, so worried about screwing up my first solo show that I didn’t see someone enter just as I sprung up. My cup lid flicked off, and hot coffee splattered on the floor.

  My head shot to the person I’d bumped into, my mouth gaping with an apology, but I stopped short when I saw who stood before me. A stupid grin on his face.

  I narrowed my eyes and stepped aside. “Cillian.”

  He tipped his head. “Always a pleasure, Avery.”

  I shook my head. “Why are you only around when I’m a mess?”

  “You claim to be a mess, yet I’m the problem?” Those dark blue eyes glanced at the brown puddle on the floor between us.

  Tomas appeared at my side, a fresh coffee in one hand, a mop in the other. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he said and handed me the coffee.

  Dear Lord, I could have kissed him. Tomas was just too good for this world. I laughed and accepted the cup. “I owe you one. Seriously,” I told him as I hesitated and headed out the door. Failing to not look at Cillian as I did. Part of me hoped he’d follow me outside, where Tomas and the rest of the café didn’t have to witness the way the guy made my face do embarrassing things.

  But he never came.

  The expanse of forest that stretched out before our street filled my vision with hues of orange and red under the near-black sky. Only a hint of navy touched the farthest point I could see. Fall was here already, early this year. I stood for a moment, breathing in the change in the air. The crispness crept in. I never enjoyed any of the seasons as much as I loved the actual changing of each one. New and familiar, all at the same time.

  I swung a leg over the seat of my Vespa and turned the key over. And over. This wasn’t happening. I tried again. And again. But nothing stirred within the old beast. I tossed my helmet in the basket at the back with a frustrated groan.

  Cillian appeared at my side, and I rubbed a hand over my tired face. “Need a ride?” he asked. A coffee in hand. He motioned to a matte black motorcycle just in front of me.

  “No, I’m fine, thanks.” I was in a sour mood and already hated myself for how I talked to him. But I hadn’t been sleeping, and the all-nighter with Lattie left me with mere dregs of my patience. And now my bike was dead. Just when I needed it most. “You… don’t even know me.”

  “Alright,” he replied and sipped his coffee, his muscles shifting with a shrug beneath his black combat jacket. Beneath the…tight black shirt he wore. I tried not to ogle. Those cerulean eyes flashed with playfulness. “Take the bus. See how far you get on that rock-solid stomach of yours.”

  I resisted the urge to stick out my tongue at him and filled my mouth with warm coffee instead. Maybe he knew me a little. I checked my phone again. I was losing time.

  With a deep breath, I said, “Fine.” Cillian gave me a look that said, And? I pressed my lips together as I waited out the cesspool of butterflies in my stomach. “I would love a ride if it’s not too much trouble.”

  He gave a mocking bow. “Never too much trouble for milady.”

  I rolled my eyes and turned to grab my helmet from the basket. Or maybe it was to hide the smile that spread across my face. I zipped up my emerald, green leather jacket to my chin. And only when I swung my legs over the seat of his bike, my breasts pressed hard up against his back, did I realize just how warm I was. It was like wrapping my arms around a chilly pillow.

  “Where to?” he asked over his shoulder.

  I had to think for a moment. “The Dartmouth Crossing. The two most important stops are next door to one another.”

  He gave the bike a rev. “Hang on.”

  We sped off through the city like a fucking nonstop bullet. I held a scream in my throat the entire time. My hands gripped his body, and I swear, I could feel the rumblings of laughter as we zipped in and out of cars. Somehow, Cillian missed every red light, and I was sure we were nothing but a blur across Halifax. What would have taken me at least half an hour on my Vespa took Cillian mere minutes on his bike, and we arrived at the Dartmouth Crossing Shopping Centre.

  I climbed off the seat and let my legs balance for a moment, anger running rapidly through my limbs. “Are you insane?”

  He removed his helmet and flicked back his jet-black hair that flopped atop his head. “What?”

  My eyes bulged in their sockets. “You could have killed us!”

  “Oh, please,” he scoffed. “I’ve been driving like that for years. I know this city like the back of my hand. You were perfectly safe. I assure you.” He gestured to the storefront behind me. “Plus, look! Time to spare.”

  I clutched the thick leather strap of my bag across my chest, mostly to hide my trembling hands, and walked as calmly as I could to the first store–a fabric shop–my body racing with adrenaline. And I wasn’t sure if it was the lingering feeling of Cillian in my arms or the death ride he just took me on, but my heart refused to settle.

  Even as I picked out fabrics for a custom order and set up delivery.

  Or as I exited the store and saw him leaning against his bike, waiting. One long… muscular leg crossed over the other. I gave him a smile, but he only chuckled. As if he knew of the whirlwind of adrenaline that spun around inside of me.

  Next door was the printer, and I had to get the order for posters and banners in today, or I wouldn’t get them in time for the showing. I spent a good twenty minutes inside, poring over drawings, notes, and instructions with the printing clerk. I set the order and paid for delivery. When I left the shop, I let out a long breath and with it a heavy weight from my shoulders. My solo showing might not be a disaster after all.

  Cillian called from the seat of his bike, “You ready for the next stop?”

  I took a few steps toward him. “I’m good, actually.” Those nerves bubbled up again. But I stomped them down. He was just a guy. “Thanks so much for your help. I got the two most important things done. The rest can wait until tomorrow.” I reached for my helmet. “I’ll just take the bus back.”

  “Hungry?” Cillian asked. His face was just a few inches from mine.

  This was the closest I’d seen his stunning eyes, and I scanned them, wanting desperately to figure out the hues, the tones, the pigments. How I might recreate it.

  “What?” I said, blinking back to reality.

  “Hungry? Food?” He made a mocking eating gesture with his hands, and I laughed. “Come on, consider it a thank you for saving your ass twice now.”

  I balked at the sudden audacity. “For what?”

  Cillian shrugged. “Saving you from that man child who was pawing at you at that ridiculous frat party and giving you a ride to meet a deadline.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help.”

  He raised a dark, challenging brow. “Would you rather I let Keg Stand Joe have his way with you?”

  “I can handle myself,” I replied and crossed my arms.

  He sized me up dramatically. “Clearly.”

  I narrowed my eyes. It was growing daunting just keeping up with the guy. One minute he mocked me; the next, he played the hero, and after that, he seemed to despise me. It was torture.

  “Look, I was just about to grab some sushi right over there,” Cillian said, his voice soft and raspy again. He pointed across the parking lot. “You can join me if you like. Or you can brave the nauseating bus ride home and eat… what is it college kids eat these days? Ramen noodles? Mac and cheese?”

  I loved sushi, and my stomach growled with
betrayal. I wasn’t in the mood to get motion sick tonight. And, while something about Cillian brushed my nerves, he seemed harmless. And the restaurant was an open public space. It wasn’t like he was dragging me down a dark alley or anything.

  I sighed. “Fine.” I set my helmet back down, my shoulder grazing him. I swear I felt a shudder, but his face remained cool and collected. I looked him square in the face and grinned. “Only because I’m starving.”

  “Of course.” He fell in stride next to me.

  “And you’re paying,” I said and jabbed a finger in his arm.

  He turned and looked at me, his dark hair falling to one side of his devastating face. “I’d never make a lady pay. Especially not one as regal as yourself.”

  I shoved at him. “And stop making fun of me!”

  We entered the small sushi restaurant and took a private booth near the back that had a straight view to the front entrance, where a wall of picture windows faced the parking lot outside. I took off my jacket, then the thin red hoodie beneath, revealing my bare arms and a crimson tank top with gold chain straps. Without even looking, I knew Cillian’s eyes were on me. Could feel them raking over me. The pale skin I bared, the chunky rings on each finger, the heaps of bangles and bracelets I wore.

  I tossed my garments to the corner of my bench seat and slipped into it at the same time he mirrored the motion on his side of the narrow table. My gaze raised to meet his, and my breath fettered once again at the striking blue eyes staring back at me. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  “What?” I asked, suddenly finding the menu in front of me super fascinating. I prayed the nerves I felt trembling my fingers didn’t show as I gripped the laminated booklet tightly.

  “Red looks lovely on you,” he simply replied and picked up his menu. “It’s your color.”

  My cheeks burned. “Yeah, I’m kind of limited when it comes to colors.” I pinched a wave of my blood-red hair between my fingers. “Red, green, navy,” I shrugged, “Sometimes gold.”

  “Black goes with everything,” Cillian replied.

  I set my menu down with a cheeky grin. “I assumed that color was only reserved for you.”

  He didn’t get the chance to give an equally sarcastic retort as our server appeared next to the table. “Welcome to the Jade Garden. What can I get you?”

  Cillian motioned for me to go first. A gentleman, I noted to myself. “I’ll have a green dragon roll, one yam roll, and a side of veggie spring rolls, please.” She scribbled on her notepad and nodded before tucking my menu under her arm. She turned to Cillian.

  “I’ll have two salmon maki and an order of the House Nigiri,” he told her politely and folded his menu before handing it to her.

  When she was gone, Cillian shifted in his seat and fixed his stare back on me, his fingers steepled in front of him as he assessed.

  “What?” I asked, suddenly conscious of every part of me.

  “You don’t like real sushi?”

  “I didn’t realize I’d ordered off the pretend menu.”

  A ghost of a smirk. “You don’t eat the raw stuff?”

  I shuddered and shook my head. “Not a fan. I prefer my food cooked.”

  “I suppose you like your steaks well done, too.”

  I wrangled my hair up off the back of my neck and twisted it into a hair tie in preparation to eat. “Wow. A daredevil on the motorcycle and a psychic? Quite the date I’ve landed.”

  Cillian’s thick dark brows raised. “This is a date?”

  My lips pressed together as I stomped down a whimper of embarrassment. “That’s not–I didn’t mean–”

  He chuckled as he leaned back, and my mortification rose from my gut. Under the table, my fingernails dug into my palms. What was wrong with me?

  “So, tell me something, date,” he said.

  I gave him a look that said, oh, shut up, but I couldn’t help myself. I hid my smile with a sip of water from one of the glasses the server had quietly slid onto the table. I wiped the moisture from my lips with the back of my hand. “What… do you want to know?”

  “Anything,” he replied and slipped out of his leather jacket. I had to focus on keeping my breathing calm as my eyes combed over the corded muscles of his arms beneath a thin black t-shirt. “All I know is that you keep your circle of friends small, you’re an artist, you look good in my favorite color.” He witnessed how that same color suddenly filled my pale face, and something danced in his eyes. “And you’ve got the stomach of a sickly child.”

  “Hey!” I shrieked, but we chuckled together. “Wait. How did you know I’m an artist? I never told you that.”

  His blue eyes darted to my fingers. The smudges of charcoal on the underside of my right hand, the old bits of paint under my nail-polish-chipped nails. I slipped them beneath the table.

  “Don’t hide them,” he told me. “To create such beauty with your hands is a talent befallen on very few.”

  “How do you know I create beautiful things?” I challenged and took another sip of water. “Maybe my work is atrocious.”

  “Maybe,” Cillian replied and leaned back with a wink. “But I doubt it.”

  Our food arrived, and I wasted no time digging in. I was starved and hadn’t had sushi in ages. I shoved some to the side of my mouth and said, “I was raised in the country.” Cillian gave me a questioning look as he ate. “A thing about me. The city is… all new to me.” Among other things. He nodded slowly, considering. “Your turn”

  Cillian swallowed and held both hands out. “What would you like to know?”

  I shrugged. “What do you do? For work.”

  He dipped a piece of sushi in soya sauce and said, “I’m curious. What is it you think I do?” before stuffing it in his mouth.

  I picked up a small, serrated knife to cut through one of my spring rolls. “Male model?” Amusement flickered in his eyes. “A plant hired to follow me around and annoy me endlessly?”

  Something outside caught my attention through the front window, and I froze. Cillian responded, but his words breezed in my ears as the thunderous beating of my heart clamored wildly. I stared unblinking at a strange, gray, bony creature crouched on the edge of a garden planter just out front of the restaurant. Its dark and leathery arms whipped out and plucked a passing bird from the air, crushing the life of the poor animal.

  But that’s not what had my heart in my throat.

  It was the way the creature seemed to… see me. Its black eyes narrowed with promise as they cut through the restaurant and bore into me. I felt all the color drain from my face, and the only thing that ripped me from the trance was the sudden searing pain in my finger. I glanced down at my hand. The knife, I’d gripped the blade, and drops of crimson dripped onto my napkin.

  “Oh, shit!” I said, and the knife clattered to the table as I hastily wrapped my finger with a fresh napkin.

  Cillian’s eyes widened, and his hands gripped the edge of the table in front of him. He must have thought I was absolutely insane.

  “Sorry,” I told him and inched out of the seat. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” I ran off to the bathroom to clean my wound and wrap it better. The cut was actually small, just deep, and the bleeding stopped after a few minutes of pressure. But when I returned to the table… he was gone. A wad of twenties left in his place.

  Disappointment flooded me. I scanned around to see if he was still there. At the front, near the buffet, a glance out the front window. But I noticed his jacket was also gone and I knew… he must have decided that the strange girl from the country was not a great idea after all.

  With a sigh, I fetched my jacket and hoodie, swiped the money Cillian had left, and paid the bill on my way out. Part of me hoped he was just outside, out of sight, waiting. But a new level of disappointment washed over me when I found the strip of concrete outside to be empty. No sign of that terrifying creature, either. What the hell was that?

  I began to second guess my own sanity again. I wondered then how I mu
st have looked. To Cillian. My gaze went distant, wide-eyed, as I’d gripped the sharp blade of a knife… I should have known better, should have listened when I’d told myself he was way out of my league. I mean… I didn’t even have a league. I was a loner, a quiet country mouse in a city too big and loud for me. I was a freak. No wonder he left.

  I would have, too.

  Chapter Ten

  I sat up in bed, settled against the headboard behind me, sketchbook in hand, as a low hum of some alt-rock station played in my bedroom. After I’d braved the bus ride home and waited out the dose of nausea that nearly took me down, I’d mumbled some non-verbal response to Julie’s question about my day and swiped a banana from the basket on the table as I made a beeline for my bedroom. Now I sat in near silence, aside from the whisper of music, the lights reduced to the lamp beside my bed, and mindlessly poured my thoughts and worries onto paper.

  Try as I might, I just couldn’t get Cillian out of my head. I hated how any form of speech became a daunting task around him. How my heart fluttered wildly with every look he offered. I didn’t even know him. But… is this what it felt like for everybody? To like someone. Was I crazy for letting myself fall for a total stranger when he could so easily disappear from my life? Today was the perfect evidence of his ability to leave on a whim.

  I let out a groan, and the back of my head bonked off the headboard. I should just forget him altogether. Purge him from my mind. Save me the heartbreak. I glanced down at the paper on my lap. Only to find that I’d sketched a pair of eyes, over and over, all across the spread. I didn’t need the aid of color to know whose eyes they were.

  I slammed the book shut.

  I needed a distraction, but from someone who wouldn’t ask questions like Julie would. A gentle October breeze floated in through the open window, and I realized it’d been a while since Lattie had come… I wanted to say home, but this wasn’t her home. I’d blindly trapped her in this magical attachment to me. But I felt a sense of… responsibility for the creature. As murderous and terrifying as she was.