Iron (The Warding Book 1) (19 page)

I stopped in the kitchen doorway, holding my purse on my shoulder with a sweaty grip. The scene before me was so commonplace that it struck me as bizarre. A large pot bubbled away on the stove, giving off the luscious scent of tomatoes and garlic. Kaine, seated at the kitchen table, had his head inclined over the newspaper spread out on the table before him. A sweating half-empty bottle of beer stood at his elbow and he was chewing absently on the capped end of a ballpoint pen. Apparently, the freaky fae Lord of the Manor who made blood pacts like they were nothing also liked to cook and to do crossword puzzles. While drinking Sam Adams. I stifled a chuckle. Okay. Nothing weird about that. Nope; nothing weird about that at all.

“Can I help you, Caitlin?” he asked, never looking up. That deep baritone shot through me like Cupid’s arrow yet again, making all sorts of things inside me vibrate in response.

I hated how he could do that every single time he spoke. Bad enough that I felt like a moron for having to deliver a heartfelt apology to a near stranger, but the way he set my hormones buzzing was an added insult that set my teeth on edge. I traced the checkered pattern of the floor tiles with my eyes, face red. I cleared my throat and aimed for deferentially polite. “Is this a good time? I could come back another day, if you’re busy.”

I heard the rustle as he folded the newspaper. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him sit back in his chair. “No, no. Please; sit.”

I pulled out the chair opposite his and sat; clutching my purse in my lap. It gave my hands something to do other than fidget. I knew he had me fixed with that calm, unwavering stare; those eerie eyes like calm waters in some Caribbean sea that I had only seen on the Travel Channel.

Okay, scratch that; I hated how poetic his eyes made me even more than I hated his voice’s panty-dropping properties.

He chuckled softly. I wondered how much my expression was giving away. “Is there something on your mind?”

“Uh, yeah. Sort of.” I cleared my throat—far too aware of how awkward I sounded—and dove in. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I never thanked you for saving me, that night the troll attacked me.”

I glanced up at him from beneath my eyelashes and saw that he had his head cocked slightly to the right; a smile playing on his lips. He looked amused, which tickled my libido’s fancy just fine. He held up a hand to forestall any further rambling apologies I could make. “There is no need to thank me. I acted as any man worth his salt would, seeing a lady in peril.”

I swallowed a reflexive snort at his Shakespearean gallantry. He probably would have taken that as rude. I still couldn’t get over how quickly my internal pendulum could swing from horn-dog to know-it-all bitch with this guy. I shook my head. “Yeah, well, maybe where you’re from they do. Here? Not so much. Strangers don’t just go risking their lives for one another.”

“They do not?”

Now his head was cocked full force, something troubled rippling in his eyes; like wind ruffling the stormy seas. (There was that goddamn poetry again.) I bit my tongue and gave myself a sharp reminder of where I was and who I was with. This was so not the time or place to get sappy. I released it so I could continue busting his chivalrous bubble. “Ah, no. Not generally.”

He frowned, brow deeply furrowed. I had never seen him look so disturbed, so confused, so…Human. For some reason, that bothered me on a level I couldn’t even begin to explain. He said, “I could walk this world of yours for a hundred years and understand it no better. Is that not a lonely way in which to live?”

“Uh… maybe? I’m not really the one to ask. You kind of get used to it when it’s all you know, I guess. In any case, I’m pretty sure I would have become sidewalk pâté if you hadn’t come along that night, so thank you.”

He inclined his head, every inch the stately lord once more. I had to resist the urge to drop into a curtsy. Not wanting to get into a debate about the miserable mess that was modern day humanity, I threw myself to the wolf and asked, “And where would I find Gannon tonight?”

~*~

I really hated that back staircase.

Every time I ascended it my heart leaped in my throat, pounding so hard I felt like I would choke on it. Kaine made me uneasy, with the way he sent my thoughts spinning and had some primal part of me panting like a dog in heat from a sideways glance. That was bad enough. Yet somehow that particular uneasiness seemed oh-so-much more manageable than the foreboding I felt at the mere thought of entering the same room as Gannon. Maybe the inherent moral code I had sensed in Kaine from day one, even before his genuine dismay at the folly of man, had made him feel safer, somehow.

Gannon? Nope. No safety net there. Not even a bungee cord to pull me back. When I was left alone with him I felt like I had been thrown into the pit, an impromptu gladiator with a blunt stick facing off against a hungry lion. There was something about him, something feral and downright dangerous, that made my insides quake on a completely different level. I sensed anger in him; a seething force that bubbled just beneath the surface every time we traded blows. Hell, I saw a flash of it every time our eyes met.

Still, if I didn’t nut up and face that fear, I knew I would never be able to walk into that training room without a cloud of defeat hanging over me. Eau de Failure was not my preferred perfume. I truly wanted to learn what he had to teach me, if I were capable, and we would never get past Lesson One if I didn’t make some sort of an attempt to salvage the rapidly crumbling rapport between us.

Just as Kaine had promised, Gannon was in his little inner sanctum of torture. I’d promised myself I’d stop calling it at the bottom of the stairs but, well… Shit happens. Only one of the overhead lights was on, its beam focused dead center in the middle of the room. Moonlight flooded in from above, creating wide swathes of pale silver across the floor.

He was seated in the center of the Red Ring of Doom, nothing but a small square cushion between him and the floor. He was dressed in one of those white uniforms straight out of a Karate Kid movie; legs crossed, hands resting palm up on his knees. I teetered in the doorway, mentally cursing. Interrupting his midnight meditation seemed a piss-poor way to start making amends. I had nearly turned to go when he said, “Is there something you need?”

His voice was deep, steady; unruffled. For a heartbeat, I thought I heard an echo of Kaine in that voice. Maybe all that meditation mumbo jumbo wasn’t the steaming load I had always thought it was. Of course, that could have just been his normal speaking voice too. It wasn’t the gruff tone I had grown used to hearing as we sparred, but as the few words we had exchanged hadn’t exactly been pleasant ones, it was possible that my opinion was slightly skewed.

Okay; it was likely that my opinion was more than” slightly” skewed.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you.” I tried to aim for that same deferential neutrality I has used with Kaine, but I’m pretty sure I came off sounding like I was two seconds away from cowering in fear instead.

He unfolded himself from his seated position in one slow, fluid movement. Once on his feet, he turned with practiced grace and crossed the distance between us. He stopped a foot away from me, feet spread in an even stance; arms crossed. He was so close that his hair looked black in the low light and I could see that his high cheekbones shimmered with a faint remnant of sweat. He waited, his blank expression never wavering. Not another word was spoken.

I took a deep breath. It was hard for me to find my train of thought when his presence brought up a wellspring of emotions: awkwardness, resentment, nervousness, embarrassment. I hated, hated,
hated
the way his mere presence intimidated me. He made me feel like a child asking a parent to indulge some frivolous whim. As much as I loathed facing him, I hated fearing the walk to my car every evening and the nightmares over what could be lurking in the dark outside my door each night even more. I swallowed the lump in my throat along with my pride. “I came to apologize.”

I finally summoned the courage to meet his eyes. It was like having a bucket of cold water dumped over my head. I had grown so used to seeing them regarding me with calculating ferocity, when they weren’t narrowed in anger or rolling in disappointment, that to see them emptied of all that exasperation shocked me. Instead, there was a deep, centered sense of calm there. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. I’ll be damned if it didn’t make me instantly jealous.

He compounded my astonishment when he said, “There is no need for you to apologize.”

I snorted. “Uh, yeah there is. I made a deal with Kaine and you got roped into it. I never thanked you for agreeing to teach me and I certainly didn’t show you the respect any teacher deserves. We got off on the wrong foot, and that it was largely my fault. I’m hoping I can change that.”

He smiled, the first real smile I had ever seen on his face. “I am Kaine’s Guardian, Caitlin. I do as he bids; it’s my duty. There is no need for you to make amends for him.”

For a moment I wondered if I had been better off with the hostile, aloof Gannon. He was speaking civilly to me—and I was both surprised and pleased to hear how normal he sounded when not barking orders or swinging a pole at my head—but the casual dismissal of everything I had agonized over all day long was a bitter pill to swallow. “Still, I feel the need to do so. If not for having made the bargain in the first place, then at least for my bratty behavior.” He watched me, not budging a single step in the direction of accepting my penitence. I wanted to scream. I let a small growl of frustration slip out. “Come on Gannon, for Christ’s sake, I’m
trying
here. Will you give me just a little back, please?”

He remained calm, eyes never wavering. The bastard. I held his gaze and hoped mine said everything I was thinking—including just a little bit of “stop being such a shit.” After a few agonizing seconds, he let his head loll back; slowly rotating it from side to side until it cracked. He sighed and seemed to relax, just a tad. “And just what, exactly, would you like me to give you?”

A million responses rushed to my mind—some sarcastic, a few of them dirty. I wanted to spit, I was so frustrated. “Accepting my apology would be a good start.”

He scratched at the nape of his neck, running his tongue along the edge of his teeth. “I already told you: an apology is not necessary. Apologies are just words, and in the end, words matter very little to me.”

This was not at all how I had expected this confrontation to go. Granted I hadn’t thought we would become bosom buddies after a little chat, but I had at least expected some sort of common ground would be found. I think my jaw dropped open again. I gaped at him for a moment. “Are you freaking kidding me?” There was an undignified squeak on the end of those words. “You mean to tell me that I dragged myself all the way up here to apologize for being a brat, just for you to tell me it doesn’t even matter?”

“I said
words
do not matter. The sentiment behind them is appreciated, but I value your actions more.” He turned and walked away, leaving me standing there.

I couldn’t believe his nerve. Everything in me seemed to vibrate, like a taut bowstring let loose. I was shaking, my fist clenched so hard around the strap of my bag that I was pretty sure the imprint would remain on my palm for the rest of my life. He had gone back to the center of the room and dropped back down into his meditation pose without another word. Livid was too gentle a word to describe the fury that was vibrating inside me. I clenched my teeth. Oh, I would show him actions, all right.

Just as I turned to storm off, one hand already gripping the door frame, he called out, “Caitlin.”

The sound of my name on his lips made me want to whack him in the head with my purse. I spun around and spat, “What?”

“Monday, 7pm. We’ll put together a workout regimen you can do during the week. Then we’ll start with basic grappling and floor work, before we give weapons another try.”

Goddamn, I was getting tired of my mouth hanging open like a fish. I spluttered for a moment, torn between a dozen different thoughts. Luckily, before I could spout off again with something stupid (which was pretty much my default setting), a little light-bulb flickered to life in the back of my mind. He knew about the monstrosity that had taken over my dining room. Mairi must have told him about my sudden shopping spree this afternoon and my subsequent doubts about how to make the best use of it all. She couldn’t have had much time to do so. My conversation with Kaine had lasted all of ten minutes. And what’s more, whatever she had found the time to say had obviously made enough of an impression on Gannon for him to extend the olive branch.

“Sure, that sounds good. See you then.” I took a deep, slow breath. Perhaps he hadn’t been too gracious concerning my attempt at humility, but he had made the first overture into helping me step up my training. It was step in the right direction.

And that was something.

Chapter Fourteen

By late November, I wanted to throttle the crap out of the Lynx the moment I found him.

Because, of course, I had not found him. In fact, I had begun to doubt the slippery shit’s entire existence, faded photograph aside. My grumbles of dissension were met with promises that he was indeed real and out there, lurking somewhere in Riverview. “People” had seen him, I was told. That pretty much amounted to someone’s cousin’s sister’s hairdresser swearing it was the god’s honest truth. Sure; I knew Kaine & Co. had a network of friends. I didn’t have the foggiest clue who they were, but I believed that they were out there nonetheless, feeding us little tidbits of information when prying eyes couldn’t catch them in the act and rope them into whatever treasonous charge hung over Kaine’s head. Knowing that they existed and that the Lynx existed, however? Those were two entirely different things.