Chapter 2
I woke up at my usual 5 a.m. the next morning, untangled my hair from my earbuds as my toast popped, then threw some healthy avocado on top of the sourdough. Hekla’s continuous warnings about my obsession with all things bread had finally had its intended effect—I was actually considering my health for a second.
That storm had been super bizarre. A castle? I laughed aloud at myself. No way. I shook my head. I’d been tired last night, and the lightning had made my eyes do something weird.
I’d passed out after a fat, healthy serving of wine and The Great British Baking Show reruns. Still…
“Might be time for a vacation,” I mumbled.
As I rode down my street and out of my neighborhood, I had to dodge a pickup truck full of pumpkins and a bevy of neon-clothed cyclists. I crossed Hillsboro and glanced to my left.
There it was.
The castle.
No way. I squeezed my brakes and almost ate the end of a bright blue Tesla.
There on a new hill above town was a castle.
A legit castle. Like, Renaissance style.
Now, if some country music star got a wild hair and decided to undertake the reproduction of a ginormous fifteenth-whatever century mansion for a recording studio, that would not be a shock. But I would’ve seen that construction in progress.
I would’ve been there, day after day, waving inappropriate gestures at the traffic it created—a typical Coren Connelly move.
But this thing had simply appeared.
As traffic moved on, I slid into a spot beside the cemetery, my black boots splashing in the remains of last night’s storm. Hanging my helmet on the handlebars, I paused, feeling…off.
A sensation like feathers brushing my skin rushed up my legs, sliding over my thighs.
What the hell?
I mean, it wasn’t unpleasant. Quite the opposite. But what was it? I hadn’t had a date in a few months, but the appearance of a castle, as cool as it was, wouldn’t get me all hot and bothered.
The feeling intensified as I stood there, staring up at the completely out-of-nowhere hill on which said castle stood. Delicious heat—like summer sunshine—spread across my stomach, then up and over my breasts. A coolness like soft raindrops followed the heat, pebbling my skin as it worked its way to my neck. A chill breeze that smelled like pines and spring leaves danced through the air, which was odd considering it was nearly Halloween.
The castle was too massive to see properly from down here, but the structure really did look Renaissance-ish. I’d watched The Borgias, so I was practically an expert. On one of the castle’s towers, painted images of ivy and ruby-colored flowers wove together to create the face of a clock.
I crossed the street and began to trek up the hill because I was—as my mother used to say when she was alive—exactingly nosey. And why was I the only person checking this castle out? Morning traffic rolled by like nothing was out of the ordinary.
A huge archway made up what I assumed was the castle’s front entrance. The dark fangs of a metal gate peeked from the top, a portcullis that, when lowered, would guard a set of tall wooden doors. Above the archway, gray snakes posed all fancy-like beside a couple of things that might have been bats or those dragons that didn’t have legs. Wyverns? Wyrms? I had read a few fantasy books during my blessed nerd summer before I’d taken my first job. I remembered a little about the creatures.
I put my hands on my hips and stared at the door. “What are you doing here? You’re making me seriously doubt saying no to those meds my doc suggested last year.”
Even if I had somehow missed this monstrosity’s construction, Nancy Striffer wouldn’t have. That crazy woman ran the Daily Noser blog. She missed nothing. How had she not exposed this insane creation?
“Where were you on this one, Nancy?” I called out to the sky.
Amethyst lightning cracked, making me jump as it crawled across the morning clouds, branching out like hands. Thunder followed, an encore to last night’s storm.
“More rain?” I huffed and kept on.
Drops that were very serious about their job pelted me, so I ran and ducked under the archway. The double wooden doors—large enough to admit a country music star’s tour bus—closed off the entrance, and a smaller door was set into the first. The wood of the normal-sized door was smooth from what had to be years and years of use.
“So bizarre. What are you doing here, Italian castle? I must be insane,” I mumbled.
The normal-sized door opened.
I stepped back as a dark-haired man appeared, a jade-green cloak draped over his broad shoulders and some Renaissance-Faire-looking trousers tucked into his tall boots. A strange chill speared my chest. Danger emanated from the guy in undeniable waves. I was very glad I’d taken two years of Krav Maga from my friend Titus who’d insisted I train after a break-in at my place.
“You’re not insane,” the man said in a heavily accented voice. The storm’s wind ruffled his partially open shirt, showing off a well-muscled chest. “Though I do have questions.”
“Says the man in a flowing green cloak who just walked out of a castle.”
So yeah, I was actually a little scared of this guy. But I was also insanely curious. And if I were honest with myself, turned on. From cliff diving to fast bikes, I was kind of into danger. And to deem this man ‘hot’ would be like calling chocolate croissants ‘nice.’ He was too fine to be called merely hot. His face looked like a painting from a museum, all forlorn hazel eyes, perfectly tousled jet-black hair, and smooth, olive skin. His bone structure would’ve made the David statue super jealous. And unless I was mistaken, he’d dyed a couple of strands of his hair dark emerald.
“You are tragically gorgeous.” I covered my mouth, cheeks blazing.
