Free Iron Kin: A Novel of the Half-Light City by M.J. Scott

negotiations after all. What did I care if it got stained or burned?
    I threw half a scuttle of coal onto the banked embers of my forge fire and stirred them viciously to life with a poker that threatened to bend in my hand as the power surged again in response to my mood. I channeled the fury into the fire, heating the coals far too quickly. The flames roared and blasted my face with heat that was a little too much for comfort.
    Face nearly scorched, I scowled and pushed some of the excess heat down through the earth, into the deep aqueducts that ran under the Academy for exactly this purpose.
    Once the fire was under control, the coals starting to glow red, I stepped back, dropped the poker, and looked around for something else to take my anger out on. Anything.
    I spotted a sword that I had ruined with an incautious tempering several weeks ago hanging from the wall amongst some other failures waiting to be repurposed.
Perfect
. I snatched it down and plunged the blade into the fire to heat. While I waited for the forge fire to do its work, I paced the room, fighting the urge to throw things.
    I had worked up a good sweat, pounding my frustration into the sword, when I noticed my wards flickering. Somebody at my door. Cursing, I plunged the sword into the quenching barrel—it was beyond ruined now—and stalked over to the door, still holding the hammer.
    The man standing on my doorstep looked somewhat taken aback. “I wasn’t that rude last night, was I?” Fen asked with a grin. He nodded at the hammer. “If I was, I assure you I apologize. If you put that away.”
    I blinked, my mind trying to catch up. Fen here, on my doorstep? Laughing at me. I was suddenly very conscious of my soot-stained, sweaty state. And that I was waving a hammer at him. I bent and leaned the hammer against the doorframe. “I was working. What are you doing here?”
    He looked somewhat the worse for wear. He hadn’t shaved and his clothes, though not the same elegant tailcoat he had worn to the ball, were rumpled as though he’d slept in them. He wore a navy tie knotted crookedly around the collar of a white linen shirt. The slightly lighter blue jacket fitted beautifully despite its wrinkles.
    “May I come in?” he asked.
    I hesitated. I wasn’t in the mood for visitors, any visitors, let alone someone as unsettling as the man before me. Not when I had no idea why he’d sought me out. Regina and Holly had told me a little of his reputation—his wild ways and his legendary charm when it came to pursuing women—but surely he hadn’t come here to woo me?
    I sincerely doubted that I was the type of woman he wooed—if indeed he ever did have to do any wooing rather than just sitting back and letting women flock to him. And I had no inclination to become one of the panting throng. He was horribly attractive, even scruffy and unkempt—not the distant perfect beauty of a Fae but still enticingly handsome. Particularly when his intense green eyes were focused on me like I was the gateway to heaven. “I’m busy,” I said shortly, fighting the urge to step closer.
    “Please?” He accompanied the plea with another flash of charming smile. It made me nervous, but I found myself stepping back and nodding before I could think better of it. Which only made me more nervous.
    I had met attractive men before. I’d even dealt with Fae men whose beauty made Fen look plain. But none of them had made my sense of self-preservation itch the way Fen did. I hadn’t let myself think about it last night when he had seemed so bored and eager to get away from the ball. Even those last few minutes on the portico, I had made myself dismiss whatever interest I had felt, knowing it could lead to nothing good. But apparently the events of this morning and my lack of sleep had rattled me sufficiently to make me vulnerable.
    I held up a hand, warding him off. “This room has iron in it. Won’t it hurt you?”
    He shrugged. “No. I’m fine as long as I