Page 34 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

“Aye!” the dwarves chorus, mugs and palms slapping the tables at once.

Lila quirks an eyebrow at me, my sudden interest piquing her own.

“And it’s rare,” I press. “And only the best mages can use it?”

“That’s what we said, lad, are you dense?”

“Very dense,” I tell the dwarf, topping off his mug with scalding-hot tea. “Very dense and very interested in all things that have to do with this ore.”

“Oho, boyo here thinks he can beat us to the dragon sapphire,” another dwarf cries, and Lila winces as they all begin shouting and clamoring once again.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re an Unseelie, you don’t have to say shit. We all know shit’s coming out of your mouth one way or another.” The dwarves laugh uproariously, and I feel the tips of my ears go hot, my rage slithering like a snake from under a rock into the daylight.

My fangs bite into my lower lip as I smile, growing sharper in my mouth, longer the angrier I get.

“Enough,” Lila yells. “If you insult my friend, you’ll find yourself without tea.”

That gets their attention—and mine, too.

The pressure of my lengthening fangs lessens, and I swivel my gaze up to the white-haired elf, who stands with her hands on her hips, her nose pink with fury.

Druze blinks slowly at me, then nods at his wife’s words. “You treat him with respect, just as he’s done to you.” He glowers at the dwarves, who manage to become very interested in their steaming black tea, then begin mumbling apologies.

“Oy, there, lad,” says the ginger dwarf. “They didn’t mean any harm. Can’t say my people have gotten along with your lot in the past, but anyone who’s interested in the lore of the ore is alright in my book.”

I refrain from calling him an idiot out of respect for Lila and Druze, and I also refrain from inspecting too closely the surge of warmth I feel towards the couple.

They’re only my employers, after all, they’re not truly friends. Displeasure curls through me.

My current obsession with the mortal witch is enough trouble without inviting full-fledged friendship with a Star Isles elf and a dryad into my life.

“No harm done?” the dwarf asks, his bushy eyebrows twitching. There’s a trace of fear in his brown eyes.

Delicious. They should be afraid of me.

The Unseelie fae are not to be trifled with. We are a proud species with a proclivity for vengeance and an excellent ability to hold petty grudges.

Even the ones cast out from the Underhill.

“No harm at all,” I make myself say, memorizing his face, just in case. “By the way, I know a witch of superb caliber who would no doubt bring justice to your dragon sapphires.”

With that, I stalk off to the back of the shop.

Only a week or so since I left the Underhill, and already I’ve gotten softer.

I should blame the witch, no doubt it lies with the lovely Wren’s undue influence over me, even though she’s unaware of it.

But I do wonder if maybe the fault, this growing softness, is only of my own making.

I will have to remedy it.

My fangs fully extend and I pace around the back room, rummaging for more of the absurdly strong black tea the dwarves are quickly running through.

May they all have acute kidney failure.

“Hey,” Lila’s voice coasts across the room, and I look up to see the Star Isles elf standing on the threshold, concern clear in her eyes.

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