Page 48 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

It stings. More than stings, it hurts to see her look at me like that, like I’m some kind of disgusting creature instead of the perfect specimen I know myself to be.

“Change your mind, love?” I ask, arching an eyebrow and crossing my arms over the ache in my chest.

“You don’t want this,” she says, shaking her head, her lower lip trembling. “It was the cookie.”

“I do—” I pause, trying to parse her odd declaration. “The what now? Is that what you call this? Is that a witch saying? A cookie?” My gaze drops to the juncture of the thighs which were so deliciously wrapped around me only moments ago.

“Cookie?” I repeat, utterly confused.

“No, don’t call it that.” She throws her hand down as if trying to shield herself from my view.

“You’re wearing pants, love. I can’t see it, no matter how much I would like to,” I purr, stepping closer to her.

Her eyes go wide, and she holds up a hand. “You don’t want me.”

“What?”

“The cookie. The cookie we shared, it was charmed from The Pixie’s Perch, from Piper. I forgot. It had an alluring charm on it.” She pales, clearly so distraught about feeding us both some kind of seduction spell that she doesn’t even realize that kind of charm wouldn’t work on an Unseelie fae.

My attraction to Wren isn’t the result of some silly kitchen witch’s spell.

Not even close.

My stomach drops though, because not only does she think it is, that damned cookie is the cause of her sudden change in behavior.

My face falls.

Stricken, I step away from her.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Caelan, I would never have kissed you otherwise, that was just… a spell. I’m so sorry.” She scrapes a hand over her face, looking lost as a little lamb led to slaughter.

And I, the monstrous fae, hold the axe. It would be so easy to paste a smile on, to tell her the feeling has passed.

I glance down at my shirt on the ground, and the thick black tattoo vining across my bare arm catches my attention.

The tattoo that appeared as soon as Wren Tierson walked into my life.

Fate works in funny ways, and I’m sure she’s laughing at choosing a mortal witch as my mate.

“The cookie didn’t make me kiss you,” my mouth says, and I must look as terrifying as I am terrified, because Wren makes a small squeak of horror.

I could back down, tell her it was all a cruel joke, but I don’t want to hurt her.

I want to kiss the pretty lips that form a tight line on her face until she opens for me like a rose in bloom.

“Yes, it did?—”

I hold up a hand, and her throat bobs as she swallows. “No, it did not. I wanted to kiss you as soon as I saw you walk through the door of the kitchen witch’s café.”

“She’s not a kitchen—” Her head snaps up. “Wait.”

“You know, I think I’m tired of that word,” I say on a sigh.

I feel lighter for having told her the truth, at least, part of it.

“But I bound you to me,” she insists, looking miserable. “Maybe you’re just feeling the spell effects and saying that because I did it wrong?—”

“Wren of the gold and jewels,” I say softly, shaking my head. “I am bound to you willingly, you little fool. I could have broken your spell the minute you called me, but it suits me rather well to be tied with the object of all my desires. I find that I am unwilling to be away from your side, and you are just as much now bound to me.” I spread my hands wide, at a loss for how to further explain my feelings on the matter.

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