Page 52 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

He’s barely broken a sweat by the time he races up to the back door of my shop, Fenn an orange streak behind him, yapping at us both in high distress.

I can’t stop giggling, and every time I let out a fresh peal of laughter, Caelan’s smile grows and grows.

He finally stops in front of my door, and I try to dislodge myself from his embrace to get my key out.

“Nope,” he says. “You’re not putting one foot down until we get those boots off and look at the damage you’ve inflicted on yourself, you stubborn woman.”

I let out a little shriek as he easily flips me over one shoulder, a strong arm locking me in place and another digging through the satchel on my back.

When his arm brushes my butt, I let out a little moan.

Caelan stiffens beneath me. “None of that. We will be saving any indulgent activities until after you’ve been properly cared for.”

“What if I want those first?” I ask, breathless despite the fact I’ve done absolutely nothing to warrant it.

“Then you will suffer, I suppose,” he says grandly.

The key clicks into place, and then I’m being trundled up the stairs to my apartment, which he also unlocks.

“It smells like you in here.”

“I hope that’s a good thing,” I tell him with a laugh. I’m giddy, lighter than ever, maybe due to the fact I’m not actually standing on my poor feet.

“Your scent was the first delicious thing I noticed about you.”

My nose wrinkles. “Is that a fae thing?” I’m not sure I want to know what he thinks I smell like.

I don’t need any additional things to obsess over.

“Yes.” He sets me down carefully on my favorite chair, a slightly threadbare wingback that was my first purchase when I moved here. It creaks as it takes my weight.

Before I can set my feet down again, Caelan’s hands are there. The thick leather laces creak as he unties them carefully.

“What?” I ask, still unable to keep the goofy grin from my face. “Why do you look so upset?”

“It smells like Seelie in here.”

“Seelie?” I repeat, confused. “I smell like a Seelie fae?”

“No, not you,” he says, his lip curling in disgust at the suggestion. “You smell like dark places deep in the earth, like mystery and magic and gold.”

“What does mystery smell like?” I ask, intrigued.

“The question you should be asking is why it smells like Seelie.” He sniffs, his eyes flaring.

I hunch forward, staring into his eyes. “Are you… jealous?”

“No,” he scoffs, but his blue eyes dart to the side.

“Yes, you are,” I say, throwing back my head and laughing. “You are jealous of a brownie.”

“A brownie? That explains why it smells terrible.”

“Terrible?” I ask, choking on a laugh. “How can it smell terrible?”

“Smells like wet dog. You know, I thought they went extinct,” he muses. “Brownies, that is. I remember when they got up to more mischief with the Unseelie than they did humans.”

His lips turn down and he refocuses on the task at hand, taking my boots off. Something about the way he said it seems sad, and I tilt my head, wondering at him.

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