Page 63 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

Once it’s cleaned the house or mended shoes or whatever other trivial nonsense it’s decided to meddle in, I suppose.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, explaining the lack of sunshine streaming through Wren’s curtained window. It doesn’t take long at all for the early autumn storm to rush through the streets of Wild Oak Woods, the scent of petrichor soon blotting out that of the Seelie fae.

I doze, my nose still as close to her scalp as I can make it, my heart a slow thud in my chest.

I wonder if she knows it beats for her now.

I wonder if maybe it always has.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

WREN

Iam sore. So sore.

My brain clicks back on as soon as I open my eyes, the heavy weight draped over my body not Fenn or too many blankets.

No, it’s Caelan. Caelan, who I had sex with… for literal hours.

Who says I’m his mate.

Who said he would ruin me for other men.

I’m not sure he’s wrong about that last part.

I still don’t know how I feel about the first part.

Rain pounds the window in my room, and I wonder if I would have more intense feelings about it either way if the light of day were present.

But right now, with him curled around me, cozy and snug under my sheets, rain slamming in sheets against the roof, I don’t know if I care.

This feels right.

He feels right, like he was meant to be in my life. His cockiness and snark and even that self-satisfied smirk all feel like something that I’ve been missing.

Not to mention his actual cock. Who knew fae knotted?

Half the shifter romance books I read have knotting in them, and I always wondered if there was some truth to them knotting, but the fae?

A revelation.

A spiritual experience.

An epiphany.

The thought of being tied to Caelan, forever like he said, is jarring, though. Unexpected, and shocking, and altogether too new an idea to truly absorb.

I have time, though.

We have time.

I might not have whatever biological imperative is driving him, but I know I enjoy his company, and I enjoy what we did last night, and I’m very much enjoying being held just like this, on this rainy day.

A yawn stretches my jaw, and I stretch my legs out long, not wanting to disturb Caelan but too sore to not try to ease the ache.

“Good morning, lovely Wren,” he murmurs in my ear. “You’re hurting?”

The question is so sensitive, so unexpected, that emotion claws at my throat, raw and unbidden.

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