Page 72 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

“I mean, I like drama as much as the next person,” one of the men chimes in, “but I think you’re looking for a reason to run. And trust me, I am one to know.”

“He really is,” his partner agrees, squeezing his hand. “It took me years to lock him down. If you like this fae and he’s committed to you, what reason is there to run?”

“The fear of ruining it all,” the other guy says, rolling his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Obviously!” I agree, pointing at him because he gets it.

Oh.

Everyone’s peering at me with what would be comical, matching expressions in various degrees of ‘I told you so.’

“Oh,” I say out loud. “Okay. Oookay.”

“Okay,” Piper says, clapping her hands. “Well. That’s that problem solved. You like him, he’s obsessed with you?—”

“Lucky,” Willow mutters, so low I’m not sure I heard her right.

“And now we can talk about the book,” Ruby concludes.

Fenn darts out from under the chair, sniffing my hand before tugging at my trousers, leading me over to the table for more food.

This time, I grab a plate like I have a modicum of manners, but when I sit down in one of the mismatched, warm chairs by the fire, I can’t concentrate on the conversation about the mermaid and the knight.

All I can think is maybe, just maybe, Caelan really does care about me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CAELAN

The Rowdy Wolf Tavern hardly lives up to its name.

Other than a group of respectfully loud minotaurs, the atmosphere, while jovial, would be best described as calming.

Dark, polished wood paneling and low lighting set the tone for conversation, the drinks surprisingly good, though they don’t have the fae brews we’re all used to.

Ga’Rek guzzles from a stone stein. The shifter female who owns the tavern took one look at him when we walked in and pulled out a vessel that looked to be carved from granite.

“Good stuff,” he says. The table shakes where he sets it down, and he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth.

I grin at him, amused as always by how orcish he is, despite me stealing him away from his parents at such a young, impressionable age.

The way they treated him, though… he’s always said I did him a favor getting him out of there.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Ga’Rek asks, tilting his head at me, his tusks gleaming in the low light.

“Like what?” I ask.

Kieran’s watching me from the darkened corner of our table, his wings, for once, blessedly silent under the green carapace shielding them. He’s taken to wearing a charcoal-grey wool cloak since our first day here, presumably to avoid undue attention.

His attitude, at least, is somewhat less sulky than usual.

“Why aren’t you asking Kieran why he hasn’t found something to complain about?”

“No, you’re not getting off that easy. Where in the name of the moon have you been the last few days?” The table groans as the huge orc sets his arms down on it, leaning forward to inspect my face. “We were fucking worried about you, Caelan.”

“Worried?” I huff a laugh, raising an eyebrow. “About me? Why?”

“Because my mother wants us all dead, you ass,” Kieran mutters. “We thought you’d either been caught or defected back to her.”

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