Page 84 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

“He left you his dog?”

“Yes, and my Boner appears to be leaking,” I mutter. “I need to take that animal to a doctor.”

“Rosalina is an animal mage,” Wren says. “She’ll be able to help him.”

We stop talking, looking up abruptly as magic begins to roil around Nerissa, a dark cloud of shadow magic. Sparks crackle through the cloud, and the dwarves, stuck as they are in a pile of magicked shit, begin to try to free themselves in earnest.

My fangs lengthen, and I gently nudge Wren behind me, one arm clamped around her waist.

“It’s fine, Caelan, this is what she does.” A small hand presses into mine, and when I look down, Wren’s eyes are the color of a calm sea and I breathe.

She’s so perfectly mine, so perfectly her, and seeing her, holding her, makes me feel like everything is going to be alright.

I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

“Look,” she says, jerking her chin at the street. “I’m safe. Nerissa wouldn’t hurt me, Caelan.”

My throat constricts at the thought of her being hurt, my heart throbbing in my chest.

“I expect we deserved that,” a red-bearded dwarf calls out, looking suitably ashamed.

I harrumph.

“No one deserves what I did,” my Wren says, slipping from my grip and walking towards the now clean dwarf. “I meant to dump water on you, just to shock you into not fighting. I’m so sorry.” She shakes her head.

I simply can’t believe I’ve mated to such a soft-hearted, gentle creature.

Soft all over, in all the right ways.

Maybe that’s what I need, though. Something to dull the edges honed razor-sharp by a Dark Queen and my centuries in the Underhill.

Wren is exactly the witch to do that. I can’t fathom my mate being anyone else.

“No, lass, I owe you an apology,” the dwarf continues, a hand balancing on top of his axe.

“Wolf,” a chorus of voices cry out.

I hiss, my fangs lengthening.

The largest wolf I’ve ever seen pads through the cobblestone streets, eyes glowing orange, grey fur coat dappled with white.

The sounds of steel being freed from sheaths ring out as the dwarves advance on the new threat.

“Stop,” Wren calls out. I reach for her, but she evades me, running to the black-haired witch. “It’s her familiar. It’s her familiar.”

The wolf pauses, pink tongue lolling out, and Boner limps slowly over to the newcomer. Slowly, the wolf begins to wag its tail and I exhale in relief.

“What kind of fucking witch has a wolf for a familiar?” one of the dwarves yells, and a few nod in agreement.

“A tired one,” Nerissa says weakly, and the wolf trots over to her. She buries a hand in the beast’s fur, leaning heavily on it. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

The dwarves are still standing there, weapons drawn, bristling with knives and axes, and in one case, a rusty, spiked morning star.

There’s no accounting for taste, I suppose.

“Put your weapons away, you lot,” the red-bearded dwarf cries out, waving a hand. “Leave the witch alone. Didn’t you learn your lesson in the last shit storm?”

Grumbling, the dwarves do as he asks, and he turns back to Wren.

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