Page 85 of How To Tame A Trickster Fae

“I’m Lars Forkstone, of clan Rockhurst. We came to you this morning, our axes in hand, with the intent to apologize for our behavior.”

“They want something,” I say loudly, walking towards her. Wren gives me a crooked smile that tells me she’s already figured that out. Clever witch.

Lars grumbles, then points at me. “Your fae friend is right.”

“I’m her mate.” The words are filled with menace, and the dwarf raises his eyebrows.

“Well, that is something.”

“He’s my mate,” Wren agrees, and I tug her close, inhaling her lovely scent, living for the way she melts into me.

“Good. We can use both of your help finding the dragon sapphire. We’ll split it with you.”

“Eighty us, twenty you,” I interject.

Lars’ ruddy cheeks go red. Redder, at least. “Forty-sixty,” he counters.

“Seventy-thirty.”

“Oh, stop it you two,” Wren says, sighing. “Sixty-forty us.”

“Aye, you’ve a deal.” He holds out his big hand, and Wren shakes it.

“And you have to stay at my new inn tonight,” I say blandly.

“That’s not part of the—” he starts.

“We could do seventy-thirty if you don’t want to stay with my mate,” Wren tells him, batting her eyelashes.

“You need us to do the digging.” Lars’ brow furrows.

“You’ll have meals prepared as part of your stay, included in the cost of your room,” I tell him smoothly, a wicked grin on my face.

“He will?” Wren asks, disbelief widening her eyes. She clears her throat. “He will. You all will, I mean.”

“We leave early tomorrow morning, at first light,” I say imperiously.

“Aye, and do you know where it is?”

I smooth my hands over my shirt, slowly rolling up my sleeves, well aware our friend Lars is growing more irritated the longer I drag this out.

“As a matter of fact,” I say slowly. “I do.”

Thanks to Hash Beauchamp’s—now my—inn, I do.

That’s the funny thing about owning a fae building full of magic like the Old Wild Oaks Inn.

It has a way of knowing exactly what you need, and making sure you get it… eventually.

The shock on Wren’s face turns joyous.

I pull her to me, planting a massive kiss against her mouth, claiming her for the whole town to see.

“Tomorrow morning,” I tell the dwarf, keeping Wren against me. “We have plans today. I’ll see you this evening at the old inn on Weeping Willow Way. You can’t miss it.”

They won’t, either, not with the way the old place looks now: brand-new.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

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