Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CAELAN

T here are two things I notice as soon as I awake.

One, my witch is curled up, content and warm, in my arms, and for that I am thankful.

Secondly, there is a Seelie fae so close that the stench of wet dog overwhelms the scent of my mate, and for that, I could happily kill it.

Unfortunately for my murderous urges towards my distant—extremely distant—cousin of a brownie, my mate seems to like the brownie.

So I hold Wren close, my nose buried in her hair, and I wait for the other fae to leave.

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.