as if he owned the place and was giving them permission to get back to their lives.
She’d been speaking to Caspian’s fairy father, Gran had entertained a fairy. She’d seen a Grey get killed by jumping through a mirror. The adrenaline left her feeling sick and weak. She leaned against the kitchen counter for support. Could she deal with having fairies in her life? But when she looked at Caspian she knew she could. It wasn’t his fault he was related to a bunch of immortal, immoral beings.
“Your father’s not any just any fairy, is he?” Her voice was low in case somehow he was still around and listening.
“He’s the Prince.”
“Right.” Of course he was. “Were you ever going to tell me you were fairy Prince?”
“I’m not a prince. I’m just a changeling of no significance to Annwyn. My parentage has been kept secret because others might try to use me to get to him.”
After what she’d seen over the last few days of fairies she totally understood that. “I won’t tell anyone.”
He walked around the kitchen table and drew her into his arms. “Thank you for believing, for understanding.”
Lydia let herself sink into his embrace, just glad to have him back and the other fairies gone. “You don’t get to choose your family.”
Chapter 23
Caspian laid out the wafers and filled up the teapot while Lydia topped up the sugar. Since bringing the fairy-made silver tea set to Callaway House the place was immaculate. All the dust had been cleaned away, and while Lydia was amazed, he warned her not to say anything as that would be breaking the unspoken agreement between Brownie and tea set owner. That his Brownies had followed him to Callaway House made him suspect there was a deal he didn’t know about, one he didn’t want to know about.
Dylis had agreed to help him keep the promise to the imp who had been nothing but helpful at the shop— Bramwel was used to the idea and was glad not to be doing the dusting himself.
“Do you regret selling your house?” She lifted her gaze.
“No.” They’d needed a mortgage to do the repairs, but with two incomes that hadn’t been hard—if he sold his house and she sold hers and they moved into the house. The closing on his place had been today. He was now bound to Callaway House financially as well as emotionally, and he couldn’t be happier.
Since Bramwel was running the shop Caspian had spent more time at the house making sure the repairs were done in keeping with the house’s history. But he missed his shop, even if he was still going on buying trips. Also given the news of late, he hoped Bramwel would be going back sooner rather than later. The disease outbreaks were getting worse, which meant the situation in Annwyn was, too. He tried not to think about it as there was nothing he could do.
Caspian slipped his arms around Lydia’s waist and kissed the back of her neck. He remembered doing that before—while he hadn’t been quite himself—but she liked it and he’d realized that the fairy side of him was part of him. Instead of trying to control or suppress it as he once had, he’d embraced it and found living with it was much easier. But then Lydia knew him better than anyone else.
She leaned back against him. “Are you ever going to make an honest woman out of me?”
“Maybe one day.” He wasn’t in a hurry, not because he expected his relationship with Lydia to fail, but because the paper didn’t prove anything.
She turned her head. “You know I’d keep my name.”
“Yep.” He moved the collar of her shirt aside and kissed the side of her neck. His hands splayed over her hips, drawing her closer so she could feel him hard against her butt.
“You don’t care?” She gave her hips a wiggle that felt entirely too good.
“No. Fairies never change names, and the children take the name of their fairy parent.” His thumbs slid under her shirt, sweeping across the bare skin of her stomach. “Do you want to go upstairs?”
“If I say no?”
He undid the button on her black trousers. “I’m happy to keep going here.”
She covered his hands with hers, guiding them lower. He smiled as he kissed her earlobe, and raked the skin softly with his teeth. She gave a little moan, but made no effort to move.
“You want to stay here in the kitchen?” His fingers traced her inner thigh.
With every breath and every kiss they were creating new memories in the house. It was feeling more like a home. A place where he belonged. Where she belonged. And while the past could never be erased, the present could be written over the top, creating a future he hadn’t thought possible.
“Only if there are no fairies watching.”
He laughed. “Only me.”
Read on for a look at the first book in the Shadowlands series,
Chapter 1
The summons pulled at every cell in his body, tearing the bonds that held him together and dragging him from the Shadowlands. He fought the compulsion to answer, as he did every time. And lost. As he did every time. The urge to obey his summoner’s orders he’d tamped down long ago. Yet he attended, as he did every time.
The beads in his hair jangled and chimed, lifted on the breeze created as he moved from one world to the next, like golden music in his ears. He moved into the Fixed Realm wrapped in shadows to hide from the eyes of his would-be commander. Then he paused and looked around.
A bedroom. Not the first he’d been summoned to. The only light spilled from the nearby bathroom. His nose wrinkled at the smell of wet dog and wine. He frowned. No summoner stood before him, demanding an audience with the Goblin King. The human who’d called him from the Shadowlands and sought to control him lay on the floor at the foot of the bed. Immobile. Wounded. Female.
The goblin kept his hand on his sword and stepped forward. As he did, the shadows sloughed off him and slid away to the corners of the bedroom. The tension in his skin eased as the compulsion to obey faded. He’d attended. He could leave. Yet he couldn’t look away.
The woman breathed, her breasts lifting with each inhalation. Her black silk dress clung to each curve, hiding and revealing without ever moving. His fingers rubbed together as if feeling the glide of silk on skin.
His concentration was broken by a knock on the door. The handle turned slightly. He raised one hand and metal jammed, securing the room. The door would hold until he was done.
“Eliza, you have to come down.” A man’s voice came from the other side of the door, the words just shy of an order. The handle jiggled, then a fist pounded on the door as the man tried to get into the bedroom. Could he sense the darkness creeping under the door, leaking from the goblin?
The goblin squatted and studied the woman the man had called Eliza.
He hesitated. Eliza had called the Goblin King.
“Open up, Eliza.” The knocking became more urgent. The tone less caring. “You look like a fool hiding from
