It could have been so much worse. She could have released a horde of wild redcaps into the museum. The very idea sent a shudder down her spine like centipedes in hobnail boots doing the conga. Fairy doors and circles were strictly monitored and only those with visas were allowed through, which meant they had to agree to the rules of the mortal realm. No rampaging, no carrying human babies off, no tricking humans into deals they had no idea they were making. And those visa rules were binding.
Shit. Oberon had come over without making those magical oaths.
Any of them.
“Fuck…” she hissed, causing Garlick to roll an interested eye her way.
“I wouldn’t have said he was that attractive, but… whatever floats your boat I guess.”
She shot him a look and opened the closet.
It was empty.
“Fuck!”
“If that is what my queen-to-be wishes, then I am, of course, onboard with this plan. Very onboard,” a deep voice murmured by her ear as large hands closed around her hips.
She squeaked in surprise, reacted instinctively, and teleported six feet to the left, behind the curtain where her “office” was. Because Oberon had been touching her, and Garlick was walking by, his tail clinging to her leg at that precise moment… she, the over six-foot hulk of a fairy, and one pissed off feline ended up crammed into a space that barely fit her, a shelf she laughingly referred to as a desk, and a tiny folding chair.
“OhmyfuckingmasterofdarknessgetthisluciferdamnedfuckingfairyOFFme!”
Garlick was stuck between them, wriggling like a fury to escape, and Daffi ended up with a furry paw in her ear.
“Would you… just… hold on,” she hissed, trying not to overbalance as she juggled the panicked cat and the curtain over her office space. She managed to thrust the heavy drape aside and the familiar shot free like a bullet. He landed on the floor, all his fur sticking up at odd angles.
“I do not like casual touching!” he hissed, starting to wash himself furiously. Every so often he glared at Oberon. If looks were daggers, the fae king would have more metal in him than a steel works. “I stink of fae now. It’s disgusting!”
“Oh behave, you big baby!” she told him. The cat washed so furiously he was in danger of licking his own fur off, spitting it out in little silver clouds all around him.
“Mhhhfffph,” he said through a mouthful of fur. “Go slobber over the winged freak.”
“I’d rather you didn’t slobber over me,” Oberon said by her ear as he reached out and pulled the heavy drape closed, shutting them in together. “But I have some ideas for these games you like…”
She turned and was captured by bright periwinkle eyes that smiled down into hers. He barely fit into the small cubicle, his back flat against the wall and the very tips of his wings peeking out over the tops of his shoulders.
Ignoring the fact she was pressed up close and personal, their hips practically mashed together, she reached up in fascination to stroke the top edge she could see. At the last moment, she paused and looked at him. He was watching her the way she eyed up cake. With longing, lust and a shedload of intent.
“You can touch,” he told her, his voice low and raspy.
“They are so cute,” she murmured. “How do they work… I mean,” she blushed as she clarified. “How do they keep you up in flight?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but then she ran a fingertip along the edge of his wing and he lost focus, a shiver running through his large body.
Something stirred south of his belt and her eyes widened.
“Oh…Ohhh!”
Garlick sniggered on the other side of the burgundy velvet.
“Did wing boy tell you his dick and wings are linked yet?”
5
The mortal realm was not at all as Oberon had expected. It was louder, brighter and altogether dirtier than the fae realms. And crowds did not get out of his way automatically like they did back at home. After he’d almost trampled the seventh mortal to cross his path, Daffi sighed and grabbed his hand, yanking him to walk behind her.
He didn’t mind, ogling her ass as they wove their way through the crowded streets.
“You are my absolute favorite mortal,” he told her, grinning when she looked over her shoulder and caught him eyeing up her assets.
She arched an eyebrow. “Cute.”
He blinked, steps stalling in surprise. No one had ever called him cute before. No one would dare.
“I am not cute.”
He was not cute… he was the best warrior, handsome and fit, a king…
The cat-shaped… thing with them chuckled.
“Bunnies are cute. I am king. Not cute.”
A small smile flirted with the edges of her lips. “Okay, King Not-Cute it is.”
Obstinate female! He wanted to growl at her but couldn’t help a small smile at the wordplay. His bride was not only a powerful sorceress, but she had wit as well.
“I am Oberon.”
“You already told me that.”
He smiled down at her, aware the crowds were parting around them like water around a rock. It created a little oasis of calm for his precious wife-to-be to occupy, unmolested by these… mortals.
“I did?” He couldn’t remember. “Your beauty obviously stupefied me—”
“That wouldn’t be difficult.”
He ignored the sarcastic voice of the not-cat and held her gaze, reaching out to hook a finger under her delicate little chin to make her look up at him.
“I was attempting to find out your name, my bride.”
She blinked, those beautiful amber eyes holding him spellbound for a second. He didn’t think she had enchanted him. No, this was a more ancient and primitive form of witchery—that between a man and a woman. It didn’t matter that she was a mere mortal, and wingless. She was beautiful and she was…
“Mine!” The growl slipped out before he could stop it and broke the spell. She looked up at him, her brows snapped together.
“I most certainly am not yours! My name is Daffi McGee, and absolutely,
