Bound to the Wild Fae (Fortune Favors the Fae, #3)

by Tavia Lark

Remarkable only in his temperament. Though perhaps the charm he uses on clients balances out the harshness he reserves for his employees.

Fae magic has a particular quality. A shimmer that’s no color and every color at once. Like a rainbow wavering above summer-hot cobbles.

“You aren’t fae-touched,” Mother told him sternly. “You just aren’t.” That was how Folly knew he was fae-touched. That he was different, which was a bad thing.

Goodfellow’s Marvelous Magical Troupe only operates after sundown, because night is the time of mystery. Daytime is for sleeping off hangovers.

Yarrow turns with a lazy grin. “Hello, Lord Nevander. Did you want to join us? It’s the horns, I know. They’re irresistible.”

Yarrow skips the farewells and follows after Nevander in some semblance of his usual swagger. No flowery bower for Yarrow tonight. Just a sway in his step, and honey-sweet liquor bubbling and popping between his thoughts.

“Hey, little human,” Yarrow calls out, keeping one eye on Moriath. “I’d recommend running away now.” The human staggers to his feet, long robe falling off one shoulder. He stumbles backwards—then collapses with a cry, clutching his stomach. Hurt, maybe. Another curse might have gotten him. But the human isn’t Yarrow’s problem.

Subtlety isn’t Yarrow’s specialty.

Shapestealers aren’t like ordinary creatures who can change form or disguise themselves. They gain their forms and power by killing other beings. The only power they keep between each form is that of transformation—they have to change shapes to use their full arsenal of magic. The human witch and the copper-eyed fae are dead. Only their killer remains. Time to stop this parasitic shadow.

“You’re as much use as teats on a fish,” Yarrow says, triumph spurring him forward⁠—

Yarrow sheathes the knife carefully, then gathers the human into his arms. Fuck, it’s a good thing Yarrow’s not a court fae yet—he’s breaking so many rules. Stealing a human without proper cause. Switching changelings is one thing. This is just theft.

He only needs one arm to hold the human up, leaving his other hand free to sketch a symbol in the air. “I offer…” Yarrow mentally rifles through his options, as the distant voices grow more certain. More aggressive. Yarrow hasn’t prepared an offering to travel Elsewhere, because he intended to use the same rift he came through. “I offer a moment of my company.”

“Who are you? What is this place?” “My name is Yarrow, and I’m the most attractive wild fae in all of summer.” The fae crouches. He’s still intimidating at eye level. “This place is neither here nor there.” Frustration blooms within his fear. “Please don’t speak in riddles.” “I’m not.”

“I’m Folly.” Yarrow grins. “That’s an ill-omened name.” “It’s a nickname.” Folly winces. “My parents named me Philostrate.” “Folly’s a great name,” Yarrow amends.

“Now, now.” Yarrow leans back gingerly. Putting his full weight on Folly’s stomach would crush him. “I know I’m irresistible, but let me finish listing our options before you throw yourself at me.” Being the sensible one is refreshing.

His unfae nature is clear. Rounded features, without any shimmer to his skin. He should look drab, but against the dark soil and gray grasses of the realm between, he’s vibrantly alive.

“Are you going to come at me with your little dagger again?” “I won’t.” Folly looks very sincere, which means nothing. Humans can lie. “It’s fine if you do.” Yarrow releases Folly’s other arm. “I’ll just pin you down again.”

He offers Folly’s dagger, hilt first. Folly hesitates. His gaze darts everywhere, only occasionally meeting Yarrow’s face. “I’m sorry.” “For what?” Yarrow asks. “Take the knife.” Folly takes it slowly. “You’re not mad?” “Trust me, you’ll know if I’m mad.”

“I don’t even know what a boarbear is.” Folly takes his hand slowly, barely touching. Like a feather threatening to fly away on the wind. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” Yarrow grasps Folly firmly. He’d feel bad about the way Folly flinches, but Folly seems to flinch at everything. “Don’t worry. Boarbears are only a problem if they kill you before you can kill them. Hasn’t happened to me yet.

“Are we lost?” Folly asks, voice high with barely suppressed hysteria. Even the air smells wrong, thick and dizzyingly floral. “I wouldn’t say we’re lost,” Yarrow hedges. “I just don’t know where we are. Why do forests all look the same at night?”

“Don’t move,” Yarrow barks, whirling around. In a swirl of gold, his axe appears in his hand. Then he pauses, and in another swirl, his axe returns to his back. “Are we under attack, or did you just trip over that tree root?”

“I forgot humans can’t.” Gentle fingertips graze Folly’s cheekbone. “And you’re exhausted.” Folly barely breathes beneath the touch. Terror. Tenderness. Both. “I’m sorry.” “The fault is mine,” Yarrow says easily. “I’ve never had a pet human before.” Stunned out of his misery, Folly jerks away. “I’m not a pet!”

Moonlight reflects from a flowering vine to catch in his hair. His hand curves beneath a delicate blossom as large as his palm. “May I have a flower?” Yarrow asks, as if talking to vines is normal. After a moment of stillness, the blossom loosens from the vine and falls into Yarrow’s hand. Its light brightens between his fingers, and he offers it to Folly. “Since you can’t see in the dark.”

Yarrow steps between the hulking roots and lays his hand flat on the trunk. “Would you mind letting us in for the night?” He pauses. Leaves rustle. “You also have to let us out in the morning.”

“Will it really let us out in the morning?” “Unless something goes terribly wrong.” Yarrow holds an acorn up to the light. “We made a bargain. In exchange for the nights’ shelter, I’ll sow its seed by the next river we cross.” The way he says sow its seed makes Folly’s ears heat.

“Do the plants listen to just anyone, or only to fae?” “It helps to be carrying a giant fucking axe.”

“Will the plants... get angry about this?” Instead of laughing like Folly expects, Yarrow says seriously, “That’s a great question. No, these ones won’t.” The specification is not reassuring.

Thank you. I meant to thank you for breakfast.” “No need to thank me.” Yarrow licks his fingers. “Just tell my mother what a great cook I am, if you ever meet her.”

From the left, with only his gifted eye visible, and the tip of his ear hidden in that tangle of dark hair, he looks almost like a high fae lordling, worn out from a week of revels. Yarrow’s seen the look on tired men crawling out of his bed the next morning. A fae as cute as Folly, Yarrow would be luring him back into bed for another round. But Folly isn’t fae, and he isn’t worn out from revelry. He’s worn out from being attacked, cursed, and yanked between realms, and he’s human. Helpless and innocent in the ways of the fae realm.

“Are you this nervous with everyone, or just extremely handsome fae like me?” Yarrow gives a calculated wink. “Don’t worry, I may be a wild fae, but I only bite on invitation.” Folly drops a fishbone on his knee. “Um,” he says, brushing his trousers with the clean side of his hand. His hair falls into his eyes. “Yes. I’m always nervous. Um. Please don’t bite me.” Pity. He looks delicious, for a human⁠— Fuck. Yarrow stares out at the bright river. No more flirting until he confirms whether Folly is twelve or ninety-three. Somewhere in between would be nice.

They’re a safe place, like a tiny personal realm you can hide in. Think of it like a carryhold, but for yourself. Everyone’s haven looks different, supposedly. High fae can bring other people into their havens, but I’ve never been in one.” Plenty of high fae beds, yes. Sex is cheap for most of the fae. A haven is another level of trust, like entering a hollow inside someone’s spirit.

You’re fine as long as we’re cursed, though, because the curse ties you to me.” “Fine except for the curse part,” Folly points out. “Except for that,” Yarrow agrees.

As Folly’s eyes adjust and his panic subsides to a bearable level, he sees the red splashed all over Yarrow’s hands and arms. Concerned, Folly says, “You’re hurt.” “Never fear, my handsome form remains unscathed. This is just arberos sap.”

Folly is used to imagining worst-case scenarios, but the fae realm is proving more creative than he is. He’ll have to update his mental compendium of catastrophes.

“We don’t have to sleep in a tree,” Yarrow says simply. “I’ll set up a mushroom circle, and we’ll take turns on watch.” Once again, Yarrow has a solution. He says it like it’s simple, like Folly isn’t any bother at all. Like Folly isn’t inconvenient and weird, with his strange eye and his even stranger fear of normal conversations.

“Such an ordinary spell, yet you’re enthralled.” “It isn’t ordinary to me,” Folly says. “True.” Yarrow gestures around the glade. “I suppose this all must be as strange and fascinating to you, as you are to me.” He touches his own horn next, grin widening. Folly tenses. “I’m not fascinating.”

“A few nights before midsummer, when I was seven years old, I snuck out like usual. I danced with the fireflies. I got home, and everything was just like normal. Except…” His hands twist together. “Except the neighbor’s dogs barked. And my shoes were soaked through, even though I never crossed the creek. “

Everything has a price. Anything can be traded away. Some choices are a pebble in a pond. The water ripples, then stills. Other choices are an acorn thrown into a river. The water rushes on, ever-changing and unchanged, as the acorn tumbles into the mud. Until the acorn surfaces. Takes root.

“I’m a fortuneteller.” “Can you see the future?” Yarrow asks. “I’m a fake fortuneteller,” Folly clarifies.

Yarrow can’t imagine meeting this little human without wanting to take care of him.

“Is that why you thought I wanted to fuck you?” There’s a long silence. Yarrow can’t see Folly’s face from this angle. “I guess,” Folly says eventually. Perhaps Yarrow will get the chance to kill Roland someday.

Yarrow sighs and shifts around until he can lie next to Folly. Just a few feet away. Soft grass tickles the back of his neck through his hair. He focuses on the stars winking through dark branches, instead of afflicting Folly with eye contact. “I do want to fuck you,” Yarrow says matter-of-factly. “I’ve never played with a human before, and you’re fascinating. But the only thing I ever trade for sex is sex.

“You’re very forthright.” “One of my innumerable charms.”

“Are they staring at you or me?” Folly asks under his breath. Yarrow stretches his arms, taking up more space. “Both, of course. You’re a human with a magic eye. I’m a big, bad, sexy wild fae.

Did Yarrow trap you with a riddle or promise you untold riches? Never trust untold riches. They’re untold, after all.”

“Whatever clothes you want. For one day.” Yarrow’s grin broadens. “One month.” “One day,” Folly repeats. “One week,” Yarrow says. “One week, and I get to pick my shoes.” “Deal.” “If you’re done flirting,” Hummingbird sings out,

“Do you want elegant court outfits, or slutty court outfits?” Folly chokes. “Elegant, please!”

“What are you trading—coin, goods, or… services?” His gaze lingers on Yarrow, who grins. “Heard of me, have you? Did I seduce your sister or a cousin?” “Both, though not at the same time.”

“Another day of abstinence won’t kill me,” Yarrow says cheerfully. “Rain is always sweeter after a drought.

“We’re stuck together for at least three more nights, aren’t we? I’ll be a weird, awkward person no matter what, because that’s just who I am. Whether you’re looking at me or not won’t change that.”