Page 24 of Foundling

Gods, his cock shouldn’t stir at the sight of that, but perhaps he was just happy to be alive.

“If you’re awake, then you can answer some questions. Do you understand me, lizard?”

Attalus wanted to answer, truly he did, and he technically could in this form, but his lips weren’t as dexterous. His vision deserved a proper answer.

He wasn’t used to having to think about it, but with some effort, Attalus initiated the shift. His body shrunk and reformed, claws to hands, talons to feet, muzzle to face. It was a relief to feel himself in this form again, marking the end of what’d turned out to be a horrid few days.

In his best faethling, he said, “I understand I’m the luckiest man alive to have found myself in your care, phetala.”

His compliment was met with a snarl. “And just how did you come to be in my care, exactly?”

Offering his most winning smile, he said, “I would answer you, my lady, but first I must know where I’ve landed.”

“The faelands.”

Ah. Now that…that might be a problem. But it certainly would explain why the most beautiful fae woman in all creation was currently scowling at him. They were a secretive, insular sort of folk, the fae. Hardly ever seen outside their borders.

Speaking of—“How would I have gotten past the border? Everyone knows it cannot be passed through.”

“An excellent question,” she muttered.

Attalus smiled again, relieved that they were both unsure of something. Strangely, rather than be put at ease or even flattered by his charm, she seemed almost…appalled? Her eyes went wide and her frown somehow deepened.

“Whatever the reason, I’m pleased to be here now with you…?” He lifted his brows expectantly.

“You won’t be for long,” was her response.

“No? I can think of much worse ways to wake than being tended by a beautiful woman—and my mate no less.”

It was a risk to bring up the bond already snapping between them. A link, golden and warm as the sun, already stretched from his chest to hers. Given time, that bond could become unbreakable. Plenty of folk lived their whole lives waiting for it, and others, like his mother, even died for it.

Attalus had never considered what it’d mean to find a true mate of his own. It seemed so fantastical, so unlikely—and what’s more, so dangerous. A true mate was a liability. A target. Savrakae tended to be a volatile, belligerent lot, and so true mates were guarded jealously. Honestly, a fortnight ago, Attalus would’ve considered such a thing more trouble than it was worth.

Now, though, faced with the vision that was his own true mate, his opinion was changing rapidly.

His darling little fae slashed her hand through the air at his words. “We won’t be discussing that yet.”

Attalus blinked at her. What a strange creature his mate was turning out to be. “I see. And what shall we discuss?” With half a mind of its own, his long, sinuous tail reached to curl suggestively around her calf.

She frowned down at it as though his tail had personally offended her. “Remove it before I rip it off.”

His tail fell unceremoniously to the ground.

Scrubbing her hands over her face, she suddenly looked tired, her voice strained when she said, “I have to know how you’ve come to be here and if you started that fire.”

That, at least, he could answer. “Well, the latter part’s easy. I…”

Attalus slumped to the side, his miniscule reserves depleted already. Between one blink and the next, he slipped back into oblivion.

The next time, he woke to a little tongue licking his nose and the mouthwatering scent of grilled fish. From their brief time together already, Attalus very much doubted he could hope it was his fae mate waking him so.

Gods, no wonder she’d been unmoved by him earlier. He was positively pathetic like this. To fall asleep mid-conversation. In their first conversation.

Even serious Theron would’ve laughed himself silly over it.

Attalus peeled open an eye to find himself much as he’d been before, slumped to the side. The little tongue was that of a marten. The little creature stared at him with bright black eyes, whiskers twitching and triangular ears pointed toward him. Most of her gleaming coat was a rich brown, the legs and tail a shade darker than the back and head, but her neck and bib were a striking ruddy orange.

At another lick, Attalus lifted his hand to show her his claws. The little marten sniffed his fingers before rubbing her flank against his claws, getting in a good scratch. She left behind some shed fur as she clambered up his hand and then arm, scampering up to his head. She seemed particularly pleased with his horns, her slinky body climbing and wending up and over and back again.