Page 56 of Fae Mates

“I want to know what they’re doing.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he snapped.

“No,” I hissed. “Female high faeries don’t have sexual contact with males outside their heats. If Lady Gala was in heat, do you think she’d be out there with Coltrane while the Princes are in their rooms with their cocks locked in chastity devices?”

“You’ve got a point,” said the cat.

I gave him another nudge. “Go on, then.”

McVittie shot me a venomous glare, but I ignored the cat and stared at Coltrane’s profile. Lust glazed his eyes, and he kept reaching down and stroking his flank.

For a moment, I felt sorry for the centaur, who was so desperate for sexual contact that he had to take it from a loathsome creature like Lady Gala.

The cat walked a wide circle around the trees, keeping low and darting from trunk to trunk until I lost sight of him. I turned back to where Coltrane murmured filthy words of encouragement.

“Why can’t you rub yourself against a tree like the last time?” Lady Gala whined.

Coltrane scowled. “I told you that was a one-time deal.”

I chewed my bottom lip—none of this made sense. I’d originally thought Lady Gala had some kind of horse fetish, but from her tone of voice, she wasn’t enjoying her time with Coltrane. I shifted in my hiding place and scratched my cheek. Why would she bother to perform such an act on a centaur? If it was practice she wanted, she could have used a human male.

“Please,” she said. “I’ve got money—”

“We agreed that you’d milk me from the source.” Coltrane’s voice was hard, reminding me of the time he had chased me through the woods, calling me a scammer for not following through with the tug-a-lug. “If you’re not woman enough to do it, I’ll supply someone else.”

Lady Gala didn’t reply.

“Alright, then.” He reached down and picked up his saddle. “I’ll go back to Foxy Moxie, who knows the value of a good cent—”

“Wait!” Desperation laced her voice. “Don’t go. I’ll try harder.”

I shook my head. Moxie was the faerie from Otherworld Outfitters, who had sold us the Emporium dress. What the bloody hell was her connection to Coltrane?

What did the faerie say the dress had been made from again? My brows drew together, and I plucked an annoying blade of grass from the ground. She hadn’t, and the word Emporium didn’t mean anything on the Isle of Fae.

If I had to picture the dress, I wouldn’t be able to describe it except to say that it was sparkling. The only memorable thing about the garment had been its effect: its fabric had brought me to a knee-trembling climax and had practically done the same for Lady Aster.

The dress had been a pervert, much like Coltrane.

A warm weight settled at my side. “It’s as we thought, but she’s doing a very sloppy job.”

“I think I know why.”

“Because she’s an ice queen who’s sucking off more than she can chew?” asked the cat.

“Umm…” McVittie was right, but that hadn’t been what I wanted to say. “You heard her boast to Lady Gazania that she was going to bring on her heat and mate with the princes?”

He tilted his head to the side. “Yes.”

“And that time Coltrane took us to the Mound, he said he had sackfuls of Emporium’s active ingredient?”

“So?”

It took a while to explain how Emporium gave fae females an irresistible glow, but when McVittie understood, I added, “What if centaur semen brings on a faerie’s heat?”

He shook his head. “That’s a bit far-fetched.”

“Why?”