The Fae Prince's Fated Mate: M/M Gay Paranormal Romance

by J B Black

  “Mortals are amazing,” the prince whispered.

  Smiling, Ash glanced about at the stadium. “It used to be painted in bright colors.” Gently guiding the prince through where tourists were allowed, he pointed out the markings on some of the walls. “Look! Gladiators wrote on the walls.”

  Voski’s eyes narrowed. “What does it say?”

  “Vind? I don’t know. I don’t think it is a word,” the warlock murmured. Shaking his head, Ash smiled. “We should go to Pompeii. There’s a bunch of graffitti there. My favorite says: ‘Weep, you girls. My penis has given you up. Now it penetrates men's behinds.’”

  Voski laughed, bright and clear as he always should. “You have a favorite graffiti?”

  “With that in the world, don’t you?”

  Humming softly as if considering, the fae stared out at the Colosseum and sighed. “The human world is astounding. What human would give this up for me?”

  Ash bumped their shoulders together. “Hey, you said it yourself - they aren’t giving up anything. Odds have it that your mate has magic, and even if they don’t, you can help them side-step back and forth. They’ll probably see more of Earth thanks to you than if they had never met you.”

  When the fae ducked his head, the smile - soft and shy upon his lips - brushed a place tender and raw within Ash’s soul. A selfish part cried out that he should always be the only one to see that expression on the prince’s face. From the way his golden hair fell forward to the bitten pink of his lips, the beauty of his face - hidden by a glamor of human mortality - stole Ash’s breath away, but the innocence of that smile inspired the same urge to swaddle and hold the fae to his chest as the lost, breathless pallid panic of the prior night.

  Which was ridiculous. Mates recognized each other. Their eyes met, and the magnetic pull of fate brought them suddenly together with such a force that stories told of first meetings often becoming the conception of firstborns. Surely, the softness of Ash’s feelings - the almost imperceivable rush of thinking the prince’s enthusiasm endearing wasn’t what a fated mate would feel, and the warlock refused to be tricked by his wayward heart as his mother had been. People like Voski - those destined for power and unwilling or unable to set it aside would not abandon what fate provided.

  Just like those dryads who loathed touch, fated mates existed only in books on online bestiaries to the golden-eyed warlock. Denied the world hidden by the guild of witches and warlocks due to his father’s affair and his mother’s excommunication, he would only be certain when he found his own fated mate - or if he saw it occur in Voski. Only then could his hypothesis prove itself false or true that mortal love, which found red threads tethering and breaking only to connect to another, held little difference in all but recognition from those with magic.

  “Do you think…” Voski trailed off, shaking his head.

  Squeezing his hand, Ash encouraged, “You can ask me anything.”

  Pink colored the fae’s cheeks. “Do you think you would have been accepted in the guild if your father had left his mate for your mother?”

  “If he had left his mate, she wouldn’t have been his mate anymore,” Ash retorted, imagining how that would have served as proof enough. The thread breaking between his father and his father’s wife only to reconnect to his mother. “It would have devastated the guild. They’d probably have killed both of them before I was even born.”

  Voski tilted his head. “Why?”

  “If the bond between fated mates can be broken so easily, then the string isn’t about fate at all, right? It would be a marker of something else. There are so many different types of threads between people. I can’t say for sure they did or didn’t love each other, but I’ve seen married couples who seem happy without a red thread tying them, and I’ve seen couples with red threads who hated each other and ended up breaking that connection unknowingly,” the warlock explained as they walked through the ancient Roman ruins. “People don’t do good with unknowns. If you couldn't trust the red thread was permanent, the binding that results - some so strong as to allow mind sharing - then how quickly would the guild fall apart?”

  After a solemn moment, Voski confessed, “Faerie’s crown can only pass to someone who is mated.”

  Ash raised a brow. “Then you see what I mean.”

  “Maybe it is a different kind of red.”

  “I’ve compared. Mortal or magic, the thread color is the same.” With a sigh, the warlock rested his head against the prince’s shoulder. “The difference is that those with magic know.”

  Voski untangled their fingers, but where Ash expected him to pull away - overwhelmed by too much touch coming at him too quickly, the prince wrapped the arm around his shoulders instead, drawing the warlock to his chest, so he could hug him. He smelled familiar. Sandalwood and bergamot from Ash’s soaps and shampoos. The scent of home mixed with sunshine from their time spent walking through the city earlier in the day. His breath spiced with chai. Warm and solid, Voski tempted without meaning to and without knowing.

  Lonesome - always too cold - Ash ached to push the man down. He imagined the surprise on the blond’s face as the warlock wrapped his lips around his cock, coaxing it to hardness before Ash mounted him, riding him with abandon until hot seed flooded his body, chasing the coldness away.

  But that had nothing to do with fate or love. Often, Ash felt forlorn. Days like this, he would go to a club, dance and seek warmth first in the writhing masses which churned to the fast beats beneath pulsating lights. If that failed, he would let someone draw him from the floor. A hotel room or the club’s bathroom - anywhere that wasn’t home, and he would be bent over, covered in the bruises of a man holding his hips or shoving down his head as he thrust again and again. They always chased their own pleasure, using Ash’s body, but that usefulness helped to fight back the frustration when the hot gush of heat caught in a condom.

  “The universe is not fair, and I’m sure your mother deserved better. If this world becomes too much or the guild ever troubles you, I am here. Come to Faerie. You will always be welcome there by me,” the prince promised, and the words sounded so beautiful, tempting in such an innocent way.

  Hiding the false smile in the blond’s broad chest, Ash replied, “You’re a wonderful friend, Voski.”

  If the prince tensed, the warlock did not notice, and if Voski held tighter, hiding the grief-striking his own features, no one needed to know the way it crushed the prince’s heart. Friendship stood more than he had ever been offered, and though the warlock’s kindness and sweet consideration called to a desperate wanting in Voski’s core, the words spoken in the early hours of the morning flooded back again. Casual touches - purely platonic. Friendship was enough. Anyone would have been blessed with a friend like Ash. Only selfishness and an arrogance born of his position pushed him to expect more. The warlock owed him nothing. He held no allegiance to the guild or Faerie. No bindings tied him into showing Voski through the mortal world or teaching him about how humans viewed love. This was just another lesson. One of the many types of love, and if it wasn’t the sort Voski’s heart offered in return, that was only the fae’s own fault. He would suffer in silence. Would learn to be happy with what he had.

  “You too,” Voski returned.

  If his voice came too deep and filled with too many emotions, neither would acknowledge it.

  Chapter Eight

  Every day, Ash grew more attached. The casual touches which he swore were for the prince’s benefit became addictive. He refused to repeat his mother’s mistake. They weren’t fated mates. Even if Ash didn’t respect the ties, Voski did. Selfishness held his tongue while they were in Italy, but after Rome, their next trip took them to Paris. Beneath the Eiffel Tower, the warlock forced himself to put aside his childish possessiveness.

  “Those girls are looking at you,” Ash announced, elbowing Voski and grinning when he wanted to drop his tone in complaint. “You should go flirt with one.”

  The three women eyed the gorgeou
s prince from afar. They were obviously tourists, which would be all the better. Giggling, the young twenty-somethings made no attempt to hide taking pictures of Voski. Maybe they thought he was famous.

  Frowning, the fae ducked his head. “Maybe later.”

  “The more you put it off, the harder it’ll be,” Ash proclaimed, and shoving the prince toward the group, he patted him on the back. “You’ve got this!”

  He definitely did not have it. Voski flirted worse than the average awkward, dorky teen. Somehow, it made him all the more endearing despite the disappointment on the women’s faces when he spoke after approaching them. Even put off by his crap flirting, the men and women who Ash encouraged the prince to approach often hung on longer as if hoping it was a test and the personality they wanted would suddenly appear due to the handsomeness of Voski’s face.

  “Ask her if it hurt when she fell from heaven,” Ash commanded before pushing Voski at another woman who had scanned him head to toe with obvious interest.

  Voski gasped. “Do you know her?”

  “What? No,” the warlock replied, frowning at the question.

  “Then how do you know about her fall?”

  Laughing, Ash rolled his eyes. “It’s a pick-up line. Like when you told that lady earlier that you got lost in her eyes.”

  With a lamentous sigh, the prince shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “They smell like lust.”

  It was the warlock’s turn to stare blankly. “What?”

  “They smell like lust,” Voski repeated. “None of them seem interested in anything but my face and body.”

  Shaking his head, Ash laughed. “That’s a good thing.”

  “How is it good?” the prince pouted.

  “Physical attraction is important. Not every relationship starts as a friendship. People know if they are visually interested before they’re mentally or emotionally interested,” Ash explained as the pair strode through the streets of Paris.

  Though the fae continued to frown, he kept his thoughts to himself. “I want to get an almond croissant.”

  “Well, I can’t fault you for wanting pastries when in France,” the warlock huffed, bumping their shoulders together. “Let me look up the nearest bakery.” He pulled Voski to the side to not block anyone. “I could go for a coffee too.”

  As he pulled up a map on his phone, Ash didn’t notice the group approaching until a young woman with long blond hair grabbed Voski’s arm and said, “You’re hot.” The prince pulled back, but she smiled brightly, scanning Ash when he glanced up for his phone. “Oh my god, you’re gorgeous too. So unfair! You have to come dancing with us!”

  With Voski around, Ash hadn’t been able to go to a club and sweat out his self-hatred. Even if the women wanted them to go in hopes of scoring with the fae, it would give Ash an excuse to throw himself onto the dance floor. Odds of getting at least a bit of action also had the warlock ready to agree, but the prince grabbed his hand, entwining their fingers.

  “We have plans,” Voski asserted, and he glared at the woman for all of five seconds before he broke, murmuring, “Thank you for asking.”

  Her eyes dropped to their joined hands. “Oh - like - totally get it!”

  Retreating back to her friends, she flushed a bright red, whispering. The group let out a unified squeal. They glanced back to them, fanning themselves and obviously gossiping amongst themselves about the warlock and prince.

  With a laugh, Ash shook his head. “You know they probably think we’re together because of this,” the warlock informed him, raising their hands.

  Voski pouted. “I just want to get an almond croissant and see Notre-Dame.”

  Leading the prince by their joined hand, the warlock tucked his phone back into his pocket as he headed toward the nearest bakery. “What if you would’ve met your mate at the club.”

  “Or I might meet them at the bakery.”

  His green eyes fell down upon the street, watching his feet rather than meeting the glance of gold. With a slight wrinkle between his brows, he pouted. Adorable. Ash ached to kiss it from his face. Cup the strong line of Voski’s jaw in his hands and laugh against his lips, pressing soft kissing across his cute petulance until that heart-wrenching smile took its place. The smile he longed to be only for him.

  Consumed by such selfish thoughts, Ash untangled their hands, pushing the prince into a chair at an open table outside the cafe. “Stay here.”

  “But -”

  “It’s going to get busy. I want to make sure we have a seat!” Ash claimed.

  While the warlock retreated, Voski watched. He sputtered. His mouth opened and closed, but he couldn’t find the words to summon the shorter man back to his side. Taking his hand had seemed the answer. All the women and men who looked at him - the hunger in their eyes reminded Voski of the court. They didn’t see him as a person. Their eyes desired his face. Some longed for his height or the broadness of his chest and strength of his body. Perhaps he ought to have made his glamor less like himself. Still, when that woman came, all Voski could think was to take Ash’s hand. His touch comforted the prince, but if it distressed the warlock, he had to limit his touches.

  All thoughts dropped away when a man walked up to Ash. Tall with broad shoulders, the man was more muscular than the fae, and he towered over Ash, but the warlock seemed comfortable. He leaned closer, smiling. A hand dropped to hover over the small of Ash’s back, and before he could think, Voski abandoned the table, coming up behind the warlock with a glower fierce enough to cause the man’s hand to drop away.

  Good. The man shouldn’t touch Ash. No one had the right. He deserved someone who was better - someone as sweet and considerate and open as the warlock. Whoever found their red thread connected to Ash had won the universe’s lottery. They would find someone completely willing to embrace who they were - to offer comfort freely without condition. Loving gently.

  Even thinking about that future person left Voski infuriating. He wanted - yearned to wrap his arms around Ash and whisk him away to Faerie. Behind the rebellion, something fragile hid. Whatever self-loathing lurked needed to be obliterated. Voski believed he could do it. Holding him close - kissing away the uncertainty, the fae prince could show the warlock how impossibly wonderful he truly was. Set a crown upon his head. Fill his flat stomach with the next king.

  His mind fed a strange fantasy. It was horrible. Something absolutely possessive and ruthless tore through him, and when the man retreated, Voski heard none of his excuses. All the sound in the bakery vanished until Ash’s hand pressed against his chest.

  Those warm honey-colored eyes pierced him, seeing through to his soul as the soft smile melted away the deafening anger. “You were supposed to be saving us a table.”

  “He - I - that man seemed to be bothering you.” Even to his own ears, Voski could hear how pathetic the excuse sounded. “

  But the warlock accepted it without comment, heading toward the counter. “If we don’t have a seat, you’ll have to deal with eating your fancy flaky pastry on the go. I’m only having a coffee.”

  None of the mattered, so like a shadow, he followed as the warlock ordered. The pastry tasted sweeter than he had expected, and as they walked together on the streets of Paris, perhaps madness overtook the prince, but he tore a piece from the croissant, offering it to the other man. The feel of those plush lips brushing against his fingers sent a thrill through the blond.

  Nose wrinkling as he licked his lips, Ash laughed. “Definitely needs the coffee.”

  And after a sip, the warlock held out the to-go cup for Voski to drink. Bitter and nutty, the flavor went well with the sweet richness of the almond croissant. In that instance, Voski knew the taste of Ash’s tongue, and the thought shook him to the core.

  Chapter Nine

  Gods were strange creatures. Being related to an island god, Voski found mortal myths stange. In Greece, the pair enjoyed the beauty of Skopelos. Even if it were only in a musical, this seemed the source of Aphrodite’s fo
untain - a place blessed by the goddess of love seemed a bit too personal for a simply exploration of mortal romance, but Ash opened the portal without complaint. If the goddess did exist, maybe she would be kind enough to bless them. Voski could only hope.

  However, despite his relaxed expression, the warlock wore iron rings on both his hands. The pure cold metal would irritate the prince’s skin if he tried to join their hand, but maybe the warlock didn’t know. He had worn other metals before - gold and silver, but they had never been anything which would cause him harm, so Voski struggled to find a reason to inform the other man.

  Even if he couldn’t join their hands, the warlock didn’t shy away from casual touches, so Voski would take what he could. It was unfair, after all. He demanded so much more than he deserved.

  “This is ridiculous,” the warlock grumbled, folding his arms over his chest as couples clung to one another around them. Phones and cameras flashed. “I’ll never understand why people believe in stuff like this.”

  Voski frowned. “In stuff like what?”

  “Gods.”

  The prince laughed. “But they exist.”

  “Sure. Forest gods, island gods, minor deities, but not like this,” the warlock retorted, waving his hand at the people. “Not the big ones.”

  “If you don’t believe in major gods - ones of love and life and death, then what do you believe comes after?” the fae prince asked, knocking his elbow in the warlock. “You’re a warlock. You know magic is real. Ghosts are real. What comes next then?”

  Ash shrugged. “More...this.”

  “So we all become ghosts.”

  “Some ghost, some reincarnate, some cease to exist. A grab bag there just as it is here. Nothing really changes,” the warlock replied.

  A long tan finger brushed against one of the warlock’s cold iron rings, and even as his skin reddened, Voski kept the touch. “Do you think Romeo and Juliet are together?”