The Fae Lord's Fated Mate: Gay Mpreg Fantasy Romance

by J B Black

  However, when he opened his mouth to protest, Taron shifted, and pulled him all the more solidly against his tall frame. “There’s nothing practically about it. I can embrace your brother whenever I want. He likes when I touch him.”

  Heat rose to Oliver’s cheeks, and the fury in his brother’s glower did nothing to temper the way want — too pure and too hot — coiled in the drummer’s belly. If the fae scented the air, he would know. It was probably thick with Oliver’s longing. Already, he could feel slickness between his cheeks, and the effort to not tilt his hips back and grind startled him.

  To make matters worse, before he could pull away at this startling revelation, James stormed forward. “He doesn’t! You can see it on his face.”

  He reached forward as if Oliver would let them play tug of war with his body. Dodging, the drummer slid out of the fae’s hold. “What the hell is happening here?”

  “Your brother’s jealous,” Taron calmly pointed out.

  James flushed, glaring as he growled, “Why would I be jealous of some runaway fae?”

  “Because I live here with your brother who you wouldn’t even be able to find without me,” Taron replied, and the smirk on his face was an expression Oliver had never seen before. There was a cruelty there that he had never associated with the fae, and the merriness with which he wielded that cruelty only increased the drummer’s urge to run away.

  Whether knowingly or not, the man before Taron had tormented Oliver, and the practiced ease of feigned politeness which he managed so many times at court failed him. He loathed the younger warlock. Hated how Oliver doubted himself whenever magic came into play. How he cringed away from affection as if constantly terrified of never measuring up. If Taron couldn’t undo those years of pain, he would not allow this man back in Oliver’s life, yet the magic user glared from behind his glasses with an unexpected fury. There was a possessiveness there which seemed all too familiar.

  “He’s my brother,” James argued as if that amounted to much at all.

  But all at once, the cruelty in Taron’s smirk evaporated. He studied James’s face as if seeing it for the first time. “You love him, don’t you?”

  James clucked his tongue. “He’s my brother. He’s a musical genius and a thousand times better than you in every conceivable way.”

  “He’s like me,” Taron cheered, turning to Oliver.

  But the drummer stood dumbfounded. He had always assumed his younger brother felt the same about him that their parents did. Over and over, both their father and mother told him how disappointing he was. How much his magic fell short of what a Duval should be. When he flinched away from the itch of his brother’s magic, he always believed James took it personally. Half the time, James’s spells seemed aimed just to irritate him. In the midst of a party when he finally got his footing, James would do some sort of trick, and Oliver could never tell if he did it because he could or because he knew it would make him uncomfortable. If James didn’t hate him, why would his brother do that?

  “I’m nothing like you!” James insisted. “I’m not some free-loading leech!”

  Taron glared. “I pay rent!”

  “I bet you do nothing else!” the younger warlock cried.

  Rolling his eyes, the fae turned to Oliver. “He’s like me, Oliver. He adores you. Just like I adored Levon!”

  “What are you even talking about?” James demanded, shoving his way between them as if he ought to be protecting his elder brother from the fae.

  It was all too much. Oliver ran his hands over his face, wondering how his life had come to this moment. “He’s talking about his younger brother. He was worried his brother hated him.”

  “I believed he resented me for being perfect, but I never intended for my brother to be compared to me, and I love him dearly,” Taron explained, and in that moment, he realized that despite his brother being mated to the woman he had believed would be his, he still cared for his brother a great deal. His emotions toward Marguerite had changed, but he wished his brother only the best — no matter how confusing Levon’s actions were. “You love Oliver, and he doesn’t begrudge you the way your parents used your success against him, so maybe my brother loves me too. Perhaps the timing was what it was, and there was no prior planning or thought that his mate might be Marguerite. Perhaps he was just worried I would leave him behind.”

  James huffed, glaring at Taron. “I wasn’t worried.”

  “He didn’t say you were,” Oliver whispered, watching his younger brother flush in embarrassment as he realized he had given himself away. “I didn’t leave because of you. I — I honestly thought you knew where I was.”

  The glare fell away, and James looked almost ready to cry. “How could I know? This whole place is warded. I had to make special glasses to even track the stupid fae. You just — you just left, and Mother and Father acted like you were never there at all.”

  Hearing his brother’s voice crack brought tears to the drummer’s eyes. He blinked, trying to fight them back as he confessed, “I couldn’t stay there, James. It was killing me to be in that house. I’m not a warlock.”

  “But you are!” James argued. “Maybe you do magic a bit differently, but you still have magic, and you taught me how to channel. It made manifesting so much easier when I figured out how you wove spells into your music.”

  Oliver laughed, shaking his head. “That’s not how a warlock is supposed to do magic.”

  “Who gives a damn! It’s my magic! It’s your magic! We’re warlocks. We can do whatever we want with it,” the younger warlock exclaimed. He threw himself forward, wrapping his arms around Oliver as he pulled him into a tight hug. Though startled and unsure, Oliver hugged him back. “Even if you couldn’t have stayed, I wish you had kept a magic mirror or something. Mother wouldn’t let me have a cell phone until I went to university, and by then, I couldn’t find you, and none of my letters ever reached you.”

  Gaze blurring as tears rose to his eyes, Oliver murmured, “You sent me letters?”

  “When you were in Aberdeen and Edinburgh, but then I lost track after you moved south,” James informed him. “I thought you had to be in London. Our parents refused to let me go anywhere near here for school, and I was so sure they knew where you were even if I couldn’t find you, but — but I still couldn’t locate you when I tried at Christmas when I saw that post, and I know I’m better than Mother is now.”

  “He’s incredibly skilled at wards,” Taron pipped in, hovering close by. Rationally, he knew James wasn’t a threat. The two deserved a brotherly reunion, but he hated seeing someone else touch Oliver.

  Hugging his elder brother all the tighter, James huffed, “Don’t you think I know that? I’m well aware how amazing my brother is!”

  Shifting his weight back and forth, the fae glanced at the roast on the table and then to the two. “We have more than enough for you to stay for dinner. I’ve even made a banoffee pie.”

  “Of course, I’m staying for dinner!” James grumbled, finally pulling back to glare at Taron. Turning back to his brother with a pout, the younger warlock shoved his own cell phone into Oliver’s hands. “And I’m getting your phone number and email address and the physical address here, so I don’t magically forget my way here when I leave!”

  Overwhelmed, Oliver could only nod as he fought back tears.

  Chapter Seven

  James stayed well into the night, and even when he finally headed out, he seemed keen to make sure they had a time scheduled to meet back up again. The whole evening seemed like a strange dream. Caught in a haze, Oliver barely fought when Taron pushed him back into his seat and took over clean-up. Not even fifteen minutes after leaving, his brother texted, telling him how excited he was to see him again.

  “He must have missed you terribly,” Taron said as he dried the last dish and placed it in the cabinet.

  Oliver sniffled, biting his lip as he read and reread the words his brother wrote. “I never thought I’d get this.”

 
“Well, it’s obvious your brother adores you,” the fae said, pulling a chair to sit close beside the warlock.

  His heart ached, longing to wrap the brown-haired man in his arms. It would be all too easy to carry Oliver to bed. To lay him in the sheets and kiss him. The first might come slowly. A simple chaste press of lips but the next would deepen, growing bolder with each touch until he pressed in between those long legs and slid into the tight heat of the warlock’s body. Inside the fae, a beast awoke. Clawing against his senses, it yearned to press itself against the man until their scents mixed. Until the lingering trace of James’s cologne no longer hung in the air. Despite knowing well that the brother offered no threat, he couldn’t help the possessiveness which the foreign fragrance inspired. Unable to keep his hands to himself, Taron set one upon the warlock’s knee.

  When Oliver glanced up to meet Taron’s gaze, the fae’s heart skipped a beat. He wanted nothing more. If he could spend the rest of his life with Oliver just like this, that would be enough.

  “I think you’re right,” Oliver admitted. His gaze never wavered. “Your brother probably loves you too. Your whole family must be so worried. They have no idea where you went. If you’re even still alive.”

  Taron couldn’t look away from those multicolored eyes. “My responsibilities would have fallen on my brother. I worried for him before, but — and perhaps it is selfish of me — but I don’t want to inherit anymore. I want to live my own life. Here. With you.”

  Those words once seemed so terrifying, but he found them so easy to say now. He loved Oliver. Whether they remained friends or became something more, he cherished every moment, but the warlock had a point. His family deserved to know about his choice even if they wouldn’t understand it. Of course, if Taron returned to Faerie, there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to make it back.

  “It took a lot out of me to cross through the first time,” the fae whispered.

  Oliver gave him a soft smile, covering Taron’s hand with his own. “You’re going back to your parents’ home. They’ll be able to help you this time around.”

  He didn’t say that he expected Taron wouldn’t try to come back. If he did, then the silver-haired fae would likely feel obligated to prove him wrong. Perhaps he might not even go at all. Whatever Oliver felt, he couldn’t afford to continue this. It hurt too much. Everything inside him reached out for Taron, aching to find the warmth of his arms back around him again. But it would just drag out the almost-something not-quite-anything which pulled and tugged at Oliver’s heart. With the tour looming, he couldn’t afford to hold onto the edges anymore. When he watched them unravel, he would break down. London Frost deserved better.

  Smiling, Taron turned their hands over, entwining their fingers. “It would only be for a few days, so I should be back before you head out on tour.”

  Despite the fae’s enthusiasm, fear shifted, pacing like a caged beast inside his chest. If the royal family awaited him on the other side, they could easily jail him for his actions. Illegally crossing from Faerie wasn’t supposed to be possible, and if they caught him, there would be consequences. His family could face prejudice and fines if he left. It wouldn’t be impossible for the Queen to take away his father’s lands if she were so inclined. Even if he managed to get there without being caught and his family agreed to let him return without trying to intervene, he likely would experience the same drain and collapse as he had before. This time, he could set a mark upon the stones in the alleyway between this building and the next where he often teleported around for work, but he would be exhausted.

  Sense dictated he ask for Oliver’s assistance in this case, but he found himself unable to do so. There was no telling if he could be as quick as he wanted. On the off chance the warlock needed to leave on tour, he didn’t want to require the man to teleport back to the area and check for him. Oliver never seemed to teleport at all. If the brown-haired man decided to instead enlist his younger brother, who knows what the younger warlock would do out of brotherly protectiveness.

  So, not wanting to bother Oliver, he smiled, agreeing to schedule a break from work, and two days later, with a quick hug, he headed down the stairs, longing with every fiber of his being to run right back to the warlock and the flat which was now his home.

  ***

  A decent man — a braver man — would have found it difficult to watch Taron go when it was clear how reluctant the fae was, but Oliver fought back his anxiety, and when the wave of magic announced the fae had gone, he called his landlord to confirm he would not be renewing his lease and started the process of packing away his things. Tour wouldn’t be several months, and by the time he got back, he could buy a better apartment in a safer area closer to Calvin and Ben and whatever new studio they decided to move into as neither of his bandmates wanted to use their current place now that they had enough money to afford somewhere better.

  In three days, he heard nothing. No sign of Taron, and as he slung the bag on his back, the drummer knew he made the right choice. It hurt. Because it was cowardly. Though, in truth, Oliver hated calling it that. Acknowledging the truth proved harder and more painful than continuing to pay for an apartment out of some ridiculous hope that Taron might actually come back. Even if the fae wanted to live on Earth, that didn’t mean he wanted to live with Oliver. Fae were magical beings. Not doing magic in his own home had to be uncomfortable.

  So without looking back, Oliver got on the tour bus they rented. “Let’s hit the road.”

  Grinning, Calvin threw his hands in the air. “Road trip!”

  “Sit down and shut up until we’re on the road,” Ben demanded from the driver’s seat. “I’ve got a license for one of these, but it’s been a while.”

  “We could afford a driver,” Calvin argued.

  Oliver shook his head. “You know how Ben feels about other people driving him around.”

  Snorting, the bleached blond ran a hand through his hair. “Sure — so I get why he’s all stressed. This thing is huge, but what has you green around the gills?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing. You’ve been weird the last couple days,” Calvin argued, and he held up his phone. “And your boyfriend stopped posting.”

  Tossing his bag into the bunk where he’d be sleeping, Oliver sunk into the seat across from the guitarist. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  Perhaps his tone was finally right because, rather than argue this time around, Calvin’s eyes widened. “Oh. Shit, sorry. That sucks. Right before a tour.”

  “It’s nothing. We weren’t dating,” Oliver insisted.

  Raising a brow in disbelief, the band’s lead singer hummed. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Whatever,” Calvin waved his hands as if to clear the air. “Tour is the perfect rebound after being dumped. Girls and guys are going to be all over you. Hot drummer, single and ready to mingle. You and I are going to be babe magnets.”

  Oliver chuckled, shaking his head, but if that made Calvin happy, he didn’t have the energy to argue. Nothing existed between him and Taron. Their friendship — if it could be called that — was short and fast and strange. In a way, James had been right. It started with the laws of hospitality, and even if Taron paid the rent twice and cooked like his life depended on it, that didn’t mean they were friends. They barely spent any time together. Taron’s career took off. First, Oliver had the recording and then London Frost hit it big, which led to different kinds of responsibilities, and it was too fast to be anything more than a convenient couch for the fae to land on. What had they even talked about?

  Marguerite and Levon — the fae’s tragic failed first love and the stifling etiquette of Faerie Court. Reuniting with James revealed how little they spoke of anything important. All they talked about came from what happened on Earth. Taron happily chatted about his work or his lessons with Mrs. Tillman or Mrs. Asrat. Recounting a day and sharing stories like that didn’t make a relationship. Hadn’t
Taron talked about how he fell for Marguerite because she was there to be loved? Wasn’t this just the same? Proximity and a not objectionable partner. It meant nothing.

  Yet every single day, Oliver missed him. He checked his phone, looking for updates without even processing what he was doing until he saw again and again Taron hadn’t updated. How much of his time went into keeping an eye on what the fae had been doing? In a way, he was just another fan. Another one in the mass of now over a million followers who absorbed whatever the fae shared but had no personal connection at all.

  So it wouldn’t hurt soon. His mind just needed to get over the withdrawal, so he blocked the apps on his phone and focused on the tour. He played with every ounce of energy he had, pouring his anguish into his music and struggled to make the cheering of the adoring crowd mean as much to him as the bright smile Taron had whenever he played their album.

  “Where’s the fae?” James asked when he met his brother for lunch the day of their Edinburgh show.

  Oliver forced himself to take a bite. Why did everyone else’s food taste like sawdust? “Back in Faerie.”

  James’s brows rose. “Why?”

  “After you came by, he realized his family was in a similar situation. He didn’t want them to think he was dead,” Oliver offered, but his brother’s eyes narrowed.

  Normally, James never hesitated to say what he wanted when he wanted so long as they weren’t near his friends, their parents, or the council, but this time, he held his tongue, changing the topic to his coursework, and Oliver released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He could do this. His life would be his own again soon.