The Fae Lord's Fated Mate

By J.B. Black

Love doesn't always show up when it's convenient.

Oliver never fit the warlock mold. Unable to use magic without music, he was the black sheep of the Duval family, so when he ran away, no one came looking. Five years later, he has a new life. He's the drummer of London Frost — a band on the edge of making it big.

If only he hadn't picked up that fae he found on the street.

Taron had it all. In line to become a lord of Faerie, he never expected his childhood friend and first love to be destined for his brother. Heartbroken, the fae flees to Earth. Crossing worlds is the first mar on an otherwise perfect record, but it might just be the best choice he's ever made.

For fae, a life without magic is unthinkable, but each day with Oliver makes Taron think maybe that's the life he wanted all along. The drummer makes him want to be better. They raise each other up, but where Taron clings to this new beginning, Oliver isn't so sure.

Falling in love and expecting to be left aren't mutually exclusive. The harder Oliver falls, the more certain he becomes that he's racing against the clock. Every bit of wonderful he worked hard to get in his new non-magic life crumbles when he imagines the what-ifs Taron has waiting for him. No amount of mortal fame and fortune can compare to magic.

Can Taron convince Oliver to trust him and give love a chance?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.B. Black
• Release date: Jun 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005153137

J.B. Black

Three sides to take care of all your wanton desires:Jess adores the steamy side of romance, exploring the quick scenes that leave your heart fluttering as strong, fertile heroines find their Happily Ever Afters!If you enjoy mpreg and a wake on the more fantastical side with fated mates, JB Black will fulfill your every desire.Brendol enjoys M/M without the fantastical edge. No pregnancies, just gay sex and romance!

Book preview

The Fae Lord’s Fated Mate

Gay Mpreg Fantasy Romance

J.B. Black

The Fae Lord’s Fated Mate by JB Black

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.

FAE LORD’S FATED MATE

Copyright © 2020 J.B. Black

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

Love doesn't always show up when it's convenient.

Oliver never fit the warlock mold. Unable to use magic without music, he was the black sheep of the Duval family, so when he ran away, no one came looking.

Five years later, he has a new life. He's the drummer of London Frost — a band on the edge of making it big.

If only he hadn't picked up that fae he found on the street.

Taron had it all. In line to become a lord of Faerie, he never expected his childhood friend and first love to be destined for his brother. Heartbroken, the fae flees to Earth. Crossing worlds is the first mar on an otherwise perfect record, but it might just be the best choice he's ever made.

For fae, a life without magic is unthinkable, but each day with Oliver makes Taron think maybe that's the life he wanted all along.

The drummer makes him want to be better. They raise each other up, but where Taron clings to this new beginning, Oliver isn't so sure.

Falling in love and expecting to be left aren't mutually exclusive. The harder Oliver falls, the more certain he becomes that he's racing against the clock. Every bit of wonderful he worked hard to get in his new non-magic life crumbles when he imagines the what-ifs Taron has waiting for him.

No amount of mortal fame and fortune can compare to magic.

Can Taron convince Oliver to trust him and give love a chance?

Chapter One

Louder and louder, their music soared. The sound twirled around the studio, bouncing off the walls. Oliver lived for this. His drumsticks pounded out the beat as Ben riffed on his bass. Calvin propelled them with his voice, driving them faster and faster with every note between his deep timbre and the sharp clarity of his guitar. Just the three of them together. Nobody else in the world existed in these moments when they chased the height of perfection in their studio. No pressure to record. None of the expectations of some unknown audience from the clubs or the dive bars they played calling out for covers when they just wanted to play something new.

Nothing existed like this in the world. All the energy building in the room remained when the last note sounded, reverberating around their panting breaths in the dimming light of their rented room in the huge warehouse which served as a block for all sorts of artists.

That was perfect! Calvin cheered, spinning around with a grin.

Ben smirked, but his dark eyes remained on his base as his fingers bounced between chords silently. I don’t know. You guys think it’s catchy? Love songs are so lame if they aren’t crowd grabbers.

Behind his drums, Oliver snorted. Don’t bullshit, Benny.

Yeah, we all know this is for Carol, and if it just sets the stage for you finally proposing, we’re all on board, Calvin added as he ran a hand through his bleached blond hair.

Flushing darkly, the bassist glared at his bandmates. I can’t propose! We don’t even have a record done yet!

We’re close, Oliver replied, setting his sticks in his bag as he cleaned off his drums. A couple more gigs, and we can pay for studio space.

With a shrug, Calvin stuck his guitar in its case. We could just throw stuff up online. Isn’t there that new video sharing site? I heard it was starting to take off.

That’s like asking someone to steal our stuff if we don’t have a place for them to buy it linked in, Ben grumbled.

Seated behind his drums, Oliver sighed. The two often argued, and while the possibility of growing their audience outside the city offered a near irresistible temptation, they had heard enough horror stories of what could come or not come from that kind of exposure. If they put up their music and the response remained contained to their current fans, Ben’s pessimism would spiral, and Carol could only encourage him so much. They almost had the funds. If only they hadn’t had to pay for the practice space, they would have been able to save faster, but Calvin had the only house, but his parents had needed the finished basement when his grandmother moved in to live with them.

But none of that mattered. Soon the world would know London Frost. Professionally recorded music up on websites and available to buy in CDs. They’d be able to raise money to go on tour again, and the shit hostels and sleeping in Ben’s van could be replaced by a half-way decent tour bus or even just motels where Ben didn’t sleep curled around his bass.

Fuck, it’s pretty late, Calvin said, glancing down at his cell. I’ve got to run.

I can give you a ride if you miss your train, Ben suggested, but Calvin had already run off with his guitar on his back. With a chuckle, the bassist glanced back at Oliver. You good?

Oliver shrugged. My flat’s the closest. It takes me like ten minutes to walk home.

Yeah, but you’re the pretty boy, Ben teased. When Oliver glared, he laughed. See you, Ollie.

Night, Benny.

Tying his long brown hair back, Oliver stood, stretching as he glanced around their studio to make sure everything was in its rightful place. Unlike his friends, he couldn’t take his drums back and forth with him. The area was safe enough, and once he was sure Ben was gone, there was a little bit more he could do. Seconds ticked by. Only silence remained, and humming a small tune, the brown-haired man stretched out his arms with his palms facing the walls.

His magic never worked on will alone. Not the way a warlock’s magic shoulder. His younger brother could imagine anything into being, teleporting here and there with ease, but Oliver never managed. Too sensitive to the magic of others and too out of sync with his own, he always needed something to carry him along, but for a strong warding spell, a simple humming tune was enough. He wandered through a few songs, strengthening the walls and shielding the room from those who might attack the building. Another song hid his drums from view. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he slid the door shut and clicked the lock into place. One last song to make the lock impervious to cutting or picking, and the drummer headed off on his way, letting the soft humming notes slowly fade with each step.

Nowadays, Oliver rarely used his magic. Most warlocks and witches flung spells around all day, but the drummer called upon his inheritance only when locking up their practice space or to ease tensions if someone tried to start a fight during one of their performances. For all that Ben and Calvin thought his looks kept tempers down, his magic did the work. If men flirted with him just as much as women, he didn’t mind. He swung both ways. Well, he did when he bothered to swing at all. People exhausted him. Good music, good food, and good friends were all he needed. A beard kept back those who had been flirting with him due to the androgyny of his natural features, and Calvin happily fielded the few women who still tried to flirt with the band’s drummer. The men proved harder to deter.

But late at night, no matter what Ben thought, none of that mattered. Long hair didn’t change the broadness of his shoulders or narrowness of his hips. If anything, in the dark, fewer people saw him as a target of interest because whatever symmetry might have attracted them to his face blended into the dark. Or, perhaps, a few of his warding spells spilled over from their studio space onto him. He never could control his magic perfectly.

In the cold winter air, Oliver strolled down the streets, heading from the warehouse district toward his one-bedroom flat. He’d had the same place since he ran away from home at just sixteen. Nobody expected much of him, so they didn’t bother chasing after. His parents knew where he went. Oliver might not have told them, but his mother could always scry for his location. As he hadn’t moved in the last five years, he had no reason to believe he had completely disappeared from their radius even if the money he used came from his own hard work and not the trust fund his grandfather left him. For all Oliver cared, his brother could take that too. That money depended upon living up to the family’s standards, and nobody in that line of magic-obsessed mortal-hating bunch would ever believe being the drummer of London Frost stood up to them. Even if they managed to take off, fame held power only if he intended to use it that way, and he just wanted to live his life doing what made him happy. Even when he lived under his parents’ roof, they hadn’t understood, so he had no expectation of that changing. Five years without a word. People like the Duvals never really changed. They’d only reach out to complain if they were upset he hadn’t