I have a label maker, a color-coded system, and a zero-tolerance policy for clutter. Lord Vane has a zero-tolerance policy for letting go.

I was hired to declutter his gothic estate, not manage a six-foot-five High Fae with massive, iridescent wings and a magpie complex. Vane collects everything: cursed mirrors, shiny candy wrappers, ancient gold, and buttons.

When I hold up a rusted, possibly haunted birdcage and ask, "Does this spark joy?" Vane doesn't just say yes -- he hisses, flares those dazzling feathers to block the door, and dares me to touch his treasures again.

But somewhere between the "Keep" and "Trash" piles, the dynamic shifts. Vane stops guarding the junk and starts stalking me.

The air in the room gets heavy. He stops looking at the shiny trinkets and starts staring at my mouth. His nesting instincts have woken up, and he's decided that the most valuable thing in the room isn't the gold -- it's the exasperated guy in the sweater vest.

Now, he's done hoarding objects. He wants to hoard me. Specifically, wrapped tight inside his wings and pinned to his mattress.

Cleaning up has never been this dirty.

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• RomanceParanormalMagic

• Publication Date: November 22, 2025
• Text-to-Speech: Disabled
• Lending: Disabled
• Print Length: 96 Pages
• File Size: 10 KB