Of all the things he had anticipated happening on his excursion to town, he honestly couldn't say that being defended by a mischievously ruthless little fae had been one of the eventualities he'd accounted for. Although he had been reasonably certain the shopkeeper would rather not be faced with a hundred and sixty some odd pounds of snarling werewolf for his trouble, the fae made it abundantly clear that neither his master nor his property was to be trifled with lightly. It was something to keep in mind as the shopkeeper paled and spluttered at the thought of having any dealings with this Lord Carrick at all.
He chewed his lip briefly and bowed his head to give the appearance of anxiety when all he wanted to do was chuckle at the way the fae turned the man's very own thoughts against him. Anafiel had always warned him about the fae, who were famously naughty and prone to pranks, but also dangerous in their own right. It was a shame no one had ever warned the shopkeeper of that before someone absconded with his tomatoes and a lively spray of spinach for a pittance.
To his credit, he neither paled nor spluttered when his own thoughts betrayed him, though his heart felt heavy in his chest at the name. “Yes, you heard rightly,” he confirmed. There was little point in beating around the bush, after all. “Anafiel Delaunay was my master.”
It disconcerted him slightly to think that many of his enemies were still alive and well and likely to remember him from his auction, but he would have remembered someone like the fae and most certainly would have recalled the name of his master – provided it hadn't been changed. “You know of him, then?” He hedged carefully whilst neatly cradling the tomatoes and the spinach in his arm. The shopkeeper hadn't deigned to give him a bag to carry them with, but it was less trouble than having to pay double for nothing all the same.