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  “And you’ve heard rumors?”

  “Oh, yes.” Centuries ago, he’d heard many speculations about a male living in the Dusklands, someone who opened doors to the mortal world using a fire-based glamara. Had Kaysar killed him a short time later? Yes. But he’d still heard the rumors. “Do you have no other questions for me?”

  “Well, I’m interested in learning more about flittering,” she said, panting as he lengthened his stride yet again. “I’m guessing you can’t flitter a non-flitterer like me by holding my hand? What I mean is, Jareth mentioned holding my hand to whisk me away. Is that something you can do but for some reason you’re choosing not to?”

  “I’m offended you must ask, sweetling.” Suspicious of him already? His gut tightened. He lifted her feet off the ground and sped into a light run. “Of course I can flitter you. I can flitter anyone. My powers are vast.”

  She scrambled to throw her arms around him, trying not to teeter from his hold. “Why haven’t you flittered me already? I’m so ready to not walk, Kaysar.”

  He liked his name on her lips.

  He might like Claw Man better.

  “Do you wish to pay for additional services from me, princess? If so, I find I’m keen to bargain.” He slowed. What would he demand this time?

  Her gaze dropped to his mouth before she wiggled to her feet. He kept an arm around her, ensuring she remained at his side. “Right. Walk-running it is.” She gave a nervous laugh tinged with fatigue. “Although, fine. Call me curious. What is your price for flittering? Since we took sex off the table.”

  “We took sex as payment off the table. So what are you offering?”

  Her chortle pleased him, his pace slowing. “Not a danged thing,” she said, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a teasing light shimmered in her eyes. “You truly believe you’ll convince me to sleep with you?”

  “You’ve seen my face, yes?” Her amusement spurred his own, and he flashed her another grin. “Wait until you see my body.”

  “I’ll tear off my clothes to get to it, will I?”

  “Piece by piece.” His voice dipped. “I will have you, sweetling.” Many times, in many ways.

  “Do you have a shot with me? Certainly. I’m telling myself to resist but... I mean, I endured a yearlong relationship based on less, and you are definitely hot.” Quick glance. Hooding eyelids. “Really definitely hot.”

  He basked in her admiration for his appearance until her other words registered and a terrible, frothing fury descended over him. She’d spent an entire year with the same person? An eternity. “Did you kill him? Did the relationship end with his death?”

  She shook her head. “He ended the relationship and blamed me for it while I blamed him. But now I think he might have been right. I think I feared being with him. Ugh. That’s so embarrassing to admit. But for most of my life, I believed I was going to die. Some nights I wasn’t sure I’d wake up the next morning. Sometimes I didn’t want to. My body had become a prison. I didn’t think Nick would understand. I was certain he’d leave me if he knew the full extent of my condition.”

  Voice gentling, Kaysar told her, “I know about prisons and wishing to die so the pain will stop, but needing to live anyway. Always wondering what will happen next. Hating your lot and resenting others for theirs.”

  “I—yes,” she said, her eyes going wide. Liquid. Molten. “You get it.”

  That look... He wanted to stare and bask in it forever. He needed to look away. So he did. Kaysar pulled at his collar and forged ahead, as he always forged ahead. Vengeance mattered. Nothing else.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  COOKIE MARCHED BEHIND KAYSAR. She’d begun to lag behind as he and his impossibly long strides pushed through tangle after tangle of limbs. Begging him to slow down wasn’t an option. He only increased and decreased his speed according to his mood. The faster he stalked, the more agitated his mind.

  According to the exercise chart Pearl Jean had tacked onto a bathroom wall at home, Cookie and Kaysar currently maintained a level six “mall walk.” He was mad about something but unsure about it.

  The only bright spots to her endless cardio? Every step carried her closer to the farmhouse. And, well, she kind of enjoyed watching the king’s butt. That thing had pop. There was no shaking it, even when he shook it.

  She needed to enjoy the glorious work of manly art while she had the chance. Never see it again? A total travesty. And yeah, okay, his butt wasn’t the only lure. She’d begun to think that maybe, just maybe, leaving Kaysar behind was going to be a real bummer. They’d known each other a hot minute, but he got her in ways no one else ever had, and she thought she got him, too. As they’d talked, they’d had a moment of bonding, accepting that their baggage came in similar makes and models.

  What awful trials had he endured in his lifetime? Oh, what she wouldn’t give to learn.

  Was this how Nick had felt when they’d dated? Desperate for answers but stifled by his partner at every turn? Yikes. Perhaps she’d send him an apology basket when she returned to Earth.

  If ever she learned to open doorways on command, she could maybe, possibly return to Astaria and visit Kaysar. Upon occasion. When she didn’t have something better to do. Or want to nap.

  Would he even desire to see her again? They’d had that moment of bonding, yes, and she felt as if she knew him. But she didn’t know him, not really, his objectives a mystery. One moment she suspected that yes, he did crave her, whoever she was, and he couldn’t get enough of her. The next she firmly believed he loathed her very existence. That, too, depended on his mood.

  The current mood blew chunks. Everything annoyed him.

  Asking more questions about the realm might work as a distraction from whatever bothered him. Or heat his temper another fifty degrees. Totally depended on which side of his personality responded. The besotted stalker or the surly king.

  The truly sad thing? She was attracted to both.

  Whatever his mood, he remained strong and capable. A fallen tree in the way? No problem. He tossed it aside. Nothing deterred him from anything he decided to do, and nothing frightened him. No, he deterred and frightened everyone else. The guy had cut her hair and saved a lock as a keepsake. She’d noticed the dark strands sticking out of his pocket. Any fae, ogre or troll they came across paled before fleeing at top speed.

  Each time it happened, she’d gone all ooey gooey inside, feeling like a silly schoolgirl with a crush.

  “Ow!” A limb grazed her shoulder, slicing her shirt and drawing blood. When she hopped to the side, she stepped on a rock, and her poor feet seemed to swell in her boots. Then another limb sliced her. And another. Ugh! She hated this world. Hated feeling helpless and lost, not knowing up from down. Mostly she hated hiking and everything and everyone everywhere. And she wasn’t being dramatic right now. They all deserved it.

  “Worst fantasy resort ever,” she grumbled. “One star.” The review for her guide might not be any better. Not once did he do what she secretly wanted and carry her.

  He walked faster, making her walk faster.

  As they trudged up another hill, her lungs cooked to well-done. Her thighs cooked. All of her cooked. “I’m never joining a gym. After this, I’m never exercising another day in my life.”

  Jumping over a thick tree root, she whimpered. When she skirted a cluster of snapping flowers, the satchel slammed into her side, and she winced. Stupid bag! What was she lugging around, anyway? Anytime she reached for the tie, Kaysar—

  “Do you enjoy going nowhere?” he snapped, increasing his pace.

  That. He prevented her from finishing the task and pushed onward. So frustrating, but probably for the best. If she dropped an item, she lost it forever, guaranteed. The king pausing to allow his lowly partner to collect it? Please. But oh, she wasn’t sure she possessed the stamina to go much farther. Lack of food and water had taken their toll. Utte
r fatigue ruled.

  Crush? Dwindling fast.

  “What?” Kaysar said, pivoting to wag a finger at her face. “What is this look? We’re doing as you demanded. Where are your smiles? Your thanks?”

  He actually wondered why she lacked smiles? Her nerves frayed beyond repair. “Are you referring to my Resting Serial Killer Face? Because I’m nearing a snap, and I’m not sure there will be survivors. Slow down a little.”

  “You are the one so desperate to find a doormaker, Chantel,” he chided, as if she needed another reminder.

  To her astonishment, he slowed to an amble before acknowledging her silent pleas and sweeping her into his arms. He redistributed the weight of the satchel, taking the burden upon himself.

  “You’re so strong.” Cookie snuggled closer, molding her body to his.

  “The strongest,” he said, as if her praise mollified whatever had angered him.

  Her animosity seeped away. Mmm. He smelled so good. Though she’d lamented the heat only moments ago, she reveled in it now. His warmth delighted her.

  She opened her mouth to ask him a personal question. She knew so little about him, and curiosity was a thorn in her side. Before a single word escaped, she clinked her teeth shut. Nope. No antagonizing her guide when he’d only just begun to carry her.

  There were only two directions that kind of conversation could go.

  Scenario #1

  Cookie: Asks the question.

  Kaysar: Snaps at her for daring to ask and puts her back on her feet.

  Scenario #2

  Cookie: Asks the question.

  Kaysar: Refuses to answer and puts her back on her feet.

  Besides, the moment she inquired, he would learn he possessed knowledge she wanted. Personal knowledge. He could use it against her. No, thanks. Already she relied on him more than she wished to admit.

  Just get home.

  “Do you have nothing else to ask me?” he demanded, getting worked up again.

  “Well, yes,” she said, testing the waters. If he was amenable, she’d asked him a non-personal question.

  His breath hitched. With eagerness? “Ask, Chantel.”

  “If the fae are immortal, how did Lulundria die from her wounds? I mean, my powers came from her, and I healed a broken bone in minutes.”

  He grated, “Immortality doesn’t mean we live forever. It just means our bodies generally regenerate faster than they die. However, some injuries are too severe and heal too slowly.”

  He ducked under a long branch without a hitch in his stride, keeping her secure in his arms. As he straightened, the temperature dropped. Noises changed, too. Rushing water drowned out chirps, croaks and buzzes, though she saw no sign of a river. Even the atmosphere changed, the air electric, as if another storm brewed.

  “What is this place?” she asked. No flowers grew, yet the bushes were seemingly placed by intelligent design, strategically creating a pathway to lead to a tree dripping with blue fruit.

  “There’s nothing we need here,” he responded, his voice tight and his posture stiffer than before.

  Not really an answer, but okay. She surveyed the tree. Pink bark, purple leaves. Those fist-size sapphire fruits. Her mouth watered, heart rate increasing. In the center of the trunk was a swirling symbol—one she recognized.

  Chantel barely contained a squeal. Rhoswyn was inspired by Astaria. Any remaining doubts dissolved, a torrent of excitement ripping her next words from her. “This is an outpost.”

  Her companion cursed and hurried on. “So? We need no goods.”

  Cookie squirmed from his arms, her feet dying a thousand deaths as she backtracked to examine the area. Oh, yes. Definitely an outpost. The sapphire fruit acted as an edible key, but you couldn’t pluck one until you’d issued payment.

  A muscle jumped beneath Kaysar’s eye as he joined her. “Did you recall another of Lulundria’s memories?”

  She’d tell him about her job later. A fae who’d never encountered a computer might not be able to comprehend her meaning. For now, she shrugged away the question. “I’m entering the outpost, one way or another.” In Rhoswyn, outposts allowed players to recharge, eat—food!—pick up cool weapons and switch paths, if they so desired. Well, Cookie so desired, please and thank you. “A doormaker might be inside.”

  “And I haven’t heard rumors about him?” He scoffed, then beckoned her closer. “Come. Soon we reach the waterfall. The entrance to the Dusklands, where rumors suggest the doormaker resides,” he explained.

  “What’s the rush? I’m starved.” She ran her hands over the tree’s shockingly velvet-soft bark. “Why do you always get to make the calls, anyway? We’re a team. Technically, I’m paying you. You insisted on a price, and I’m delivering. Look at me, staying by your side. That makes you my employee. Guess what? At my company, we have a saying. ‘The boss is always right.’”

  He made a little noise of annoyance. “I should have charged more.”

  “Well, it’s too late now. We already agreed. The only remaining question is whether you’re going in with me or waiting out here.”

  “Is that so?” His brows winged up, his smugness as irritating as it was sexy. “How do you enter?”

  “You offer payment, and you receive a key.” In the game, you paid with blood rubies—also known as credit cards. Maybe Kaysar had packed some coins in the satchel? “Am I right? I’m right, aren’t I?”

  He glowered at her.

  Cookie dropped her gaze to the bag. He noticed. Of course he noticed. She dove for it anyway. He flittered, and she swiped nothing but air. Dang him.

  He appeared a few feet away, still holding the bag and scowling. “You want to visit the outpost? Very well. We’ll visit the outpost.” He reached inside the bag and withdrew a diamond choker. “The worth of this far surpasses the cost of a key, yet we’ll receive no reimbursement. I hope you’re happy, Chantel.”

  Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. She’d carried jewels?

  Complain about the weight of the bag? Never again. Worth every ache. “That is...” What word would do that masterpiece of glittering stones justice? Oh, yes. “That is mine,” she said, making grabby hands. She’d never owned anything so fine. I’ll wear it every day, no matter which yoga pants I select. Heck, she might even decide to be cremated in the thing.

  Kaysar regarded her with a curious look before lifting his arm, ensuring the magnificent stones remained just out of her reach. “Since you have indicated this is a price you are willing to pay...” He slapped the necklace against the symbol carved into the tree.

  The diamonds vanished, a piece of fruit plopping to the ground.

  “Tell me I have more necklaces in the bag,” she beseeched. Ugh. What was wrong with her? She’d never reacted to anything this way. But the necklace... She wanted it back.

  The curious look returned. He watched her intently as he announced, “You have a collection of necklaces in the bag.”

  “I do? Really?” In that case... She squealed with happiness and swooped down to pick up the fruit. As soon as they found a safe spot to rest, she’d examine every jewel and figure out why she had a sudden hard-on for gemstones.

  “You do know you’ll have to part with more jewelry to pay for your meal, yes?” Kaysar asked, never removing his gaze from her.

  Hmm. Maybe she’d settle for a light snack. Like the fruit she’d already paid for.

  Her mouth watered again, her taste buds reawakening. In a daze, she dusted off the smooth flesh and bit into the soft center. Warm sweetness ran down her throat, reminding her of piña colada.

  Her eyelids slid shut. The worst of her hunger pangs eased, sparking an urgency to gorge.

  “No,” Kaysar said, confiscating the fruit. “One bite, and you can keep a clear head. More, and you’ll become drunk. While I think I’ll enjoy an intoxicated Chantel—which I wi
ll experience—I’m unwilling to share the event with others.”

  “Right. Clear head.” Very important during a mission. “So? What happens next?”

  He narrowed his eyes as he sank his teeth into the fruit and...a whole new world appeared, as if they’d teleported to the edge of a Victorian Wild West, Fae Edition.

  How amazing. They stood at the beginning of a cobblestone path; it extended before them, leading to dozens of shops, where vibrant murals adorned the outer walls and flowers grew from the roofs, spilling over the sides.

  Different scents left her drooling. She thought she detected fresh baked bread. Spices. Meat? Her stomach pleaded for a feast.

  Fae moved in varying directions at varying speeds. Some entered the shops, some exited. Hundreds of voices rang out, conversations blending together. The clothing styles differed as much as physical features. Different species wore different clothes, everything from warrior-chic to the peasant drab.

  Envy hooked her and reeled her in. Spend more money at the outpost? Watch me. She’d go broke for a shower and clean clothes. Something made of leather, maybe.

  She could acquire more jewels. A desire born from the depths of her being...or Lulundria’s? Did the other woman gain territory in Cookie’s mind, as well as her exterior?

  The very idea repelled her.

  At some point, you lost those you loved. One day, she would even lose Pearl Jean and Sugars. She refused to lose herself along the way.

  As if he sensed her turmoil, Kaysar anchored a strong arm around her waist and tugged her closer. “You will stay by my side the entire time we are here. Do you understand?”

  “Sir, yes, sir.” Currently without defenses, she snuggled into the big, hard body as comforting as it was maddening. Wait. Why had the shoppers and shopkeepers gone still and quiet, staring over at Cookie and Kaysar with something akin to horror?

  “Um,” she said, growing uneasy. “Maybe we should go?”

  Whispers rose from the masses, then shouts. “King Kaysar?”

  “The Unhinged One invades!”

  “Run!”