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  He donned his favorite rings. Those bearing molars he’d wrenched from an enemy’s mouth. Last, he secured his best set of metal claws to his fingers.

  He didn’t need to glance in a mirror to know this was a panty melting day for him. Women loved his face. And his body. A rare few even loved his evil.

  Kaysar stalked into the bedroom. Eye sat in the chair at his desk, the jar of tongues beside her.

  She popped to her feet, words exploding from her. “I know where she is.”

  Anticipation stole his breath, his lungs burning. “Well?”

  For a moment, she chewed on her bottom lip. “I won’t tell you,” she said, nearly losing her head in the process. “Not until I explain something else. The princess did die in the mortal world, Kaysar.”

  What? “You told me she survived.”

  “And she did. But she also died. Yet now she lives.”

  He tried to make sense of her claims. When he failed, rage drove him directly in front of the seer. Glaring, he gripped her delicate shoulders and shook. “Did you lie to me, Eye?”

  Despite her tremors, she craned up her head to meet his gaze. “I didn’t lie, I swear it. As if I would dare.”

  Only slightly mollified, he lightened his grip. “Explain, then. How is Lulundria both dead and healed?”

  “I don’t know, but she is.” Eye used her most appeasing tone. “She died, but now she lives. Her heart beats...” Her voice trailed off as her expression glazed over, a vision overwhelming her. “You’d best hurry, majesty. The centaurs...their village. She’s soon to die. Again. For good.”

  The centaurs thought to slay his princess, ruining his vengeance? Kaysar’s rage returned, igniting a fire in his soul. He flittered to the outskirts of the centaur village, hidden in the heart of the Nightlands.

  A field of wildflowers stretched before him. Beyond it, hundreds of half horse, half fae creatures went about their days. The men were bare-chested, the women covered by leather vests.

  Kaysar flittered throughout the encampment, scanning. Here, soldiers trained for war, combatants battering each other with spears while riders practiced galloping, dodging hurdles and shooting arrows at the same time. Onlookers cheered every success and booed every failure. Over here, workers tended pots of soup and stoked firepits.

  When he found no sign of Lulundria, his control frayed. Where had she—Ah. There she was. A soft wind carried a faint hint of her sweet perfume.

  Like a stallion in heat, Kaysar tracked his chosen female, alternating between sprinting and flittering. He leaped over rocks and raced around trees. Carnivorous foliage shrank from him, eager to avoid his touch. Little wonder. Aggression charged his every action. Scanning, searching... Nothing had ever been so important to him.

  Laughter rang out. Multiple sources, both male and female. The princess’s scent strengthened, coating his breath. Glee replaced Kaysar’s rage as he reached a well-worn path, marred with hoofprints.

  Spying the head of a centaur procession, he flittered to a thick branch, high in a tree, and crouched. Twenty warriors trotted in the path he’d traveled toward the village. Some of the soldiers were dark, some light, some spotted. All were armed, maintaining a steady trot and constantly hunting for predators.

  Kaysar studied the tail end of the procession, where the prisoners were kept. Two males led a wagon bursting with fae, forest nymphs, and a handful of mortals. Dirty faces pressed against silver bars, bleak eyes peering out, seeking a savior.

  Soon enough, they would learn a harsh truth. You could count on no one but yourself.

  The centaurs hoped to use the mortals as servants, the forest nymphs as sex slaves, and the fae as food. A culinary horror meant to extend the eaters’ lives.

  Unlike the fae, who often lived an infinite number of millennia, centaurs usually expired after fifty or sixty years. However, the consumption of a fae—any fae but a royal—could buy a centaur an extra ten years or so. The royals were a different breed entirely. Eat one of them, and you gained an immortal’s eternal life. The reason Eye had warned the princess was soon to die?

  Kaysar released a soft snarl. The centaurs thought to eat his vengeance?

  Oh, the pain they were soon to suffer...

  Where was his princess? He drummed his claws against the tree trunk, impatient as he studied the rest of the procession. In the middle of the pack, two warriors carried a log between them, an end resting upon each male’s shoulder. A woman hung from the center. Filthy rags clothed her, the length of her pink hair dragging over dirt and rocks.

  Relief punched Kaysar, every fiber of his being assuring him of her identity. He had found Princess Lulundria.

  Nothing could stop his vengeance now.

  The centaurs had tied her wrists and ankles, dangling her from the beam like a prized hog. A tunic was stuffed inside her mouth, its sleeves knotted at her nape to secure it in place. They practically gift wrapped her for me.

  Perhaps she’d be so overcome with gratitude after his rescue, she’d forget the little skirmish he’d had with her husband, the day she’d run from him.

  Trying not to smile, Kaysar flittered to the start of the convoy.

  The leader reared up, then raised a fist, calling, “Halt.” As he settled, Kaysar’s identity clicked, and the color drained from his golden skin. “King Kaysar.” The centaur bowed his head in acknowledgment. “How...blessed we are to see you.”

  Though the soldier stood several feet taller than Kaysar, he quaked with fear. As he should. A pink pixie sat on his shoulder, watching Kaysar warily.

  The centaur asked, “How may we serve you?”

  He’d dealt with this colt before. Race, the cocky son of the centaurian emperor, considered himself a formidable foe. He wasn’t.

  The male had seized a Frostline, against orders. Now, he paid the toll.

  “It’s come to my attention that you failed to pay this month’s Heartbeat Tax.” Monies owed for Kaysar’s willingness to let him have a heartbeat. “You’ll be happy to know I’m feeling benevolent. I’ve decided you may apologize with a gift. I’ll hear your thanks now.”

  Blink, blink. “Th-thank you. But...” The warrior inched backward. “The next payment isn’t due for another week.”

  “Which means you’re already two days late, doesn’t it?” Kaysar chided, enjoying the man’s discomfort. “For this unforgivable blunder, I’ll expect double your usual fee. Also, at your insistence, I’ll be choosing my own gift.”

  “Of course, but—”

  “But? I don’t recall requesting a debate about this. Now, what shall I choose?” With his hands clasped behind his back, Kaysar meandered through the ranks. No one wanted to die, so no one attempted to halt him. Not shoving everyone aside and rushing to the princess required immense effort. By some miracle, he sustained a slow, unhurried pace.

  Race trotted to his side. “Perhaps you’d allow me to aid your selection? I’m happy to have my men show you everything we own while you sit and rest.” He clapped his hands in command.

  “No,” Kaysar said simply, no one daring to rush over. Finally, his patience received its reward. The log came into view...and there she was. Princess Lulundria of the Summer Court, with marital ties to the Winter Court.

  Pleasure unfurled. So close to my goal.

  As she struggled against her bonds, their eyes met and—she stilled. Kaysar stutter-stepped. To remain upright, he flittered his next step. Once steady, he paused. His heart thundered in his chest.

  This wasn’t Lulundria.

  Oh, she had the requisite pink hair, but the strands were intertwined with sable. And her skin...she glowed with radiant light, a beacon. Would he instigate an eclipse if he stood between her and the sun?

  She had the most delicate features, reminding him of Drendall, the doll his sister had carried. Such imperfect perfection. A treasure trove in need of f
urther study. A wide forehead led to thicker than average eyebrows. Big eyes. Exquisitely big. Long black lashes surrounded irises the color of a forest at sunset.

  He pulled at his collar. Looking into those eyes did something to him. Shifted something. He didn’t understand or like it. But he didn’t want to stop it. Frowning, he forced his attention to her next features. Pink cheeks. A button nose. Lush red lips parted around the gag. A tiny dimple dotted what looked to be a stubborn chin.

  She died and yet she lives.

  Eye’s words played inside his head. Lulundria had died and...this girl had eaten her heart, somehow becoming the fae princess? No. Wrong. The centaur did not become the royals they ate.

  Could she be another Summer Court princess?

  No again. He sensed Lulundria.

  Had she worn a magical illusion before? It was possible. Some fae possessed such an ability.

  “You don’t want her,” Race said, then forced a laugh. He rubbed the reddened marks littering his chest. “She bites.”

  Even better. “Give her to me.” No longer could he mask his eagerness, the words spilling from him. “I want her. She’s mine.”

  Tone hardening, Race told him, “Ask anything else of me. But the girl, I keep.”

  Did the centaur realize he’d rested a hand on the hilt of his sword?

  Around them, soldiers stiffened. The males might not wish to challenge the King of the Nightlands, but they’d obey their leader. They wanted what he wanted, after all. A couple bites of the girl, ensuring their eternal life.

  New sparks of rage ignited, burning through Kaysar. “You may be the son of an emperor, but you inhabit the Nightlands. My lands. Have you forgotten my rule?”

  Race bristled but gritted out, “I have not.”

  “Say it. Tell me the rule.”

  The centaur heaved every breath. An attempt to control his temper? “Do not unsheathe a weapon in Kaysar’s vicinity unless we plan to kill him,” he said, pushing the words through clenched teeth.

  “That’s right. So, you will remove your hand from your sword and gift me with the girl, or I will kill you and every member of your hunting party. I might turn my sights to your families next.” Kaysar did not threaten. He vowed. “Decide. Now.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE DARK-HAIRED HOTTIE from Cookie’s vision! He was here, he was real, and he was horrifying. Beautiful and terrible at once, with a threatening glint in his eyes. An angel merged with a devil, both haunting and haunted.

  He would look super-hot in a mug shot.

  In her vision, she’d compared those dark eyes to iced whiskey. In person, they were set ablaze. Before, he’d had scruff on his jaw. Now, he had a full beard. He was even taller than she’d realized. At least six and a half feet of pure warrior, with the most sublime muscle mass.

  Two elaborately detailed swords crossed at his nape, precious gems glistening from the hilts. The kind of weapons she utilized in the video game.

  A white shirt molded to a broad chest, veeing at the collar to reveal a dusting of black hair and a hint of tattoos. Lines and dots. Torn leather pants stretched over powerful thighs, the ends tucked into scuffed combat boots. Metal claws tipped his fingers. He wore half a dozen rings topped by...teeth?

  If anyone could pull off an impossible win against the centaurs, it was this man. Especially considering he owned the land. Home court advantage, baby. Talk about the perfect ally for a fish out of water. But what did he plan to do with her after the battle? Anytime he glanced her way, he lit up like a little kid at Christmas, eager to tear the heads off his new toys.

  Christmas...home... Will I ever see my family again?

  Poor Pearl Jean. Poor Sugars. They didn’t know what had happened to her, where she was, or even if she even lived. How lost they must be.

  What are you doing, lamenting? The game isn’t over. Fight!

  Cookie’s top priority had stamped itself in her brain—get home by any means necessary. If she had to defeat an army, she’d defeat an army. If she had to kill, she’d kill. Without question. She used to practice stabbing people. The motions, only the motions. And only to gain a better understanding of her avatar. But...

  In a deep, secret part of her, she’d maybe kinda sorta...enjoyed it. That same deep, secret part of her yearned to kill her captors and leave their corpses rotting on the ground. An hour ago, Cookie had awoken like this, tethered and engulfed by the scent of horses and sweat as she dangled from a pole. The constant pressure inflamed the joints in her shoulders, ankles and hips. Her body screamed protests. Ants and other abominations crawled all over her, making her itch. If she could have peeled off every layer of her skin, she’d be nothing but raw muscle right now.

  The centaurs had trussed her up into the perfect appetizer for any outdoor barbecue, planning to feast on her all-you-can-eat-buffet-style.

  Hope you taste as sweet as you look, girlie. Soon you’ll roast on a spit, and I’ll pick your bones clean.

  The earlier taunt echoed, sparking fury. As the horsemen had carted her through Nightmare Candyland, they’d speculated about the spices to use on her charred remains. They’d discussed owning nymphs as pets and claiming mortals as servants. She’d flowed from hysteria, to rage, to game mode, doing her best to think of an escape.

  How many others had the centaurs harmed? How many others would they harm in the future, if they were allowed to live?

  Oh, yes, she yearned to kill them. A desire that sprung from a place far deeper than the petty, vengeful side of herself that delighted when she witnessed a bad guy’s downfall. A place she’d never had the guts to face before. But face it she would.

  For whatever reason, she’d never felt more alive.

  “I’m done waiting,” the hottie with the incredible voice said. His name was Kaysar. He was the one who’d issued the command to return, and every time he spoke, she shivered.

  He struck her as a man who murdered without hesitation, breaking a sweat or regretting his actions.

  So why is he more attractive by the minute?

  “Respond,” he said. “Before I start singing.”

  Every centaur issued a rushed protest. Actual, flesh-and-blood centaurs. A fact that might forever blow her mind.

  Why did the newcomer want her? Why fight an army to claim a stranger?

  Unless he had nefarious plans for her, too?

  Apprehension shook her. Before she embraced her panic, she should weigh the facts. In the vision, the pink-haired woman had jumped in front of this man, as if to shield him from the Viking. If she’d loved him enough to save him, he might not be such a bad guy. But what had happened to Pink after she’d gotten hit by those ice daggers? Had she survived? Did this man seek her out?

  Cookie’s heart leaped at the thought, another question rising. Did she share a connection with the woman? She’d felt a leap during the vision. Now, she felt an undeniable tug of kinship. A knowing she shouldn’t be able to discern...

  I have her heart.

  The knowledge dawned, bright and sure. Did the man know the truth, too? Could he sense it? Had he come for the heart of his...lover?

  Had he adored the pink-haired beauty?

  If he could take on twenty centaurs and live, he could help Cookie. Out here, there were threats she knew nothing about. And never would she forget the two threats she’d learned about firsthand—treacherous pixies and poisonous vines. She needed an ally. A teammate. Someone who knew the lay of the land.

  Hottie moved into a brighter beam of sunlight, as if stepping up to bat, and her breath caught. His jet-black locks gleamed with shades of cobalt, his dusky skin glimmering with flecks of molten gold. He had the most adorable pointy ears of all time, studded with metal.

  “Your silence tells me you’d prefer me to make the decision for you, Race.” Confidence clung to him, a second skin oozing arrogance. “Is this
true?”

  His voice had dropped, awakening cells she hadn’t known she possessed, pleasure suddenly superseding each point of pain. The sensation lasted only a moment, and she hungered for more.

  Wait—what? More? Mortification scorched her cheeks. Getting turned on because of a stranger’s voice—in the middle of a life-and-death situation—was so not okay. Even for Cookie.

  “I... You...” Looking from Cookie to Hottie, the centaur named Race maintained his grip on the sword hilt. “I am keeping the girl?”

  Race was the one who’d found her at the pond, and she delighted when his inhalations shallowed. Let him experience some of the terror he’d dished.

  “You sound unsure,” Hottie replied, as smooth as silk. He smiled pure evil. “I must admit, I hoped you’d choose this path.”

  He seemed to shift from one boot to the other, nothing more, but a bloody organ appeared in his hand.

  Whoa. He’d attacked so fast she’d missed it? He’d teleported? What?

  Race clutched the gaping hole in his chest, red pooling between his fingers. Eyes widening with pain and an ever-increasing awareness of his coming death, he collapsed. His body jerked once, twice, then sagged over the grass. A pool of crimson formed around him.

  Which wasn’t nearly as disgusting as expected. It wasn’t even upsetting.

  It was deserved.

  Mutters of shock erupted as the other centaurs comprehended their leader’s fate. The soldier in front of her startled, rearing up, tilting her alignment. She slid down the log. The other soldier couldn’t maintain his grip, and the log slipped off his shoulder.

  Both the trunk and Cookie slammed into the ground. Air burst from her lungs and dirt plumed around her. She coughed, desperate for oxygen, and—“Argh!” A centaur tread on her ankle, crushing her bones.

  Cookie screamed behind the gag, lights flashing, blinding her. Nausea churned in her stomach. She wheezed her breaths, the agony threatening to shut down her mind. Stay awake, just stay awake.