“I don’t know. I only sense this is similar to the heart issue. The skins are her, but they are also not her, both a part of her and separate from her, not yet fully formed.” She bent her head and rubbed her temple. “Chantel is still figuring herself out. She hasn’t chosen a path.”
“You speak nonsense.” Useless female. He moved away with a huff and shuffled through the room, searching for slippers, sandals or boots. In the closet, he found books. Hundreds of volumes stored in a private library.
He scanned the contents of every dresser drawer. Nothing. His fists turned heavy as fury collected there.
He raised his arm to strike something. The room didn’t have what he wanted? Very well. The room was coming down, to be nothing but a pile of stones. At the last moment, he spotted a shelf of varying footwear on the balcony outside and flittered over.
Grinning now, Kaysar grabbed a pair of bejeweled boots a portion of his brain recognized. Where had he seen them before?
As he readied to rejoin his princess, Eye called to him from inside the bedroom. “Your majesty, wait! You must see what I see.” She pushed a new image into his mind.
Like every instance before, a scene took shape, making him feel as if he peered at a painting come to life. Chantel, sprinting through the forest, panic etched into her features.
Hundreds of emotions welled up at once, none of them good. Muscles tensed, and bones vibrated. He primed his claws. “When does this occur?” he demanded.
“About five minutes ago.”
In danger? Or had she seized an opportunity to escape him, as boasted?
Whatever the answer, someone died today.
Temper redlining, Kaysar flittered to the field of carnage. Frigid raindrops sizzled on his skin, white-hot rage coating him. No sign of Chantel. The fae and mortal prisoners he’d commanded to remain noticed him and rushed over to plead for mercy.
“Be silent and step away,” he shouted. Immediate obedience. “Did someone attack?” He thought he scented—Kaysar belted a curse. Jareth.
As if he’d issued a summons, the prince lumbered to his feet a short distance away. Fresh blood coated his mouth. He shook his head, as if to discard a daze, and caught sight of Kaysar. Jareth, too, belted a curse.
Hatred slithered down Kaysar’s spine. “Hello, princeling.”
“She’s mine,” Jareth snarled as the women promised that they’d fought the prince to prevent him from following the princess. “You won’t touch her.”
“She is yours, yes,” he agreed. For now. The thought threw him, and not in a good way, but he quickly recovered, unveiling the smile he reserved solely for the Frostlines. A cruel twisting of his lips as much a warning as a promise. “But who do you think will bed her first?”
About Five Minutes Ago
COOKIE WIPED THE raindrops from her face. “Come on, guys. Can’t you give a girl a little space?” she pleaded. The moment Kaysar had vanished, the group had drawn a tight circle around her.
They faced away from her, on the lookout for any possible threat. As if they could actually fight off a soft breeze, much less an attacker. They looked like they hadn’t eaten in months.
No one responded to her, the air ripe with apprehension. She could throw an elbow or two, forcing a portion of the group to back off. The others would only rally. Because they feared Kaysar would do as threatened and slay them all if harm befell Cookie.
She suspected he...might. The worst part? She didn’t know how she felt about it anymore. And she should. These women had done nothing wrong. They were innocents, and they didn’t deserve to die.
Idiot. As soon as the others were safe, she should ditch Kaysar without hesitation. It was the right thing to do. Maybe. Probably. Personally, she wasn’t afraid of him. Not really.
Sure, when he went all still and quiet, hissing his words, he evinced sheer terror in everyone around him. But, she sensed the danger wasn’t directed her way. His high-handed tactics sucked, but they weren’t a deal breaker. The pros outweighed the cons.
“Lulu?”
A voice both familiar and unfamiliar caused her to cross her arms over her belly. An instinctive, protective gesture. The Viking stood in the distance, his gaze locked on her. Big, blond and handsome, able to kill a woman at twenty paces with ice.
Her heart thudded with realization. He’d found her, exactly as Kaysar had warned. Here he was, the evil prince Lulundria must have despised.
Calm. Steady. He rushed over, and her guards tightened the circle.
Anger sparked, dousing Cookie’s fear.
He reached the outer wall of women. Though they fought him to the best of their abilities, he had no problem shoving them aside, two at a time.
Like Kaysar, he towered over her with muscles galore. His weight must be double hers. She would lose a physical altercation, no doubt about it, but she wouldn’t go down without a struggle.
“You wanna come at me?” Kill or be killed, winner takes all. “Okay, let’s do this.”
In front of her, he paused. And frowned “I don’t understand.” He pinched a lock of her hair between his fingers. “You are her. But how can you be? You are not her.”
He’d killed his own wife. What wouldn’t he do to Cookie? She punched him in the throat. Twice.
He wheezed as he gripped her shoulders. Oh, no, no, no. This wouldn’t do. With a snarl, she kneed his junk, hard. Shake that off, prince.
He hunched over, spittle spraying from his mouth. No hesitation. No risks, no rewards. She slammed the palm of her hand into his nose, his own momentum giving the blow more steam. He roared and released her, dropping to his knees.
Had the bones in her hand shattered on impact? Yes. Did pain and nausea roil up? Also yes. But she didn’t pause. He’d murdered her donor and now suffered a little of her hurt. Worth any agony.
“Let’s go, girls. Run,” she commanded, grabbing two of them by the dresses and shooting off.
Both women resisted. They even latched on to her wrists and forced her to stop...then they slowly dragged her in the opposite direction. Cookie grappled for purchase in the mud.
“Kaysar will understand, okay?” Rain blurred her vision, and she shook the droplets from her eyes. Tugging. Wiggling. Failing. “We’re not running from him. We’re running to safety. The Viking is a wife killer.”
A wife killer already straightening and refocusing on her, his eyes narrowed.
Fear and fury rammed together, heat collecting in Cookie’s arms. Vines licked out and rolled back in, whipping her captors before vanishing. Both women yelped and released her, falling.
A lash of soft leaves caused so much pain, they lost their hold on the prize? Seriously?