“I might be a stranger to you right now, but I’m a stranger willing to die to protect you. Lulundria? Please.” The Viking spun this way and that. “Kaysar is fast on my heels. If he discovers you—”
“Too late,” a familiar voice announced. “He’s discovered you already.”
Kaysar. Her knees wobbled. He’d come for her, after all.
“When will you die?” the Viking snarled.
Her dark knight stepped into her field of vision and grinned. “Come now, Prince Jareth. Is that any way to greet a treasured foe?”
Sweet goodness. He grimed up good. Gaze voracious, she drank him in. Tousled dark hair fit the gleam in his eyes. Controlled aggression flushed his skin, his muscles straining. His clothes were dirty and torn in numerous places, his boots scuffed.
“I won’t let you near her a second time.” The golden-haired brute braced for battle. He and the king were close in height and muscle mass: size Hulk. The demon versus the demon, both experienced killers. But only one of them made her go liquid.
“How about a third?” Kaysar exuded more of that disturbing patience, a jot of amusement and a dash of satisfaction, each liberally coated in malice. “My Eye is better than yours. I had the princess’s location long before you did.”
Whatever damage the prince had inflicted earlier had healed, the king ripe for his next battle. She almost whispered his name to let him know she waited nearby, but prudence kept her quiet.
“Go on,” Viking taunted him. “Strike at me.”
Kaysar arched a brow, amused. “You truly think you can win against me?”
“I did before.”
“You?” Kaysar scoffed, a casual action that belied the bombs of fury exploding in his irises. “There you go, lying again. A pink pixie sliced my Achilles tendons,” he explained, so patient he was terrifying. “The pink pixie won. At least temporarily. I believe I still have bits of her on my boots.”
Cookie’s pulse fluttered. He’d taken care of Thumbelina? Hat tip. Next round’s on me, majesty.
“You kill and kill and kill,” the other man snapped, his daggers glinting in the sunlight. “How are you any better than the Frostlines you hate?” Dust motes swirled around him, a gentle contrast to the tension that fizzed the air. “Why can’t we end this war between us, once and for all?”
“Tsk-tsk. If you didn’t want me addicted to your misery, Jareth, you shouldn’t have made it taste so good.”
The Viking lunged at him. Kaysar winked and vanished before contact.
Cookie silenced a shout of denial as she pressed against the front of her leafy cocoon, a visceral need to grab hold of the king choking her. He didn’t know she was here. He didn’t know he’d left her behind, that she—
Amazing heat flamed from her nape to her ankles. She attempted to turn, but there was little room. Less than before. Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, a hand tipped by razor-sharp claws flattening on her belly, the fingers spread wide. Another hand cupped her throat, cold metal resting on her rushing artery.
Cookie’s heart raced a thousand times faster than before, frissons of awareness pinging her nerve endings. Kaysar had known she was here. He’d come to her. She wasn’t alone anymore. Breath left her as she sagged against him, relieved.
With his thumb under her chin, he forced her head to slant and rest against his shoulder. Despite the shadows enveloping them, she had no trouble meeting his gaze. His eyes glowed, a beacon in her storm.
Kaysar bent his head, putting his lips at her ear. He whispered, “Have you missed me, sweetling?”
His low rumble filled her head, rousing sensual smoke, fogging her thoughts. How easily he wove a spell over her mind. And her body. Her nipples drew tight, and her belly fluttered. A warm ache bloomed between her legs. She wanted...she wanted!
The intensity of her desire for the man frightened her in a way Jareth’s violence had not, and she gulped. Kaysar had spoken of craving her. But she craved him, even though she knew better.
What you craved, you focused on. What you focused on, you magnified. What you magnified had the power to erode your resistance.
She needed her resistance to prevent herself from making a stupid mistake. Her defenses were already down, her ability to filter emotion on the fritz. It must be. Her senses remained heightened, her nose saturated with his delicious scent, her skin tingling, desperate for his touch.
Afternoon heat? What afternoon heat?
Realizing he’d lost his foe, the Viking—Jareth—released his aggression, using a tree trunk as a punching bag. She flinched with every blow. How often had he used those fists on Lulundria?
When he finished his temper tantrum, the tree had a nice hidey hole for cat-size squirrels.
Cookie tried to maintain a strict watch on his whereabouts, in case he neared again. But her mind had other ideas, tracking Kaysar’s every breath. Every point of contact warmed her.
Jareth stomped around. Kaysar continued to hold her, as if they had all the time in the world, gliding, gliding, gliding his thumb over her hammering pulse, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.
When Jareth finally bailed, Kaysar smoothed a leaf from her cheek. “Someone is enjoying her new powers, I see. As she should.” A husky chuckle fanned her lips, and she wanted to tell him to shut up and never stop talking. To be still and move against her. To let her go and hold on forever. “Lulundria created ivy. What you created is poisonvine. The difference is telling, don’t you think?”
“Telling?” she said, biting back a moan when he rubbed a massive erection into her crack.
“Mmm-mmm. Telling.” He nuzzled her cheek. “One was made for light, one for dark.” Holding her gaze, he slid the hand on her throat up and over her jawline, then traced the tip of a claw around her lips. The lightest of grazes, yet streams of pleasure arced to her core. “How perfectly you fit against me, princess.”
Concentrate on what matters. Survival. Knowledge. A ticket home. “What is poisonvine?” Would she hurt others with it, as she’d hurt the two women during her escape? Would she harm loved ones like Pearl Jean and Sugars? That—no. That couldn’t be allowed to happen. She would rather die than injure her family.
“Poisonvine is dangerous to most fae. It weakens them. But you, it will strengthen, I suspect.”
“What does poisonvine do to you?”
“Tickle,” he breathed. He nipped her earlobe and goose bumps erupted over her limbs. “Tell me, Chantel. What is this power you wield over my body, hmm?”
She had power over his body? Her? “None. Some?” Tons? “I don’t know.” He certainly wielded power over hers. As he held her and bestowed those gentle caresses, her muscles melted like butter. Focus. Right. “What’s your beef with Jareth?” And they did have a beef. A big one.