Could he win her back when he had yet to win her in the first place? Maybe. But she’d want to leave him first, and he’d have to go more days and nights without her. He didn’t want to go more days and nights without her.
Faster. His stride lengthened.
“So, how do you spot a doormaker?” Chantel asked.
Why. No. Curiosity. About. Him? They were teammates. She’d said so. She should care about his interests. “You don’t spot a doormaker. You hear rumors, and you pay him a visit to perform a test.”
“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.