Heartless

by Showalter, Gena

  Remembering the things Kaysar had mentioned, she thought she might be in Micah’s palace. The fortress carved into the mountainside, perhaps?

  Once his, now mine. No, not hers. Kaysar’s. She owned the farmhouse filled with her and Pearl Jean’s thrift shop finds and Sugars’s toys, and she wanted it back.

  Only last week, she’d lamented her unwillingness to leave the run-down home. The epicenter of her childhood dreams. Today, homesickness churned in her belly. Mostly, she just missed Pearl Jean and Sugars.

  What would they think of the new Cookie?

  She shied away from the answer, calling, “Kaysar?”

  When no response was forthcoming, she crawled from the warmth of the covers. Air kissed miles of bare skin, shocking her. Well. Someone had stripped and bathed her, then left her in her original packaging. Had that someone also provided a note about where he might be and what she should do next? No.

  Cookie sighed and rummaged through the bedroom, on the hunt for a piece of clothing. Any piece of clothing. No, not any. She had to be careful now. What she wore affected her moods.

  Ugh. The ability she’d first bewailed as a curse, then lauded as a weapon, was currently an inconvenience.

  Maybe one day she would make a decision and stick with it—the way she wished people would stick with her.

  Atop the dresser she discovered an empty jar. Bemused, she pretended to dump out invisible contents. Something her avatar was forced to do upon occasion. A silly action programmed into the game, whether a reward filled her jar or not.

  Focus. What if Kaysar returned to find her naked?

  She paused midway to the closet. Yesss. What if he did?

  He wanted her. He’d made his desire clear. And she wanted him. Enough to put sex back on the table?

  She checked her mental ledger to re-examine his crimes. The man had praised honesty—insisted on it—while purposely misleading her. Worse, he’d punished her for something she hadn’t done, dumping rocks in her bag to exhaust her. He’d also kissed her as if she was oxygen required for his survival and stopped far too soon. Not a terrible offense, but still. Offense!

  Had she forgiven him for everything? Maybe? A one-time deal, never to be repeated?

  What if he used her as Jareth’s substitute again?

  Jareth, who might not be the villain she’d originally considered him to be. The torment he’d sported as he’d confessed his own trials had rung true. Had he suffered abuse, too?

  Memories of his mistreatment at her hands sparked guilt and regret. Maybe she should apologize.

  And how would Kaysar react to that?

  As always, her thoughts swung back to her ruthless companion. The magnet to her metal. In a way, Kaysar reminded her of her bejeweled boots. Beautiful to look at, but extremely uncomfortable and better suited for special occasions. And what was more special than a trip to a magical land?

  Before, she’d wondered if she should enjoy him while she had the chance. The question surged once more. Shouldn’t she take this opportunity to explore the rare heat between them? They had a pre-determined expiration date, so she wouldn’t do something foolish and fall for him. She would remain prepared for their inevitable split.

  Could she ever return to the mortal world, though? She’d stopped taking her “necessary” drugs and healed supernaturally. She grew vines from her skin. How long before she was captured and studied? And that wasn’t her former paranoia or game-brain talking, either, but cold, hard logic.

  But the most important question: What happened when she murdered a mortal who wronged her or her loved ones? What then?

  A hefty weight settled atop Cookie’s shoulders. Why let herself get down over this stuff? Hadn’t she yearned for a different life? Well, here it was, hers for the taking. She could make it better or worse, depending on her actions.

  What if Pearl Jean and Sugars came here, after all?

  Tears burned her eyes, and she rubbed them away with her fists. Homesickness was a real disease, and it sucked. She was only surprised Pearl Jean hadn’t contracted it first.

  If Cookie learned to unleash a torrent of vines without elderseed, she could protect her loved ones from anything. Wait. Was she still able to produce vines upon command, without the aid of elderseed?

  She peered down at her hands and willed it so. Buds. Come.

  Tiny green sprouts broke the surface of her skin, and she grinned. Faster and easier than before. Nice.

  If Kaysar helped her protect Pearl Jean and Sugars, even better. He certainly possessed the means. Not to mention the will. But how long would his willingness last? He desired Cookie, yes. For now. What happened when a shiny new toy caught his eye and he bailed?

  People always bailed.

  Great. Her mood had soured without the aid of clothing. Speaking of, she needed to dress ASAP.

  Jutting her chin, Cookie entered the closet. Three gowns hung on the racks, awaiting her perusal. The first was an adorable mix of an evil queen and a cat woman. Black, sexy and super tight. Basically a long-sleeve bodysuit with an attachable train.

  The second gave off a Little Bo-Peep vibe, with its pink ruffles and purple bows, while the third gown had been designed with a schoolmarm in mind. Cinched waist, with a slightly flared, ankle-length skirt. The harsh gray color would wash out anyone’s skin, and the stiff collar probably itched like crazy.

  It was the most magnificent ensemble she’d ever beheld, and it called to her on a cellular level.

  “Mine!” She snatched the gown from its hanger as if someone lurked nearby, ready to pounce on the deal of the century. Fingers crossed Kaysar had left her a pair of panties with core-to-kidney coverage to complete the outfit. The perfect accessory for a persona like this.

  Dang. No panties. Although... Going commando under such a prim and proper dress struck her as highly provocative, and she grinned.

  In the private bathroom, she stumbled upon her satchel. Giddy, she dangled the dress on a robe hook, dropped to her knees and rooted through her belongings. Her jewelry. Her flask. Her toiletries. Everything remained but her elderseed. Which she’d be getting back. She’d carried it through the forest, so she’d earned it.

  Wait. She didn’t recall seeing this amethyst armband before. Or this pearl brooch. Or this tiara with crystals shaped like roses. No doubt the pieces were double the worth of her farmhouse, and she marveled. Looked like her love of jewelry hadn’t faded, even without the boots. Which meant it came from Cookie herself.

  Maybe the clothes highlighted different aspects of her own personality. Hadn’t Kaysar alluded to that fact?

  Kaysar, who had just given her the jewelry? For free?

  She really needed to speak with him about...well, everything.

  Her tasks gelled. Shower and dress. Without panties. Find Kaysar.

  With new purpose, Cookie gathered her toiletries and entered the shower stall. But, uh, where were the knobs? She searched this way and that, up and down, but...no knobs. There wasn’t even a spout.

  “Help a girl shower on her own, while awake,” she complained.

  And just like that, water spilled from the ceiling, raining over her. The icy liquid made her squeal. “Too cold. Need heat.”

  Again, her words caused instantaneous action, the spray warming until it scalded like acid. Her preferred temperature.

  Cookie scrubbed from head to toe, then exited the stall, saying, “Off.” As hoped, the waterfall ceased.

  Standing on a bathmat, she scanned for a towel. But there was no need. Warmth wafted from the mat, drying her from head to toe. A girl could get used to this.

  At the sink, she discovered a note from Kaysar. Only, it wasn’t written on a piece of paper or even blood. The words appeared on the steamy mirror. Drink me. You’ll like it. An arrow pointed to clear, minty-smelling liquid in a small glass decanter.

  A
type of mouthwash? A drug? Bottoms up. Like Alice in her Wonderland, Cookie drained the glass. The minty liquid fizzed against her gums and on her tongue, seeming to scrub every inch of her mouth. The fizzy sensation spread through the rest of her, infiltrating her stomach, then her chest, then her veins, and oh, that felt nice.

  As the fog faded from the mirror, Kaysar’s note disappeared, and her reflection came into focus. Her hair had darkened to a stunning black. And her eyes...the left was green, while the right was silver.

  But, she was naked. Did her appearance change with her moods as well as her clothes? With her actions? Was the elderseed responsible? Or something else entirely? Would Pearl Jean and Sugars even recognize her? She looked different, smelled different. Acted different. Her very DNA had changed.

  Ignoring her dismay, Cookie anchored her hair into a severe knot at her nape, with no strand out of place. No other style would complement her amazing dress. Which she donned, amazed all over again as the garment cinched to her curves, creating a seamless fit.

  The desire to square her shoulders and straighten her spine proved undeniable. A desire she heeded, feeling as if she’d exchanged a worry-prone avatar for a military general. Or head mistress.

  Madam Cookie.

  Her thoughts cleared and sharpened, the dismay fading. She almost smiled, but humphed with disapproval instead. Which jewelry should she don? The pearl brooch caught her notice. She pinned the beauty over her heart.

  As unhurried as any stern matron, Cookie headed for the door. Which swung open before she reached it.

  Kaysar strode inside the bedroom, the sight of him arresting her. He wore all black, his dark hair was gloriously windblown and spiky. He’d trimmed his beard, a thick shadow dusting his jaw.

  For some reason, metal claws adorned only one of his hands today. Combat boots and an assortment of weapons added to his drool-worthy appeal.

  Even as her body reacted with a dizzying rush, the dress served her well, helping her maintain a stoic expression. If she was going to sleep with this man—and she might—she required a level head about the matter.

  “You are awake, as Eye predicted.” He glided closer, sweeping his gaze over her and stopping midway. Hot, blatant desire glittered in his eyes. As smooth as whiskey, twice as intoxicating. “You chose the disciplinarian.”

  She didn’t fidget, just allowed him to look his fill, revealing nothing.

  “If you’re curious to know whether or not I examined your naked body as I bathed you, allow me to put your mind at ease,” he said. “I did. The entire time. I have no regrets.”

  “As if you are strong enough to resist this.” She waved a hand to indicate her curves, certain she presented a picture of grace, elegance and sophistication. Most likely perfection, too.

  Well. The schoolmarm had game and a healthy ego. Good to know.

  “What happened after I fainted?” she asked.

  A flicker of...something darkened his expression. “Jareth fought off the remaining soldiers as I carried you. We reached the fortress later that evening. Once I realized I could flitter, the guards stood no chance. I kept the servants and fetched Eye. She—”

  “She?” Apparently the “disciplinarian” possessed a nasty jealous streak. “Who is Eye?” And how soon can I kill her?

  “She’s an oracle who sees into the past, present and future,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Hardly worth mentioning.” Cautious, unsure, he approached Cookie once again. “Do you regret what happened with Micah’s army?”

  “Not even a little,” she admitted, her jealousy eroding. “Why? Should I?”

  “You should not.” He lifted a hand, snapped his fingers, and stepped aside. “Starving, sweetling? Allow me to satisfy your hunger.”

  A procession of servants entered the room, no one daring to glance in her direction. Were they cowed by Kaysar or Cookie? Or were they simply following orders? Two men carried a small round table. Two others marched in with chairs, and six women followed with food and drink. The accompanying scents proved divine, and Cookie’s mouth watered.

  As the servants set up a romantic meal near the hearth, Kaysar stared at her, hard. Her nipples tightened beneath the dress.

  Reveal nothing.

  The group retreated, shutting the door behind them, leaving Cookie and Kaysar alone.

  His countenance changed dramatically right before her eyes. From reserved to fierce, as if a mask had slipped. He bared his teeth in the semblance of a smile. “We have many things to discuss.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  KAYSAR HAD BEEN miserable these long, torturous days without Chantel. He’d missed her the way he would miss a vital organ. He’d craved her company, complaints and praises. There were so many things he ached to do with her. To her. Things he needed to do.

  The moment he’d spotted her starched, somber dress, he’d feared the worst. That Jareth had proven correct, and she’d mourned her previous behavior. That she intended to punish Kaysar. He should have held fast to his certainty: he knew her best, and he was never wrong about anything ever. Except when he was wrong.

  She’d chosen the stern maiden to help herself resist Kaysar. But she would fail. There was no one more determined, and he already scented her arousal.

  He motioned to the table. “Shall we sit?” Something had occurred to him as she’d slept off the effects of the elderseed.

  Desires beyond the physical seethed inside him—desires only she could assuage. But she couldn’t know what he required of her unless he told her. The same was true of him. He couldn’t know what she needed unless she explained. He yearned to know.

  A slight nod revealed no hint of her emotions. “We shall.”

  For her, he could pretend to be a gentleman—he wanted to be. He swept over to ready her chair. “Please, sit here.” When speaking to a woman you hoped to entice into your bed for the rest of your lifetime, you did not issue demands. You offered requests. Or so he believed he’d witnessed from other males.

  Something he knew beyond a doubt. When you failed to respect something, you lost it. If you accepted its loss, you were never worthy of it in the first place.

  A silent Chantel eased upon the cushion, as graceful as a swan. He scooted her forward, gently but firmly, before claiming the seat across from her.

  He wanted this matter settled as soon as possible. Acting nonplussed, he flipped his napkin to unfold it, and said, “I’ve made no secret of my desire for you.”

  She arched a brow the same shade of obsidian as her hair. The darkness enhanced her pale skin and rosy cheeks, her delicacy. “Diving into the deep end right at the beginning? A bold strategy. Very well. I’m game to play.” A imperial wave of her fingers. “Please, do continue.”

  Actually, his strategy was much simpler. Honesty, no matter the consequences. And lavish gifts, priceless in value. He wasn’t above bribery to secure this woman. “I’m determined to have you at my side and in my bed. Forever. I’m willing to take the necessary steps to acquire your complete surrender.”

  “My complete surrender. Forever, no less.” Again, she gave nothing away. “You wish to bargain for sex, after all?”

  “I do. But also your future,” he said. Let there be no misunderstandings between them.

  He waited for a response... She selected the choicest of berries from the bowl and bit into half of it. Red juice wet her lips.

  I will not lean over. I will not lick those plump lips clean.

  Unless she begs me to.

  He gripped the arms of his chair. “You’ll find I’m very keen to acquire you.”

  “Acquire me, hmm? As if I’m a possession.”

  “A treasure,” he corrected.

  “But you don’t take care of your possessions and treasures, do you, Kaysar?”

  The simply asked question set off hundreds of alarm bells.

  He bristl
ed, barking, “Explain.” You wish to keep her, Unhinged One, or lose her faster? “Please,” he added with a softer tone.

  “You claim this land is yours, and yet you abandoned it for two hundred years.”

  “I never abandoned it. I lost track of time. Which I would not do with you,” he added. “The land is nice, but it doesn’t offer such...” He dropped his gaze to her breasts. “Stimulating conversation.”

  “What of my connection to Jareth?”

  Did she pine for the Frostline prince? Kaysar reached for his wine to moisten his dry mouth. The glass shattered in his grip, dark red liquid pouring to the floor. “Have you recalled more of Lulundria’s memories?” he asked as if nothing had happened.

  “I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know I haven’t. Though I do wonder if you wish to keep me in ignorance because you fear the uncovering of another lie.” She leaned over to offer her napkin.

  “I have admitted to each of my crimes.” Kaysar accepted the cloth and dabbed his hand before filling a second wineglass. He’d requested extra of everything, just in case. “I merely dislike the thought of my Chantel feeling affection for Lulundria’s prince.”

  She double-blinked, nothing more, but he sensed the admission pleased her. “You’ll understand if my trust in your motives remains shaky, yes?”

  He opened and closed his mouth twice before settling on a response. “Your lack of trust in my motives is a matter I can rectify with time.” Sweat broke out on his brow, his next words paining him, even before they emerged. “There’s no reason for us to rush to bed. I’m happy to wait until I’ve proven myself.”

  “You are happy to wait? Yes, I can see how eager you are to acquire me.”

  “I am happy to wait because you need me to be. I will wait however long you require, the end worth any hardships.” Even throbbing, aching hardships.

  Again, he sensed his answer pleased her.

  She popped another berry into her mouth, thoughtful.