Heartless

by Showalter, Gena

  He decided to carry the conversation to the next plateau. His bribes. “You’ll be overjoyed to know I’ve captured a doormaker’s apprentice. He awaits you in the throne room. While he cannot open a doorway to the mortal realm himself, he’s well able to train you to do so. He knows tricks.” A loophole he’d considered after sacking the palace.

  He scrutinized her, expectant, hopeful...disappointed when her expression failed to soften.

  “You want me forever, but you also wish to teach me how to leave you? Help me understand.” Her level tone belied a slight twitch from her fingers.

  A tell. But of what?

  Did she notice the way his hands trembled when he placed the softest breads and most delectable puddings on her plate? “You must learn to open doorways to retrieve your loved ones. Pearl Jean and Sugars, yes? I assume you’ll wish to bring them to Astaria. I’m eager to meet them. They’ll live with us, of course, and receive the full protection of my name. Does the royal feline prefer to knock priceless vases from counters or shred irreplaceable antique furnishings? I’m able to acquire both within the hour.” He shook his head. “Foolish question. I’ve already deduced the answer. He prefers both.”

  She double-blinked again, and his heart tripped. Another tell. His plan was either working better than he’d dreamed or failing miserably.

  His next gift was sure to please. “I’ve decided to bequeath you this fortress, along with everything inside it. The moment you accept, you become Queen of the Dusklands.” He took a sip of the rich, woodsy red. “I believe you’ll approve of the treasury as well as the defenses. The curtain walls and flanking towers are extraordinary. The machicolations more so.”

  Her knuckles whitened on the wineglass. “Machicolations, you say? Used for pouring boiling oil over attackers? I employ them in my Rhoswynian castle.” An ember of arousal flickered in her mismatched eyes, and he sucked in a breath.

  Emotion must seethe beneath that stern maiden exterior.

  Or not seethe. That ember of arousal died too quickly. An arctic cold etched grim lines into Chantel’s features. “I’ll be a queen, yes, but also a lowly princess in your eyes, irrevocably bound to Jareth Frostline. Perhaps that’s even part of my appeal, eh?”

  Kaysar shouted an inner curse. He’d nearly had his prize within his clasp, then logic had snuck in and ripped her from his reach.

  He wondered about his plan no longer. He was failing miserably.

  He couldn’t retreat now. He’d vowed to be honest with her, no matter the consequences. If he wavered in that regard, he would be as bad as a Frostline. “When we first met, I planned to get you with child, allowing my seed to rule from the Frostline throne.”

  “And now?” Her voice contained the barest rasp. Of outrage?

  “I’ve decided you will bear no children at all.” He used his flattest tone, leaving no room for argument. Tapping a spot on his shoulder, he told her, “I’ve added a tattoo. Mystical birth control.”

  “You’ve decided.” Her eyes narrowed. “You have. You. Decided. For me?”

  “My vengeance demands it.” They had reached a dangerous dividing line between them. How could he make her understand his side of it? “You are precious to me, Chantel, and I have no wish to act otherwise. I wish only to give you the world.”

  “The world. But not children.”

  Ignore the burn in your chest. “Do you even want them?”

  “Not right now. But one day. Maybe. I’d like the option, at least.”

  He gripped the edge of the table. Losing her. “I will keep you so satisfied, you’ll never miss them. For the rest of my life, I will devote myself to your pleasure.”

  “And if my pleasure gets in the way of your vengeance?”

  He wouldn’t deny the truth. “She is my master, and she will always come first.” Vengeance fed him. He liked his meals cold and often.

  Chantel revealed nothing—at first. “Before you entered the room, I debated the merits of sleeping with you for a few weeks before going home. Now you demand obedience for eternity. That’s a big nope, by the way. I won’t submit to you, and I certainly won’t rely on you. The moment I do, boom, you’ll decide you’re done with me, and good ole Cookie will have to pick up the pieces yet again.”

  The more she spoke, the more hurt she projected.

  His chest pinged as never before. He’d been so focused on his own past, he hadn’t given hers a thought. What had branded such anguish in her eyes? “I will always need you,” he told her, his certainty unwavering.

  “I thought we’d established the fact that you aren’t a seer. You can’t know the future.”

  “In this, I can. I do.” He sensed the truth in the deepest part of himself. Looking back, he realized he’d experienced a glimmer of her importance to him the moment their gazes first locked. “I’ve lost everything of importance to me. My parents. My sister. My innocence. For most of my life, vengeance has been my sole pleasure. Before you, sex wasn’t something I deemed essential. But you affected—affect me. The things you make me feel, every hour of every day, whether you’re with me or away from me...”

  Desire scraped him raw, even now. He ran his gaze over her, and his timbre dropped. “Your mind and body are most definitely essential.”

  Emotions spun inside her eyes, reminding him of the wheels on a cart, going around and around, delaying her reaction. As if she couldn’t know how to feel until the wheels stopped.

  He pressed his advantage. Confusion had opened a door; he needed only to slide in. “My affections are yours, Chantel. I will see to your every need and slay your every dragon.”

  Her eyes narrowed. She came to her feet with that awing grace. Leaning over, languid but intent, she gripped the sides of the table. “I don’t need you to slay my dragons, Kaysar.” Those mismatched eyes glittered as she displayed a cold smile. Vines unwound from her fingertips, slithering around his throat and squeezing—lifting him out of his chair. “I’m perfectly capable of killing anyone.”

  Savage arousal choked him as surely as her vines, and he shot as hard as stone. Want her. Need her.

  “In case it isn’t obvious,” she said, severe and pitiless, “I’m keeping the apprentice and the palace, but I’m declining your offer.”

  Perhaps he should modify his strategy? A small tweak, nothing more. “Allow me to stay and help you defend your palace against the coming attacks,” he said, slowly, gently wrapping his fingers around the stalks.

  Pressure eased. She retracted her vines and returned to her chair. Wineglass in hand, she reclined. “Go on. I’m listening.”

  He openly adjusted his erection, not trying to hide the action, and returned to his seat, as well. “Micah and his army want this palace back. They’ll return. As queen, you’ll be responsible for the defense of every person, door, window and trap. To achieve victory, you’ll require an army of your own filled with loyal soldiers—or a king able to fell thousands within seconds.” Because he had no moral compass, he added, “Think of Pearl Jean. Sugars. Guarding their lives will be a high priority for me. They’ll be my family, too. I’ll protect them with my life. No other king, teammate or lover will vow the same, and mean it.”

  A moment passed without the slightest hint of a reaction, both endless and agonizing for Kaysar. Then she swirled and swirled and swirled her wine, and he longed for the inactivity of yesteryear. What did the swirling mean? What would she say or do next?

  Finally, she spoke. “Micah and the bulk of his men are unable to hear your voice. How will you defeat them?”

  “No, sweetling. They were unable. The effects of the drug they used have since worn off.”

  “And if they use the drug again?”

  “I can sing to you.” Did she feel anything for him? She must. When she kissed him at the waterfall, she’d lost herself in the throes. Her body had clung to his, desperate for more.

&
nbsp; But what if she had changed her mind?

  He shifted in his seat, agitated by her stillness, his thoughts fragmenting. She must, she must, she must.

  “Stop that,” she snapped, and he jolted into focus. “I will not have my meal ruined with unnecessary bloodshed.”

  He realized he’d dug his claws into his arms and slashed. Blood trickled from the wounds. “My apologies for maiming myself at our table,” he said. “I find I am...uneasy about your unwillingness to respond to my gifts. Do you leave me in suspense to punish me? If so, I accept it as my due. But you must explain what I’ve done. I cannot guess your thoughts if—”

  “I’m not punishing you,” she interjected with a softer tone. “I need a moment to process, that’s all. Your last offer both intrigues and confuses me. You’ll remain in my palace and act as my family’s personal bodyguard. That, I understand. But what do I get in return for allowing you to do so?”

  Cunning seductress. So assured of her control. And oh, he liked her. Calm replaced his panic, tempering his posture. She did feel something for him. Otherwise, the treacherous beauty would be drilling a vine into his head right now.

  He told her honestly, “You will get a devoted lover who will pleasure you in every filthy way you desire, help you slay any enemy you wish and lay his heart at your feet, if ever you ask.”

  Her red lips parted. “You think repeated orgasms will bind me to your side. That I’ll do whatever you command, if only you keep me drunk with pleasure.”

  “I’m staking a lifetime of happiness on it.” Kaysar dropped his chin, the corners of his lips curling into a predatory smile. His glamara heated. Not enough to compel, just enough to singe. “The things I’m going to do to your body...”

  Beneath the fabric of her severe gown, her nipples drew tight—he watched it happen. When she wiggled in her seat to assuage her aches, he almost roared with triumph.

  She pulled at the stiff collar, softly asking, “What kind of things?”

  He held her gaze. Throat suddenly raw, he told her, “There is nothing I won’t do to you. If you have a desire, I will fulfill it.” Menace seeped into his tone. “I will do this. There will be no other for you.”

  Her features shuttered. With a flat tone, she told him, “There will be no other for you. For any reason, even vengeance.”

  “Agreed.” He couldn’t release the word fast enough. She was considering his offer because of jealousy. She nearly frothed at the mouth at the thought of him with another. She must! The queen of the Dusklands was delightfully possessive, refusing to share her male with another.

  Placing the glass at her mouth without tilting her head, she drained her wine. Closed her eyes. Drew and released a deep breath.

  He shook, wanting to push his advantage. But he didn’t do it. Somehow he found the strength to tell her, “There’s no need to provide me with an answer today.” As long as she deliberated, they stayed together.

  Her eyelids popped open, and he frowned. She appeared...disappointed. Had she hoped to bed him today—now?

  Perhaps he would push his advantage, after all. “Answer a single question for me, sweetling, and we’ll reserve this line of conversation for another day.”

  A stiff nod. “Very well. Ask.”

  “Are you wet?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  COOKIE WAS STRIPPED to the studs while still fully clothed. Kaysar had destroyed her with his heart-wrenching confessions and earnest promises. He craved her bad. The guy claimed to want forever with her, and he might even possess the stones to actually stick around.

  The problem, for Cookie, was his priorities. She’d been second, third and fourth choice all her life. Every forgotten birthday, broken promise and missed dinner had gutted her. To willingly sign on for a pre-ranked relationship—when you started off as the loser—was utter stupidity. The fact that she scored below his ideal of vengeance rankled.

  They hadn’t known each other long, but their chemistry was off the charts. Their connection more so. Maybe, over time, his priorities would shift. But maybe not. Yeah, probably not. There was no one more stubborn than Kaysar.

  And yet, despite every reason to bail, she remained seated, stewing. The problem had an obvious answer. Win him away from his vengeance. A battle of desires. Claim Kaysar’s heart in victory, and she would become first place.

  Before their negotiation began, she’d considered him a candidate for a temporary fling. Now? Some of her barriers were reduced to a pile of rubble, and she saw the truth. He was a coveted war prize. One kiss, and he’d become her drug and her dealer. She craved another hit of the good stuff—connection.

  Falling asleep in his arms every night. Waking beside him every morning. Conferring over battle plans. Dispensing their brand of justice throughout the land. Redecorating this castle and making a real home together. Their home. Yes!

  Could she win the Unhinged One, though? Did she want to try?

  Their courtship, for lack of a better word, wouldn’t be easy. Two hardheaded royals, each with a point to prove? Are you kidding me? Fights were a guarantee. Knock-down-and-drag-outs that were sexually charged to the max.

  And yes, she thought of herself as a fae royal now. No, it wasn’t a big deal.

  “I asked you a question, Chantel.” Kaysar reclined in a pose of total relaxation. Those whiskey irises told a different story. An epic fantasy of war and seduction. He was a warlord soon to demolish any obstacle in his path.

  The barest whimper escaped. She shifted in her seat. Reeling...steadying. As she locked gazes with him, she centered. He was right. There was no reason to agonize over this decision today. He wasn’t asking for a commitment right this second, only a chance to do those filthy things to her body.

  Why hadn’t she said yes already?

  Cookie flowed to her feet and strolled to his side, admitting, “You did ask me a question, Kaysar, and I desire to show you my answer.”

  His pupils consumed his irises, his aggression spiking. “Yes. You will show me. I will see.” With a violent sweep of his arm, he sent dishes clattering to the floor, food spilling here and there. Liquids gurgled. “I will see your answer now.”

  His urgency was kerosene to Cookie, her aches catching flame. Her tremors worsened as she gathered the hem of her skirt and eased upon the table’s edge, then swung a leg over Kaysar, placing her feet on the arms of his chair. Lace trim stretched over her thighs.

  With slow precision, he stroked his claws over his mouth and slid his gaze from her chest to her toes. On the way back, he lingered on the shadowed spot between her knees.

  “Show me.” A raw entreaty.

  Emboldened, Cookie widened her thighs bit by bit, forcing the skirt to lift, more and more light chasing the darkness away. Cool air kissed her feverish need. She groaned as Kaysar moaned.

  The most delicate vines budded, growing over her hands as she traced the pierced edge of his pointed ears. “Am I wet, Kaysar?”

  Appearing stunned, he shackled her ankles with a vise-grip and stared at her. “You are soaked. Pink and pretty. Beautiful.” His throaty tone thickened. “You are perfect. And I am undone.”

  He moved his gaze to hers. Never had she seen such ferocious determination. Eyes glittering, he released her...and rolled his shirtsleeves up to his forearms. Muscles bunched with each movement. Ligaments pulled.

  “Soon, Chantel, you will be undone, as well.”

  The carnal promise battered her remaining defenses. She panted for the massive erection pressed against his leathers, the scent of her poisonvine perfuming the air. He traced the cold tip of a claw against the underside of her knee, dragging it back and forth, back and forth. Not once did he cut her. His masterful control rendered her mindless.

  “Do you know what I’m going to do to you, sweetling?” He purred the words.

  “I do, darling.” She curled an emerald vine ar
ound one side of him, urging him to his feet. She used the same vine to glide upright. “Anything you want.”

  He heaved his next breath.

  He was bent over, hovering above her with his body cradled between her legs. The width of his hips kept her legs spread for him. His eyes were hungry, smoldering, their lips separated by a sliver of air. Lust torched her every thought.

  “I will,” he swore, white-knuckling the table edge. Longing ravaged his features. “I will do anything I want, and you will scream your satisfaction.”

  Yes. “Over and over and over and—”

  He slammed his mouth into hers. Cookie eagerly met the thrust of his tongue with a thrust of her own. His ferocity worked her into a frenzy, a series of mewls spilling from her. She kissed and licked and bit him with abandon, exactly as he kissed and licked and bit her.

  As her vines withered, she wound her arms around him, needing him closer. He palmed one of her breasts. Squeezed it and pinched her nipple through the dress. Exquisite pleasure constricted her lungs.

  “Getting wetter by the second,” she panted into his mouth.

  He kissed her harder, reaching up to cup her nape.

  Fevered and desperate, she whipped her hips, attempting to grind herself on his length. Yes! There. The friction she sought. She whipped her hips again and—Noooo! He’d drawn back.

  “Kaysar—”

  He yanked her closer, forcing her legs to spread wider as his shaft pressed flush against her core. Leather against flesh, and she gasped for more, tempted to beg for it. He didn’t grind against her, and she really, really needed him to grind against her.

  “Do you hunger for me, Chantel?” he demanded, slowly reclaiming his grip on her nape, winding the claw-tipped hand through a thick lock. He angled her head further and further back, until she teetered, forced to rely on him for balance. “Say it. Say, ‘I hunger for you, Kaysar.’”

  Did he need to hear the words? “Yes, Kaysar. I’m ravenous for you.”

  His intensity sharpened, beautiful in its brutality. Stripping her of more control. “My name on your ruby lips... I want to watch your beautiful face as I finger you deep. Would you like that, sweetling?”