Heartless

by Showalter, Gena

  He’d never desired a female of his own. Now, he couldn’t imagine his life without her in it.

  A ragged bellow broke from him. Just get to her. All will be well.

  The second Kaysar moved into range of the mountain, the ability to flitter powered up. Between one step and the next, he entered the castle. A unique but familiar charge electrified the air, and an emotion he hadn’t experienced since childhood gripped him. Sheer, unadulterated terror.

  Goblins. Hundreds of them. Where?

  Where was Chantel?

  His thoughts sharpened. Claws at the ready. Dagger in hand. Kaysar flittered through the rooms. No sign of Chantel. No hint of goblins. Not that he could see them unless they embodied. And they would embody. Their only means of feeding.

  Goblins couldn’t possess royals with Kaysar’s power, his mystical superiority acting as a physical shield. Yet, despite his dominance, his glamara had little effect on the beings. Compelling one, much less an army of them, required time and toil.

  A brush of putrid cold against his cheek—there. Kaysar spun and slashed, his claws raking through a goblin’s throat as it materialized. The dagger finished the job; the body dropped with a thud. Thick black blood gurgled onto an elegant rug.

  Goblins remained interconnected with a hive mind. If one caught sight of you, all caught sight of you. Come and get me.

  As he waited, he surveyed his kill, his lip curling in disgust. A bag of rot and bones. It had pitted gray skin oozing with pus, razor-sharp teeth as big as sabers, and claws longer than his own. Unlike the others, this one had an oddly shaped patch of mold growing from the side of its skull. Four interconnected lines, creating a W. Or an M.

  A waft of stink—Kaysar twisted, slashing again. Thud. More cold. Twist, slash. Again. Then again.

  And so it begins. A cold stench enveloped him as the spirits crowded him. Usually he experienced glee as he warred. A temporary reprieve from internal struggles and obsessions. Today he sought the battle’s end.

  He flittered in and out, twisting and slashing as he reappeared. Frigid black blood splattered him as bodies toppled. Always he pushed forward, determined to find Chantel.

  As he turned a corner, the number of goblins increased substantially, the hallway arctic. Every breath misted in front of his face. With a snarl, Kaysar attacked. Slashing—without—pause.

  A vibrant green vine whooshed past him, snaring a goblin. Kaysar paused mid-battle, bathed in relief. Chantel lived! And she’d aided him, despite his abrupt abandonment.

  Because she is my partner. My...friend.

  Multiple vines snagged multiple goblins, popping off their heads as they embodied. As thick black blood spurted, Kaysar kicked into motion, slaughtering his way through the hallway. The emerald stalks propagated and attacked the goblins, but never turned on him.

  Chantel appeared at long last, and he staggered under the weight of his relief. He kept his gaze on her but a moment, fighting, fighting, fighting, yet the sight seared itself into his memory. Hair no longer black, but pink and split into two curling ponytails. A pink-and-white dress covered in bows, lace and blood molded to her torso but flared widely at the waist. The skirt reached just below her backside. Torn white leggings led to stained combat boots.

  Gut-punch. She opted not to wear the metal claws.

  No longer a team?

  She glared at him while wielding her vines, the embodiment of feminine pique. Silent, he worked his way to her side, killing any fiend who neared her.

  When he moved to buffer Chantel from an incoming strike, she lunged to safeguard him, putting herself in the line of fire. A goblin raked its claws across her collar, and she cried out.

  Fuel for his fury. Kaysar punched a hole in the offender’s throat and ripped out its spinal cord.

  “Amber told me she...saw no path to victory...” Chantel admitted between panting breaths. Her vines slowed as goblin venom weakened her. She would shake it off and heal. Any moment. “Think she might be...right.”

  Her injury wove back together at last, but her steps slowed. Without the elderseed, fatigue already set in.

  Kaysar doubled already doubled efforts. “We won’t lose.” Will cross any line... The glamara heated his throat. “You will survive.”

  A stronger stench came from his left—only a distraction. A goblin slammed into Chantel, knocking her to the floor with every intention of eating her there. Kaysar flittered and clasped the goblin by the nape—

  His fingers slipped free, slickened by the pus. A vine grew over Chantel’s face, the fiend biting into it. Relief. Another goblin glommed onto Kaysar, sinking its teeth into his shoulder and flinging him across the hall. Searing pain.

  He shook off both the goblin and the sting, fighting to reach his queen as other opponents piled onto her. Two by two, he tore them off and tossed them aside, minus an appendage. She clashed with the others, but the creatures were far taller and a hundred pounds heavier, pinning her down and gnawing through her vines.

  Goblins latched on to her arms and snapped her wrists to prevent her from pushing them away. Her hands dangled, useless, as she bowed her back, a scream of agony tearing from her. A scream that quickly deteriorated into a whimper.

  Pure. Undiluted. Rage.

  Kaysar fought as never before. Sharp pains erupted as more fiends swarmed him, scratching and biting. So many. More than he’d ever fought at once. He didn’t care. He fought without ceasing.

  Despite his skill and ferocity, he made no headway. I am...defeated?

  A pathway opened up as every goblin reared back, flattening itself against a wall, granting Kaysar an unobstructed view of Chantel. Pinned to the floor, clutching her broken hands to her chest and struggling for freedom as a smiling goblin loomed above her, staring at Kaysar.

  Denial, horror and terror converged.

  With a husky accent, the goblin proclaimed, “King Micah and King Hador paid a hefty cost to ensure your deaths. But I would have done it for free.”

  The others chortled and huffed in encouragement, urging him—their leader?—to end the Briar Rose at last.

  “Know this,” Kaysar snarled. “Her harm assures yours.”

  “No, Kaysar. Her harm assures yours.” The goblin reverted his gaze to Chantel, a long tongue unfolding from its mouth, licking over her cheek. “Fight if you want. I’ll like it.”

  As she craned her head away, Kaysar saw red, the total annihilation of the Dusklands certain. He geared to flitter. Except, where were her tears? Why did she smile, exuding rage rather than fear?

  “Scream if you want,” she purred, a split second before a sharp green vine exploded from the top of the goblin’s skull. “I’ll like it.”

  My queen.

  The remaining fiends lunged for her. Kaysar flittered over, stopping many but not all. “Chantel!”

  A sword came out of nowhere, cutting through the lot of them, ending the immediate threat to his queen. Eye stood at the other end of the blade.

  She’s overdue a reward.

  The rest of the goblins flickered in and out of view, as if unsure what to do upon their leader’s loss. Kaysar exploded into action. Flitter. Gently tug Chantel to her feet. Her bones had begun to heal. Flitter. Kill. Kill. Kill. Every death flamed a spark of gratification. He protected his female, as instinct demanded.

  Vines filled the hallway once more, a welcome sight as they cut through a cluster of fiends.

  “My apologies for the delay,” Eye said with another swing of her weapon. Two bodies slumped, both missing a head. “I had to cave in a maze of tunnels and traps where Hador and Micah had positioned an army of trolls. They were seconds away from breaching a trapdoor.”

  “Don’t care about that. How do I keep Chantel safe?” His primary concern. Though the level of danger had decreased substantially since the death of the leader. “Why didn’t you sense the atta
ck?”

  “You, a one-hundred-pound fluff of nothing, caved in a tunnel?” Chantel bellowed, squeezing a goblin with her vines until it popped. “How am I the only one confused by this statement?”

  “Upon my orders, she keeps a ready supply of forbidden weapons, artifacts and tomes.” He decapitated an opponent with a single strike. “To be employed when necessary.”

  Remaining mute, Chantel wielded her stalks, stopping two goblins from reaching him. She looked as if she had a thousand things to say, and none skewed in his favor.

  Her muteness eked on, his clenching chest unbearable. He dispatched the next goblin to move into his path. “If you won’t speak to me, sweetling, how can you tell me how wrong I’ve been?”

  She lifted her nose in the air, flowing with her vines.

  He swung his attention to Eye. “Well? I’ll hear an explanation for our lack of warning.”

  “Since your departure, my head has been filled with thousands of inane images, and I couldn’t sort through it all,” the oracle responded. “But the battle is all but won, majesty, the number of goblins finally dwindling.”

  “What of Jareth? Has he escaped?” Before Chantel, Kaysar would have rushed to the prince’s side first. He couldn’t regret his defense of his queen, though.

  “He’s alive and uninjured.” Grunting, Eye fended off a group of four. “His father made a deal with Micah, who made a deal with the goblins, who agreed to leave the prince and all servants unharmed during the raid.”

  “Amber, as my oracle I insist you charge a hefty fee before answering anyone’s questions about anything,” Chantel said, wielding her vines with lethal accuracy. “Only me, your sovereign queen, your favorite Little Bo Chantel, gets freebies. Starting today. This moment. By the way, I’m speaking to Amber and only to Amber. Anyone else in this hallway is receiving the silent treatment for crimes too numerous to list.”

  He stiffened as he made the next kill. Leaving without a proper goodbye might have been the most foolish thing he’d ever done. Females needed goodbyes.

  Kaysar had to fix this. Whatever punishment Chantel chose for him, he would gladly accept.

  “We will talk,” he told her. He could withstand anything but her silence. “After.”

  The wait would be excruciating.

  Eye swung and replied, “If I may offer a piece of advice, majesty—”

  “You may not,” he informed her sharply, adding another death to his tally.

  Goblins toppled, one after the other, but not swiftly enough for Kaysar’s liking.

  No longer trapped in a battle frenzy, he could better control his emotions and tone. Why not sing? Letting his throat heat, he released the first note of his song. Chantel’s eyelids dipped, going heavy.

  Eye scrunched her features, shoved her hands to her ears and collapsed.

  A thousand vines filled the hallway at once, impaling the remaining goblins. Fiends who writhed, gradually slowing. Stopping. Kaysar went quiet as the vines retracted and bodies fell.

  Chantel rubbed her hands together, then helped Eye to her feet. “And you couldn’t see my path to victory. Good thing I never doubted myself.”

  His shaft swelled with hot, blistering lust. Little Bo Chantel was battered, just as he was, but her eyes glowed bright silver. She’d loved the battle—but she no longer liked Kaysar.

  “Chantel. Briar Rose. I... You...” He wiped a drop of blood from his eyes, but smeared another with his wet hand. What could he say to make this better?

  “Well,” she said, pivoting, then looking over one shoulder to catch his gaze. “Allow me to give you a courtesy you didn’t grant me. Goodbye, Kaysar. I’m sure you can see yourself out of my castle.” Walking on, she called, “Someone had better clean up this mess.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  HIGH ON VICTORY and low on patience, Cookie shut herself in the master suite. Her bedroom. Hers. Kaysar had better not get any ideas about bunking up.

  Shaky from battle and emotionally wrung out, she stumbled into the bathroom to strip and shower.

  Her first IRL battle in her first IRL castle, and she’d won. Not easily, as evidenced by the blood that splattered her, but the best victories came with the greatest battles.

  She was thrilled. Overjoyed.

  Raw.

  Seeing Kaysar for the first time in days had been a wonderful, terrible shock. He’d blasted emotion left and right, ruining her concentration. When he’d shouted at the goblin leader, he’d looked so...broken. During battle, there’d been no one more ferocious. Or protective. Time and time again, he’d willingly taken a wound to shield her. There at the end, he’d gazed at her with such incredible longing that her defenses had cracked. Then, afterward, seeing his sexy face covered in the blood of their kills... The Uncrumbled...had crumbled.

  In that moment, she’d known two things. She was still in the running for top dog, and she would eventually forgive him for abandoning her.

  If she gave up after every faulty start, she’d never make it to a finish line. With Cookie and Kaysar, the battle for gold had only just begun. So, despite their current discord, she would march onward with him. After she’d yelled at him. After she’d calmed.

  Would he attempt to explain all the reasons she was wrong?

  She finished washing and drying, then slathered herself with the most amazing lotion. After donning a buttery soft robe embellished with hand-sewn roses, Cookie padded into the bedroom, ready to find her boyfriend and chat.

  She stopped short, her heart pounding. Seek and you shall find.

  He stood in the middle of her bedroom, shirtless, a fierce scowl projecting all kinds of fury. He’d showered, the blood washed away. His chin was jutted, his shoulders rolled back, and his arms anchored behind him. A battle stance. A pair of leathers hung low on his waist, a belt partially undone. Bare feet.

  Argument commencing in three...two...

  “I’m sorry,” he barked, as if he’d held on to the words too long. As if his lucidity clung by a thread. “I shouldn’t have left without kissing you goodbye. Without saying the word at least.”

  Well, he’d definitely taken a different approach than her past boyfriends.

  The outburst shocked her. But his misery shocked her more. “No, you shouldn’t have,” she said, deflating. So much for yelling at him. She sighed. His entire life revolved around war. Did she really want the same for their relationship? He deserved at least one safe space. Besides, Rome wasn’t conquered in a day. “You hurt me,” she admitted softly. She deserved a safe space, too.

  He flinched, true anguish contorting his expression. “I never wished to hurt you. Only to bring you smiles and laughter.” His gaze beseeched her. “Tell me you forgive me.”

  She didn’t tell him. “You endangered me, Kaysar.”

  He flinched harder. “That is my greatest sin, and I will never forgive myself.” Thrusting both of his arms forward, he presented her with a magnificent tiara made of sharp crystals. “This is for you. Your first crown as Queen of the Dusklands. A mere token of my great affections.”

  A bribe? “This changes nothing,” she griped, even as she tripped over to snatch her prize. She petted and admired the dazzling accessory before setting it on the nightstand. “Fine. It doesn’t hurt your cause, either. Consider yourself seventy percent, bordering on seventy-five percent forgiven. And for your information, I expect you to forgive yourself when I do, okay? That is nonnegotiable. No caveats.”

  He relaxed some. “How can I get to one hundred?”

  Letting all of her heartbreak glimmer in her eyes, she smiled sadly. “You do better next time. One minute, you claimed to want me, the next you cast me aside. You abandoned me, exactly as you abandoned these lands. You were my dream, until you became my nightmare.”

  He opened and closed his fists, determination hardening his muscles. “I will do better, I
swear it. You are my most precious treasure, and I’ll never abandon you again.”

  The headiness of his promise took her breath away. “Fine. You’re at ninety-five percent.” Most precious treasure? How could she deny this man anything? “Do you ever tire of the constant war? Or long to be free of your tie to the king?”

  “Never.” His vehemence...hurt.

  With their relationship hanging in the balance, she might as well be brutally honest with him. “I won’t ever be satisfied in second place. I’m not wired that way. When I play, I go for gold, always. That’s what I want with you. To give you my best. But I expect your best, too. I won’t accept a repeat of my childhood. Waiting and waiting for my turn to matter.”

  “You matter,” he burst out, taking a step toward her. “More than anyone else in the world, you matter to me.”

  Cookie pushed the hurt aside. “I’ll give you a chance to prove your feelings for me...while I try to prove my feelings to you.” She toyed with the sash of her robe, his hot gaze tracking every movement, driving her need for him higher. When her nipples drew tight, he sucked in air. Even that turned her on. “Would you like that?”

  “Would love that.”

  His intensity lured her closer...

  “Did you think of me while you hunted your foes?” Already humming with desire, she molded her body to his.

  “I thought of you constantly.” He gripped her waist, shackling her in place, then parted her legs with an insistent knee, ensuring her aching, empty core balanced on his thigh. He smoldered at her. “The moon rose and set, and I thought of your eyes. Every pink flower reminded me of your hair. The scent of poisonvine drove me mad.”

  Her pulse raced, the confession heady. She traced her nails over his stubbled jawline. When she reached a spot near his ear, she grew thorns and pierced his skin ever so slightly. Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You will not leave me so abruptly again.”

  His pupils exploded over his irises, lust sizzling in their depths. “I will not.”