Heartless

by Showalter, Gena

  “Yes!” Her heart thundered as her chest clenched. “Go deep.”

  “You’ll take me, won’t you?” Strain turned his words into glass shards. Massaging... “My beauty is soaked.”

  And almost levitating! “Kaysar!”

  Allowing no reprieve, he set his erection at her entrance and slammed home, filling her with a powerful shove.

  Ecstasy...broke. Another orgasm consumed her, wrenching another groan from her. The pleasure! The bliss and the rapture. Rolling on and on and on and on. But still she craved more.

  Leaning forward, he planted a fist in the mattress and settled his weight there, pumping into her. “I’m going to be in you every day. Every night for the rest of our lives.”

  His words drove her crazy. With his free arm, he reached around her to spear her clit between two fingers. As he pumped into her, he rubbed that little bundle of nerves, ratcheting her need higher.

  She thrust an arm forward, slapping her palm against the headboard, desperate to hang on to something before the tidal wave pulled her under. Too much pleasure or not enough? Far too much. And, and, and...so good, so good, so good.

  “More, Kaysar.”

  As her inner walls spasmed around his length, he rolled her hair in one hand, fisting it. With his other hand, he gripped her waist and wrenched her backward as he pounded forward. The entire bed shook. The entire palace might be quaking.

  He had her pinned to the mattress, her body under his complete control. The force of every slam vibrated through her entire being, sensitizing already sensitized nerve endings until everything acted as a stimulant. Cool sheets, hot touch. The sweet fog of satisfaction, lust and love. The music of their groans and husky breaths blending.

  He pressed a hand into the center of her back, pushing until her distended nipples brushed the sheets with every thrust. Gasping and moaning, she turned her head and caught sight of his reflection in a full-length mirror across the room.

  The tatted, screwed-up killer king possessed her without reservation. Bulging muscles flexed. Veins swelled. Sweat glistened as he snapped his hips again and again. Had she ever beheld a more sensual sight?

  He turned his head, and their reflections locked gazes. Just like that, her peak reached a new crescendo, and a scream barreled from her.

  Kaysar threw back his head, roaring as he came.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  KAYSAR LOVED CHANTEL for hours. His female made him insatiable.

  In between ferocious bouts of sexual fever and leisurely exploring, they whispered in the dark about everything and nothing. He soaked up knowledge about her, unable to learn fast enough.

  He’d called her “my precious” and she’d laughed with delight, saying, “I’m your precious? Well, I guess that makes you Gollum and me a powerful ring, so yes, I am your precious. Never call me anything else.”

  A rainstorm raged outside, blustering through the open balcony doors. Sheer white curtains billowed as dew caressed his skin.

  For the first time in his entire existence, he experienced complete contentment. A sensation as valuable as it had been elusive. Satisfaction had collected the burdens he’d carried for so long and removed them from his shoulders. He felt lighter than he’d ever expected or dreamed possible.

  He and his queen lay side by side, curled together. Fatigue clawed at him, but he refused to sleep. He never wanted this moment to end. Why would he? He had his mate, and they were going to be a family. The people she loved would adore him—he would make sure of it, forever pampering and protecting them.

  All really was well. But the word family continued to echo inside his head. A problem nipped at him. For a moment, he imagined little versions of Chantel running around, doing whatever they desired. An unexpected smile bloomed, incredible longing nearly rending him in two. He could sing the darlings lullabies each night.

  Except, her children belonged to the Frostlines. Unless he traded Viori’s vengeance for a family he didn’t deserve. He shook his head. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t.

  “Kaysar?” Chantel asked in the candlelit darkness, no doubt sensing his change in mood.

  Unwilling to sacrifice the perfection of this time with her, he hurried to distract himself. “Has your glamara recharged?” Was she able to open doorways yet?

  “Not yet. I think...well, I think it’s tied to my emotions. When I’m happy, I power up fast. When I’m furious, I get temporary bursts of power. When I’m...not happy or furious, I regress.”

  Guilt singed him. Her powers had weakened before the trial. Because of Kaysar. How unhappy had he made her lately? He needed to learn more about Chantel, so he could make her happy no matter what the situation warranted.

  “Tell me about your parents.” He smoothed a lock of hair from her cheek. “You once told me you had no desire to relive your childhood in your adulthood. Will you tell me what your childhood was like?”

  “My parents divorced—er, split up, which is what I plan to do with Jareth FYI. I mean, for your information. Anyway, Mom and Dad married other people when I was young. They started new families and seemed to forget about me. I got passed between them for a while, but never really fit with either.”

  Her sad smile made his chest hurt. “I won’t leave you again,” he vowed. “From now on, we’ll render each strike against the Frostlines together.” How dare anyone not focus their every waking and sleeping moment on this female? “I should have known you raised yourself.”

  “I—yes. I suppose I did.” She snuggled closer. “But why should you have known?”

  “Because you do everything well.”

  Her smile returned, but it still held a tinge of sadness. “What about your parents?”

  “They were pixiepetal farmers in the Summerlands. Hard workers who survived rather than thrived, and yet they were happy.”

  “So the most feared king in the land has humble beginnings, hmm, making him even more impressive than I previously believed.” She gave a husky chuckle at the prideful expression he couldn’t wipe from his face. “What are pixiepetals?”

  “Special flowers that bloom where pixies roost, used as medicine for the fae.” Kaysar tracked a smeared line of map along her upper arm. “My parents died of a plague when I was twelve. Viori was such a joyful child before that. But she blamed herself for their deaths. Her voice... It was like mine. Powerful. Compelling. She hoped to save our mother and father from the sickness, but she used the wrong tone and they deteriorated fast.”

  “Tone truly matters that much?”

  “Tone is everything. The vessel responsible for carrying the compulsion.”

  “I wish I could have known Viori. But. Um. Speaking of.” Chantel worried her bottom lip. “I have to confess something.”

  He went still, not daring to breathe. “You remembered more about Jareth?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Tell me. Whatever it is.” The suspense was more than he could bear.

  “Earlier, Amber showed me something,” she said. “Two somethings, actually. The day you lost Viori, and the day you killed Prince Lark.”

  Oh. “I’m glad.” Kaysar had no secrets from her. “I killed Prince Lark too soon. His death was too easy. I won’t make that same mistake with Hador. He’ll suffer for centuries more.”

  Chantel lightly scraped her nails through his beard stubble. “What if your sister is living an amazing life? What if she’s married with a million babies? Someone wonderful could have found her in the forest and protected her, the way you found and protected me.”

  Oh, how he wished. But... “Why hasn’t she approached me? Why can’t Eye see her?”

  She contemplated for a moment, sighed. “All right. Let’s travel down the road of worst-case scenario. Viori could have been discovered by a terrible person. She might have suffered and died in those woods.”

 
He squeezed his eyes closed, a hot tear escaping.

  His beautiful Chantel wasn’t done. She wiped the droplet with a trembling finger, saying, “You might never know the truth about what happened. For the rest of eternity, you’ll have to live with the mystery. It’s awful, it isn’t fair, but it’s your reality and there’s nothing you can do to change it. Despite that, your most amazing days can await you, if you’ll let them.”

  His eyelids popped open. He shuddered with his next breath, agonized...but comforted? “If I kill Hador at long last, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  Familiar panic. The moisture in his mouth drying. He darted his gaze as he struggled to breathe. “I can’t,” he croaked. “Don’t ask it of me.” Not ready to say goodbye.

  Another sad smile, a light in her eyes dying. “I won’t, love. I told you I wouldn’t ask for this, and I meant it. I never will. Not now, not ever.”

  His regret persisted and his foreboding resurged, but Chantel and her soothing won his focus. Bit by bit, his muscles softened.

  “Imagine your vengeance is satisfied,” she said, stroking his chest. Specifically the tattoo that prevented conception. “What will you do with yourself?”

  Longing returned, ravaging him. “I’ll have children with you. If you want them. We could be a family then.”

  Her breath hitched. “Oh, Kaysar.” Sobbing, she hurled herself into his body and pushed him to his back. She draped herself over him as tremors rocked her. Warm teardrops quickly soaked his chest.

  A riot erupted inside him. His heart thudded, his stomach turning over again and again. “Chantel? What is this?”

  “I love you so much, and I’m going to give you the most amazing life.” She squeezed him tight before sagging against him. “Just hold me, okay? I’m not ready for this moment to end.”

  That, he understood. Kaysar enfolded her in the strength of his arms. In the silence, his eyelids grew heavy. He fought to remain awake, but that wondrous contentment was spreading through him again, burrowing deeper.

  When he realized her heart beat in sync with his, he lost the battle.

  “Tomorrow is the start of a long, joyous life for you,” she told him softly. Her voice called to him. “Sleep now.”

  “For you, anything,” he said, the words slurred. As Kaysar fell into the abyss at last, he smiled.

  * * *

  I WILL SET him free.

  Cookie stole five minutes for herself. Three hundred seconds to savor Kaysar’s strength and warmth. Because she knew. By morning, his love for her would morph into hatred. A fact she’d accepted. Better his hatred than his continued misery.

  Kaysar craved a family of his own, but he couldn’t have it while Hador lived, and he wouldn’t want one with Cookie once she did what she planned. Or maybe he would? She didn’t know, but she suspected...not.

  Either way, she killed Hador today. For Kaysar.

  No longer would he be shackled to the past and his unending quest for vengeance. He could create his family with another woman. He could be happy. Cookie’s gift to him. That was how much she loved him.

  Tears welled anew, but she blinked them back. She must be strong. He craved an end to his torment, and she could give it to him. Easily. The only cost—her own happiness. Her future. He would hate her, at least for a while. But even still, he needed her to do this. Deep down, he must hope she would settle the matter. So she would.

  Fighting another round of tears, Cookie detangled from Kaysar at last. Naked, she strode into her closet, accompanied by flashes of lighting and the pitter-patter of rain.

  Kaysar slept on.

  She peered at the gown she’d avoided since its appearance in her closet. The white one with sharp angles. A weapon Kaysar had gifted to her. A way to help with this mission, as a part of him must have known. Not wedding apparel, after all, but a supervillain. The merciless assassin willing to do anything to avenge little Kaysar and Viori.

  The material cinched to Cookie’s body, adhering to every curve as if painted there. The sharp edges around the collar, shoulders and wrists fit her current temperament. Split sleeves provided peeks of her arms as she moved. Multiple slits in the skirt did the same for her legs. The hem pooled around her feet, reminding her of a snowdrift.

  A thick frost glazed her insides, leaving her icy cold—deadly—in all the best ways. She plaited her hair into war braids. Satisfied with her appearance, she gathered the elderseed she’d plucked from the potted plant and stashed it in her pocket. After flittering to the throne room, she collected the Winter king’s blood, stored inside a thorn.

  Jareth slept on the dais, but awoke before she could sneak away. He eased up and looked her over. Comprehension dawned, and he whistled. “You are the female he needs, but after tonight, you might not be the female he wants.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” She raised her chin. “When I return, I’ll free you from your bonds.” She wouldn’t ask—she would just do.

  “I don’t know if I wish to go,” he admitted.

  Ready to find and destroy Hador, she flittered to the hallway of treasures. As she passed the elaborate, full-length mirror, something strange happened to the glass, and she slowed. Stopped. Ripples blurred her reflection, raising her hackles. She readied her claws.

  The ripples halted, Micah’s image filling the mirror, staring back at her. “Hello, Chantel.”

  Far from relaxed, she nodded. “Micah.” He was more handsome up close, rugged and with hidden depths of intensity she’d missed before. But then, in Kaysar’s presence, all men paled in comparison. “How kind of you to stop by.”

  He tilted his handsome head to the side, studying her from head to toe. His expression revealed a grand total of zero thoughts. “You go to kill King Hador.” A flat statement, rather than a shocked question.

  Why deny it? “I do.” She quirked a brow. “Are you planning to stop me?”

  “I am not.”

  “Why accost me then?”

  “The Winter king expects you. He waits at our former campground with a hundred armed fae encircling him, each ready to die to protect him and execute you.”

  Suspicions rose. “And you’re telling me because...?”

  “If you succeed and Hador dies, as he deserves, then you become Kaysar’s greatest enemy.”

  Ahhh. Smart man. Micah doubted his ability to win against her and Kaysar. The dream team. But once Cookie and Kaysar were pitted against each other, their focus divided, Micah’s chances for reclaiming the Dusklands skyrocketed.

  “The whole of Astaria knows the person who kills the king of the Winter Court replaces him in Kaysar’s mind,” he said. “You will become a target for the Unhinged One’s wrath.”

  “I’m willing to risk it.” For Kaysar? Anything. “You and I will have our reckoning, Micah.” He wouldn’t stop, but neither would she. “Be aware. I won’t leave the palace outside of a body bag.”

  “Trust me, princess. I will ensure you leave the palace in a body bag.” He offered the threat with a shrug, and she smiled with chilled delight.

  “And he trash-talks, too.” She raked her gaze over him. “Are you single and possibly interested in an old crone with a few extra miles on her face and a wonderful sense of humor?” Pearl Jean might forget her plethora of diseases if she had a man of her own. “No, no. Don’t answer that. Unless you are, in fact, into old crones?”

  Blink, blink. “Are you always like this?”

  “You mean a motivated go-getter who does whatever it takes to finish the job? Yes. Thank you for noticing.”

  He frowned but said, “While you battle Hador, I will not attack you, the fortress or Kaysar. You have my word. Before you tell me the offer isn’t necessary, allow me to show you why it is.”

  His image vanished, replaced by another. In a valley between mountains, thousands upon thousands of trolls stood i
n formation, as still as the statues she’d placed in the throne room. Awaiting a command from their master, King Micah?

  Most of the trolls hit the seven-foot mark, though many were taller. Some had horns, others tusks. All had muscles stacked upon muscles.

  Cookie decided then and there to acquire an army of her own. Men and women from any court, of any species, willing to pledge their loyalty to her and fight for her kingdom and causes.

  Micah’s image reappeared, erasing the trolls. He offered her a smug grin. “The guards surrounding King Hador hold containers of stickysap. They have orders to douse you the moment you’re spotted.”

  Ugh. She remembered stickysap. The blood from the killer tree. The substance supposedly like a melding of quicksand and superglue.

  “If drenched in it, your vines will cease to grow, rooting you in place,” he explained. “I’d rather not have your focus divided yet.”

  She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. The king had tricks. Good to know.

  Her mission was a bit more complicated now, but change her mind? No. She’d have to be more careful, that was all. “Any other tips for me?” she asked, ready to get this show on the road.

  To her surprise, he nodded. “Avoid contact with Hador. He’s a drainer, and his glamara has strengthened over the centuries. With a brush of his fingertips, he can steal energy you are unwilling to concede.”

  Another complication, but still not a deal breaker. The thing about Cookie? She no longer feared obstacles. She wasn’t afraid to die for her cause. No, she welcomed the opportunity. A worthy sacrifice to punish the one who’d wronged Kaysar. “Thank you for the help, Micah. It’s not going to save your life if you attack, but it’s much appreciated.” In another life, they might have been friends.