Jareth hadn’t attempted to rise yet. He panted, “She isn’t yours.”
“She wasn’t.” Kaysar grinned with staggering satisfaction. “But she is now.” He would be securing her agreement posthaste. When in trouble, she’d turned to him.
“You’re a monster, and you’re going to ruin her. You know that, yes? Do you even care? She’s already poison—because of you.”
Ruin her? When he planned to give her the world? Kaysar laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I am merely what your family made me, Jareth. You know that, yes?” He resumed his journey to the mountains, done with the conversation. For once, he had something more important to do than torment a Frostline.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“TIME TO WAKE UP, sweetling. You’ve slept long enough, and we have much to discuss.”
The sexy voice roused Cookie from a deep, sublime sleep. “Just ten more minutes,” she muttered. “Fifteen if you have a heart.”
A heavy sigh greeted her words. “Once again, it seems I can deny you nothing. Sleep, then. And sleep well.” Sexy Voice hummed the most beautiful song, and she slipped into the darkness...
However long later, the barest shaft of light pierced the fog that encompassed her mind. She tried to blink open her eyes, but her lids remained glued shut. Oh, well. She rolled to her side, getting more comfortable. Huh. Her memory foam had amnesia.
“You’ve been sleeping for three days, Chantel. An endless eternity.” Sexy Voice had returned. The bed dipped, as if he stretched out beside her. “I have so much to tell you. So much has changed.” His tone effortlessly glided from firm to irritated.
She’d taken a three-day snooze?
“I insist you wake, Chantel. Micah has destroyed my playground. The goblins are missing, and the lack has encouraged people to move here. Willingly. He’s made the Dusklands habitable. The outrage of it all!” The bed shook, as if he’d shuddered. “I suppose there are a few welcome developments. I’m able to flitter in and out of the palace. Which I sacked. Jareth is my prisoner, of course.” A weighty pause left her suspended. What would he tell her next? “Do you hate me now? Do you hate yourself?”
I know him. Who... Lights switched on in her mind. Memories crystalized, and she let them. “Kaysar,” she breathed.
She recalled his betrayal. Learning about his tragic past and the Frostlines who’d held him captive. She remembered the sweetness of his lips. The elderseed. Unleashing her vines and—Whoa. Her body jerked, as if shocked by a live wire. She’d killed. She’d killed a lot. Now, Kaysar feared she blamed him, hated him, for encouraging her to do it?
Did she? She thought... No. How could she? Miss Murder Curious had enjoyed every minute and scream. Every death. And hate herself? No again. Anyone who endangered her or her loved ones—er, or rather, her companions, whoever they happened to be—earned a bad end. But...
A part of her feared what she was becoming. Because there was no going back. That, she knew.
Cool metal glided along her cheekbone, sending warm shivers cascading over her. “You don’t mean to tempt me to distraction, do you, sweetling? You just do.”
Sexy voice, sexy words—very sexy man. Lust welled, as if it had only waited on the sidelines. She longed to touch her dark king, to be touched by him, but she couldn’t open her eyes. Her lids were too heavy.
Though she fought, she failed. The fog in her mind only thickened, snuffing out the lights. All too soon, she drifted back to sleep...
However long later, Cookie’s eyelids popped open. She blinked into focus, lights switching on in her mind once again. How much time had passed since—“Kaysar!” She jolted upright, various candles flaming to life.
Heart like an anvil, she surveyed her surroundings. A spacious bedroom straight out of a fairy tale, with marble walls, wispy white curtains that draped a massive bay window with colorful stained glass, and elaborate gold furnishings. Across the way, a crackling hearth blazed with cerulean flames, seeming to burn sapphire bricks. The opulence shocked her.
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.