“Well, that’s just great,” she huffed, resting her forehead against his sternum. A pose born of dejection or a need for comfort? “A mandatory cooldown for an ability I didn’t know I had and didn’t mean to use.”
Cooldown? Yes. He should cool down. Should flitter out of reach and escape the heat generating between their bodies and shed the awful, wonderful things she continued to make him feel.
He wrapped an arm around her instead, holding on tight. The pangs he’d experienced earlier must have caused some sort of residual damage in his chest. Left cracks. Something. Because some long-buried instinct resurrected, rising to the surface. Need...more of...her. Must protect...
She lifted her head, and he knew. She hadn’t been dejected; she’d sought comfort from him. From him. “Well. No matter,” she said. “One down doesn’t mean all down, right?”
“Obviously,” he said, having no idea what she’d meant. Kaysar could not stop himself. He traced two claw tips gently over her cheeks and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, careful not to nick her skin. “Which of Lulundria’s plethora of abilities have you exhibited?”
Eager, she jumped up and down a little. “How many is a plethora?”
“I’m not sure. More than a dozen, less than a throng?” New urges fought for dominance. To hear her babble more nonsense. To deepen her excitement. To knead her softest places and see her eyes glaze. To push her against a tree and tear off those skintight pants. Things he’d never fantasized about doing to others.
How was she affecting him like this?
“Every fae has a glamara, their strongest ability,” he explained. “But some also travel great distances in seconds or mesmerize with a glance. Others cast illusions. And on and on and on the list goes.”
“You are fae.” Chantel retained her clasp on his tunic and searched his eyes without reservation. Most people averted their gaze within seconds, unwilling to stare into the abyss. A shame, he used to think. He’d paid a high cost for the seething pools of hatred, and he enjoyed showing them off. Now? He thought he might be unnerved. “What can you do?”
“More than a plethora.” He cupped her cheeks. “Say you’ll come with me to my home. I’ll see to your protection, I swear it.”
Her good humor faded. “I’m sorry, Kaysar, but I want to return to my home as soon as possible.” She extracted herself from his hold, and he could do nothing but let her. “I’d love it if you helped me find another doormaker, though.”
Help her return to the mortal world? No. She would come to his palace. Where she could leave anytime she desired, once she learned to flitter. Which she could do, long before she recharged her glamara.
He stroked a claw over his arm, grazing his skin. Map. Sister. Calm. “The evil prince will hunt you. He might hunt you even now, Chantel. And he’ll find you. All royals employ seers. Those who peer into the past, present and future. But I can hide you from him and his seer. Let me. I was too late to protect Lulundria, but I’m not too late to protect you.”
His vow only bolstered her resistance. She shook her head, firm. “Fear won’t keep me from action. There’s no guarantee my glamara will ever fully recharge. I need a plan B.”
Laughably easy, Kaysar? “You no longer belong in your old world,” he cajoled. “Stay here. You’ll experience every comfort in my castle.”
Her shoulders squared, and her spine straightened. She elevated her chin as those forest-sunset eyes frosted over. “I don’t want to go to your castle—wait. Like, it’s a legit castle, with towers and dungeons and stuff? What defenses are—No. Don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. I’m going home. My best friend and cat are worried sick about me. Pearl Jean does not need another illness, and Sugars has... peculiarities. I will return to them. Nothing will stop me.”
“You’ll never find another doormaker.” He would make sure of it.
“Are you a seer?” she asked, a little too sweetly for his liking.
Because he knew where she was headed with her line of inquiry. “No,” he grated, resentful over the answer. Over her insight.
“Then you can’t know whether I will or won’t find a doormaker.”
He worked his jaw. She truly meant to leave him. “You won’t succeed without my aid,” he warned.
“Maybe, but I’m still going to try. Will you at least draw a map in the