dirt before we separate, and point me to a safe town?”
A map. Yes. Automatically, he scraped his claws deeper, using the blood to craft a swift crimson outline of the surrounding miles. When he finished, he extended his arm to her without thinking.
She peered at his wounds, pensive. Horrified?
His cheeks heated as silence stretched between them. Even the pixies had gone quiet, no longer whispering in the trees. With a growl, he dropped his arm to his side.
“Wait. I wasn’t done memorizing.” She clasped his wrist and maneuvered his arm into a brighter beam of light. The cuts had already woven together, but the blood lines remained. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is the pond. This is the carnage we abandoned. Which means we’re here.” Her brow furrowed as she tapped a spot near his wrist. “This path seems to lead to a town, yes?”
She could read his blood-map? How was this possible? No one could read his blood-maps.
“Kaysar?” she prompted, peering up at him. A warm breeze twirled between them, swirling leaves and lifting a lock of pink hair.
She was too beautiful. Too soft. Too warm. Too singular. Kaysar bit his tongue until he tasted the metallic tinge of blood. “Even with a map, you won’t find a doormaker on your own. If you survive the forest itself, you might die at the hands of its inhabitants. You think the centaurs are bad? Wait until you meet ogres and trolls.”
“I have. They left me alone.”
Yes. Well. Of course they had. They’d sensed her connection to the Frostlines, and they’d heeded his rules. Not even a scratch on the royals. “Have you come across a goblin yet?”
She shuddered, as if she knew what horrors to expect from the ghostly fiends. “No, but I’m not calling off my hunt for a doormaker.”
Stubborn female. “Very well. I will accompany you.” He pieced together a new plan. Forget seduction at the castle. He would lead Chantel through the forest and into the Dusklands.
The journey would prove exhausting for her—because he would make it so, forcing her to rely on his knowledge and depend on his strength. Nights spent under the stars guaranteed she sought his body for warmth.
As soon as he got her in his arms, she would forget all thoughts of her former home. I will have my vengeance. All will be well.
“You’ll help me? Really?” she asked, suspicious. “For what price?”
Oh, they would discuss his price soon enough. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.” He looked her over with their coming travels in mind. “For now, you require shoes. And supplies.”
“And weapons of my own.”
This little dollop of strawberries and cream wished to wield weapons? When she quirked a brow in challenge, he merely replied, “Naturally. I will gather everything you need.”
“And the price for all of that?”
How much was she willing to pay?
He decided to push in the direction he wished to end and gauge her reaction. “Tell me, Chantel. Do you fear I’ll demand sex from you? Or do you hope I will?”
CHAPTER NINE
KAYSAR’S QUESTION HUNG in the air, a sultry caress against Cookie’s overheated skin. His whiskey eyes gleamed with some concentrated emotion. The need to kill her? To kiss her? Excitement or resentment? More anger than any person should be able to contain? Longing? Hope?
Insanity?
During their brief interaction, he’d displayed all of those things and more, weaving between the contradictory mess seamlessly. Sometimes, especially when he stroked those metal claws over his arms, he reminded her of a lost little boy...with dreams of burning the entire world to ash.
During those episodes, she actually felt a kinship with him. Weird, right? Proof she wasn’t quite there, maybe.
His voice was the vocal equivalent of kerosene, and his intensity a lit match. In a handful of minutes, he’d set her ablaze with a thousand different desires and fears. His every touch electrified her, as if she’d been preprogrammed to react to him. His scent drugged. The greedy way he watched her, as if he’d never observed a more fascinating creature, bolstered her confidence. I can survive this.
What’s more, she’d kind of enjoyed chatting with him, despite their ups and downs. He’d offered information she’d desperately sought, and every so often, he’d made her feel gloriously safe. Even—shockingly—normal.
Did he truly wish to help her?
“Look. Sex is one hundred percent off our table.” For starters, she had never used her body as payment for anything, and she wasn’t starting now, probably. Second, sleeping with someone you needed was stupid. He