piece of fruit plopping to the ground.
“Tell me I have more necklaces in the bag,” she beseeched. Ugh. What was wrong with her? She’d never reacted to anything this way. But the necklace... She wanted it back.
The curious look returned. He watched her intently as he announced, “You have a collection of necklaces in the bag.”
“I do? Really?” In that case... She squealed with happiness and swooped down to pick up the fruit. As soon as they found a safe spot to rest, she’d examine every jewel and figure out why she had a sudden hard-on for gemstones.
“You do know you’ll have to part with more jewelry to pay for your meal, yes?” Kaysar asked, never removing his gaze from her.
Hmm. Maybe she’d settle for a light snack. Like the fruit she’d already paid for.
Her mouth watered again, her taste buds reawakening. In a daze, she dusted off the smooth flesh and bit into the soft center. Warm sweetness ran down her throat, reminding her of piña colada.
Her eyelids slid shut. The worst of her hunger pangs eased, sparking an urgency to gorge.
“No,” Kaysar said, confiscating the fruit. “One bite, and you can keep a clear head. More, and you’ll become drunk. While I think I’ll enjoy an intoxicated Chantel—which I will experience—I’m unwilling to share the event with others.”
“Right. Clear head.” Very important during a mission. “So? What happens next?”
He narrowed his eyes as he sank his teeth into the fruit and...a whole new world appeared, as if they’d teleported to the edge of a Victorian Wild West, Fae Edition.
How amazing. They stood at the beginning of a cobblestone path; it extended before them, leading to dozens of shops, where vibrant murals adorned the outer walls and flowers grew from the roofs, spilling over the sides.
Different scents left her drooling. She thought she detected fresh baked bread. Spices. Meat? Her stomach pleaded for a feast.
Fae moved in varying directions at varying speeds. Some entered the shops, some exited. Hundreds of voices rang out, conversations blending together. The clothing styles differed as much as physical features. Different species wore different clothes, everything from warrior-chic to the peasant drab.
Envy hooked her and reeled her in. Spend more money at the outpost? Watch me. She’d go broke for a shower and clean clothes. Something made of leather, maybe.
She could acquire more jewels. A desire born from the depths of her being...or Lulundria’s? Did the other woman gain territory in Cookie’s mind, as well as her exterior?
The very idea repelled her.
At some point, you lost those you loved. One day, she would even lose Pearl Jean and Sugars. She refused to lose herself along the way.
As if he sensed her turmoil, Kaysar anchored a strong arm around her waist and tugged her closer. “You will stay by my side the entire time we are here. Do you understand?”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Currently without defenses, she snuggled into the big, hard body as comforting as it was maddening. Wait. Why had the shoppers and shopkeepers gone still and quiet, staring over at Cookie and Kaysar with something akin to horror?
“Um,” she said, growing uneasy. “Maybe we should go?”
Whispers rose from the masses, then shouts. “King Kaysar?”
“The Unhinged One invades!”
“Run!”
Unhinged One?
With those shouts, pandemonium reigned. Fae burst into motion, grabbing their things and flittering away, vanishing one by one. Others sprinted in the opposite direction.
Well. At least they hadn’t attacked. “You have a reputation, I see.”
“Perhaps I do,” he said, urging her forward faster than she wished to go. Not this again. “You would do well to remember their fear the next time you think to test me.”
“Is that a threat?” Why wasn’t she afraid?
“Merely an observation.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’ll kill me in cold blood?” Oops. A personal question.
He didn’t seem to mind, though. “Cold blood? I assure you, sweetling,” he said, with his first smile in forever. His steps slowed to a crawl. “My blood always boils white-hot.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WITH THE OUTPOST abandoned by shopkeepers and patrons alike, Kaysar procured the best room at the best inn, as well as any dish in the kitchen he and Chantel desired, without having to threaten, maim or murder anyone. A novel experience indeed.
His plan to keep his companion in abject misery until she called off her search for a doormaker had derailed. Temporarily. Letting her go hungry appealed less and less. Meanwhile, having to watch exhaustion settle deeper into her doll-like features bothered him more and more.
He didn’t know what to feel with Chantel. Which