every ounce of his restraint to resist her. He wasn’t sure how he managed it.
Noticing a tangle of thorny vines ahead, he acted without thought, lifting Chantel off her feet and dragging her to his chest, then urging her to nestle her face in the hollow of his neck.
Another missed opportunity for her discomfort. With his arms banded around her, offering protection, the thorns wouldn’t scratch her. Now it was too late to switch positions. He’d have to see to her suffering later.
“You should always carry me,” she muttered against his skin.
Always. Holding her tighter, he pressed through the mess, shielding as much of her as possible. When they came out the other side, reaching the waterfall at long last, he exhaled with relief.
“Behold.” He motioned to the waterfall with a tilt of his chin. “The doorway we seek. The dividing line between the Nightlands and the Dusklands.” His home away from home.
“Wow,” she said, gaping as she settled on her feet. “This is lovely.”
Ahead, a ten-foot cliff with glistening stones poured pink-tinged water into a pond with two sides separated by a rocky path. One side turned blue as the water crashed, while the other darkened to a rich purple. Pixies flew about, raining their sparkling dust in air perfumed with jasmine and lavender.
The rocky path cut through the center of the water, providing a walkable path to the waterfall.
Kaysar scanned the area, remaining on alert, as usual. Did he hear footfalls? “Stay here.” He bit out the command, hating to leave her. As soon as he did, she would find the rocks in the pack. Either she would deduce the truth or convince herself of a lie. Either way, she would react, and he’d have to deal with the fallout. Avoidable fallout. He had only to clean out the bag before he left.
His vengeance demanded he remove any obstacles. The truth was an obstacle. But...
His instinct. Protect...
Gnashing his teeth, he plunged his hand into his pocket to sift the lock of her hair between his fingers. Inhale. Exhale. He told her, “I’ll give you an hour to do whatever you’d like while I secure the perimeter.”
Then they would enter the Dusklands, whether she wished to or not, and her true misery would begin.
No excuses. No more wavering.
* * *
COOKIE SAID NOTHING as Kaysar flittered...somewhere else. Did he know he’d stroked her lock of hair as he’d spoken of leaving?
Developing an attachment to her? Oh, the very thrill of it. Until she recalled her newest dilemma. The tweaking of her personality, caused by clothing. So far, the ability tallied only two marks in the pro column. Potential for taking cosplay to a new level, and overriding negative emotions with positive ones through a simple wardrobe change. But both pros added a con, too. Overspending money she didn’t have on those cosplay outfits and encouraging emotionally unhealthy decisions she might regret later.
Kaysar liked this development, she could tell. Did he not like her personality without the tweaks?
Could no one accept her for her?
Sighing, she searched for a comfortable spot to unwind. There. A flat, dry rock next to the pond. A landmark she believed she recognized. In the game, there was a pond/waterfall doorway, too, and it led to a treacherous land brimming with traps and treasures. Were the two locations the same?
She lugged her satchel over and plopped down. Without Kaysar’s interference, she could finally examine her loot.
Trembling with anticipation, Cookie unfastened the bag and removed the item on top of the pile. A stunning emerald gown too sheer for hiking. Material crisscrossed over the breastical area for maximum cleavage, ensuring her navel would remain bare. What had Kaysar been thinking to grab this—uh, never mind. Men. Although, yes, it was perfect for cosplaying a concubine—or becoming one, if ever the urge struck—and it cost her zero dollars.
Okay. All right. Maybe the clothing ability wasn’t that bad. Cookie the Vixen might be able to do what Cookie the Jewel Collector hadn’t: win a kiss from a fae king. So badly she craved his mouth on hers.
What would Pearl Jean think of the man? Would Sugars hiss and scratch him, as he’d done to Nick?
Ugh. Why did it matter? Cookie and Kaysar were from two different worlds. They had no future. Not that anyone did.
She turned her attention to the second item from the bag. A pink dress with less material. The skirt appeared gossamer, as if paper-thin scarves had been sewn together, with slits here, there, everywhere. Love!