go.” They would enter the Dusklands as originally planned. He would put his ear to the ground and seek a living doormaker he probably wouldn’t find. Chantel would be satisfied with his efforts. At least for a little while. He could use the time to learn her better. To win her affections.
“Very well.” From her perch on the ground, she gathered her belongings. As soon as she finished, he offered her a hand. With a sigh-worthy smile, she fluttered her fingers over his. “How kind of you. Ohhh. Look at us. So polite to each other. It’s like we’ve both become new people.”
Her softness. Her warmth. Struggling to rein in his sharpest desires, he tugged her to her feet. Guilt seared him when he anchored her satchel to his chest and the heavy weight strained his shoulder.
Disregard. They moved forward from now on, not backward.
Kaysar laced his fingers with hers, marveling at the differences between them. The smallness of her bone structure compared to the largeness of his. The paleness of her silken skin next to his darkness. The delicacy of her pink nails, with her black thorn claws retracted, pitted against the sharp metal tipping his.
The guilt conquered more territory, and he scowled.
As he squired her across the path that divided the pond, stepping from one mossy rock to another, she made the sweetest little noises. Blood continued to rush to his groin, his shaft nearly ripping free of his leathers.
“I’m surprised Jareth hasn’t found us yet,” she said.
“I expect your husband to—”
“Uh, he isn’t my husband, thank you very much. This perma-bachelorette isn’t getting hitched.”
“You are a Frostline. He is a Frostline.” Would she change her mind if she remembered Lulundria’s love for Jareth? The idea nearly stopped Kaysar cold. He didn’t like the thought of Chantel kissing and touching the prince. Ever.
“Wait.” She yanked her hand from his. “Are you in a relationship with someone? I mean, I know you aren’t married, but what about a girlfriend? A mistress? A harem?”
Did the thought leave her frothing with jealousy?
He grinned at the mere possibility and flittered behind her. Kaysar molded his body to hers, just the way he liked, crowding her. The instinct demanded it, and he obeyed.
As he slid his hands over her hipbones and clamped down, she held her breath. When he applied pressure, pressing her against him, she didn’t try to escape—no, she melted closer.
She loved her pleasure.
He nuzzled his cheek against hers, a gesture of affection and gratitude. Unstoppable. “I have no girlfriend. Nor do I maintain a stable of mistresses as Jareth does.” He rasped his words, delighting as goose bumps broke out over her arms. He would never choose to permanently bind his life to another. Become responsible for another’s well-being? Give the Frostlines something else to steal from him?
Though, he shouldn’t allow anyone, especially the Frostlines, to keep him from taking something he wanted, either. The incongruity would bother him tomorrow, after he’d secured Chantel.
“In the eyes of the fae,” he said, “you are wed to Jareth, which is why he hopes to take you from me.”
No one takes her from me! His rage blazed, ever at the ready.
A breathy puff of air suggested he squeezed her a little too tight—or that she enjoyed being squeezed a little too tight.
Just like that, intrigue overshadowed his anger. He nipped her earlobe, rewarded by the softest mewl. What would she do if he tilted her head back and sucked on her hammering pulse? If he slid his hands lower?
If he licked her skin. Kneaded her breasts. Tore off her clothes and—
“Well,” she said, clearing her throat. “You can let me go now.”
Do not shout a denial. She wasn’t like anyone else, and he couldn’t treat her as such.
Wait. Sounds in the distance. He canted his head, listening, honing in. Jareth had found their trail. Was about five minutes away.
Kaysar cursed. The Frostlines ruined everything.
“We’re about to have company, sweetling.” With a furious huff, he flittered in front of Chantel, clasped her hand once again and tugged her forward. “Come.”
“Jareth?”
“No doubt.”
As he stalked forward, she followed. At the other side of the pond, he navigated the slippery stones with ease. Cool mist dampened the air, reminding him of the first time he’d ever ventured here. He’d been a boy then. Only fifteen. He’d spent a fruitless year searching for his missing sister, then another year learning the various royal courts and preparing to conquer the wild Nightlands most other fae avoided, hoping to find