searched for predators. The remaining five guards marched in a circle outside the others.
What to do, what to do? At certain points in the past, Kaysar could have taken Hador’s or Jareth’s head the way he’d taken Lark’s. He’d always refrained. What was his purpose, if not the misery of the Frostlines?
A plan quickly formed, and he grinned. Today, he took Princess Lulundria.
As quietly and swiftly as possible, he moved through the unit. First, he slit the throats of the males on patrol, easing their bodies to the ground with no one the wiser. Excitement building, he worked his way through the rest, getting creative. A cruel twist of his wrist here. A triple jab there. Each of the twenty died with a muted groan of shock. He only wished there’d been more guards.
He so enjoyed his work.
Kaysar wiped his bloody hands on the last victim and flittered closer to the water, where he sat. The couple swam in the grotto that teemed with lush green leaves and purple flowers. A lovers’ paradise. Moss-covered stones surrounded the pool, shimmers of pollen dancing on a gentle breeze. Incredible scents saturated the air: the sweetness of the blooms, the crispness of the sun, the freshness of the water.
“How much do you want me, husband?” Lulundria asked with a low tone, walking backward and tracing her fingers between her breasts.
She was certainly Jareth’s type: tall, slender, and as delicate as a cameo with her waterfall of pink curls, emerald eyes, and pale, sparkling skin. If Kaysar remembered correctly, her glamara involved plants, allowing her to cultivate an entire garden in minutes. Her people adored her gentle nature and kind heart. Something Kaysar might have developed himself, if not for the Frostlines.
“Well?” She eased onto the shore. “Have I stolen your thoughts?”
Jareth waded closer, into the shallow end, and offered her a heated grin. Lids heavy, he gripped the base of his shaft and stroked up, saying, “I want you this much.”
Princess Lulundria gave a throaty laugh, and Kaysar scowled. “If you get any bigger, my darling, you won’t be able to fit inside me.”
What right did Jareth have to enjoy a woman like this, after what he’d done to the servant girl?
Did the princess know her marriage to Prince Jareth placed her dead center in the Unhinged One’s crosshairs?
If she didn’t, she would.
“Oh, I’ll fit, all right.” When Jareth joined her on the shore, she molded her soft curves to his tattooed body. The towheaded warrior, and the pink-haired beauty. He wrapped his arms around her and nipped her bottom lip. “I’ll work it in nice and slow.”
And I’ll surprise you as soon as you reach the point of no return.
The besotted couple kissed. They stretched out on their pile of clothes, Jareth’s weapons beside them. Hands wandered, and moans rang out.
Kaysar had never enjoyed kissing or touching. He did it only when necessary, using the pleasure he doled as a weapon. He seduced married women from their husbands and learned secrets he couldn’t ferret out in other ways. He’d never understood the pleasure his conquests derived from his ministrations.
He raked his claws over his forearm, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Though he wished to study his latest map, he didn’t. He wouldn’t allow himself to lose track of his surroundings. There were decisions to make.
What should he do with Princess Lulundria once he had her ensconced in his palace? So many options appealed.
He could kill her, of course, causing Jareth untold grief. But grief tended to dull far too quickly. He could even seduce her and steal her affections from the prince, initiating centuries of humiliation and fury. That one never got old.
Emotion wasn’t something Kaysar compelled, however. Could he win a devoted princess from her adoring husband with his charm alone? The challenge intrigued him.
Who was he kidding? Challenge? He snorted. Yes, he could win her. He could win any woman of his choosing. None had the strength to resist his handsome face and powerful physique.
It was ironic, really. He inspired great lust in others, yet he himself had never experienced genuine passion. The torture he’d endured with Lark and Hador had caused a permanent disconnection between his mind and body. Few sensations registered as anything more than pressure, heat or cold. He’d never felt close to a lover, not the way others seemed to do. A fact he celebrated.
To Kaysar, sex would forever be a tool. He’d never wanted someone for reasons outside of vengeance, and he