Cookie’s heart leaped with excitement, as if shocked to life for the very first time. Even without a glimpse of the second guy’s face, she responded to him?
He was as tall as the Viking, and equally muscled, with gorgeous, dusky skin. He wore a shirt and leather pants. Metal claws tipped his fingers. Who was he? Danger emanated from him.
In the memory, a woman with long pink hair hurled her body in front of the second man.
Another heart leap. The woman had long pink hair. Pink. Cookie instinctively reached for a lock of her own cotton candy tresses.
The Viking waved his hand, mist curling from his fingertips as thin shards of ice shot out. Those shards cut into the pink-haired woman, who cried out with anguish.
He’d attacked her? Cookie’s eyes narrowed. He will pay. Thanks to years of murder mysteries and true crime, she knew dozens of ways to get the job done. And hide the body afterward.
Groaning, the woman toppled to the ground—no, she was eased there by the second man. The dangerous one from the shadows.
As he moved, he entered a beam of light, providing Cookie with a glimpse of his features. Breath suddenly smoldered in her lungs. Tousled dark hair framed the most beautiful face ever created. He had thick, prominent brows and a proud nose, the perfect contrast for his soft lips. Deep amber irises reminded her of iced whiskey, framed by lashes long enough to curl. A strong jaw boasted layers of jet-black scruff.
He couldn’t be real, but there he stood, front and center in her mind, dressed in all black and loaded with weapons as if he’d stepped out of a video game. Besides the claws, she spotted a crossbow, two short swords and several daggers.
Bringing deadly back.
The image faded, and she frowned, again wondering who he was. And what about the killer Viking? The pink-haired girl?
Somewhere in the immediate area, a rustle of noise yanked Cookie from her thoughts. Someone or something approached, but were they friend or foe?
She dashed into a cluster of vines, similar to the strain she produced. The leaves were big enough to conceal—“Ahhhh!” A thorn ejected from a stalk and pierced her shoulder. Her limbs seized, rendered unworkable as pain rocketed through her.
She collapsed, unable to catch herself, and ate dirt. Though she fought internally, she couldn’t move outwardly.
“I told you she’d tire herself out soon enough,” a male bragged from somewhere nearby.
A moment later, a shadow fell over her. Horse hoofs stomped near her face.
Hard fingers gathered a handful of her hair and lifted her into the air. Panic owned her as she ran her gaze over her captor. A centaur? He had the torso of a man and the lower body of a horse. Thumbelina perched on his shoulder, smirking at Cookie.
I was set up?
Horror iced her, but rage seared her.
The centaur smiled, a cruel twisting of his lips. To others she couldn’t see, he called, “Our hunt is a success, boys. I caught our dinner.”
CHAPTER SIX
KAYSAR SWIPED A dagger from his dresser, his mood worse than usual. He turned on his heels to... He couldn’t recall. He’d probably planned to kill someone for daring to do something he didn’t like. But who? Oh, what did it matter? He huffed with irritation and tossed the weapon to the floor.
As he paced through his bedroom, his thoughts strayed to Princess Lulundria. His obsession. Where was she? Why hadn’t she returned to him? Had her injuries healed without the elderseed? They must have. He’d ordered her return, and she had no choice but to obey.
But why wasn’t she here? In his home. His bed. He should be tempting her beyond reason and cuckolding her husband in every way imaginable. Where, where?
Roaring, Kaysar swung his arm over the surface of the dresser. Jars flew to the floor. Glass shattered, clear liquid gushing out. The sharp, pungent scent of preservation fluid saturated the air, stinging his nostrils.
“Noooo!” What have I done? Each jar contained a tongue he’d cut from King Hador’s mouth. His most prized treasures. Now they rested on gold-veined marble, unprotected, as if they meant nothing to him.
He rushed to crouch and gather. Mine! He protected what was his. Always. Without exception. He must. If he didn’t, who would?
As he scrambled about, streams of red trickled from his palms, staining the floor as well as the tongues he held. He must have cut his fingers on the glass shards. Kaysar shrugged. Pain registered as vividly as pleasure—hardly at all.
“Eye,” he bellowed. Where was his seer? Shouldn’t she know what he wanted before he knew he wanted it? Right now, he required unbroken jars and preservation fluid. “Eye!”
A flurry of noise sounded behind his door. The seer rushed inside a moment later, holding out a single jar, liquid sloshing over the rim.