Heartless (Immortal Enemies 1)

Why would she let herself need a man? Nothing lasted forever.

Needing a distraction, she asked the first question to fill her head. “Are you a terrible king? The way those people ran...”

Tension invaded their little haven. “Finally, you show interest in me, and this is what you seek to learn?”

Finally? He’d wanted her to get personal? An unexpected wisp of pleasure unfurled. One wildly invasive interrogation, coming up.

“You’ve spent the day with me,” he said, grumbling a little. “What kind of king do you think I am?”

Easy answer. “Cunning. Expectant. Difficult. Complicated. Liberal with orders. Quick with complaints. Unafraid of consequences.” Everything he’d been with her. Perhaps a bit...mad at times, too.

More than once but less than a baker’s dozen, he’d sliced his own forearm to ribbons, leaving a blood trail a mile long. Sometimes he’d muttered, “Study the map,” over and over like a mantra.

“I am all of those things and more, so of course there is no better king in the realm.” He sounded prideful, and it was amazingly sexy.

If exhaustion hadn’t ruled her, she might have done something about that sexiness. But only might. Despite the other reasons to remain platonic, one-night stands weren’t her thing. Or however-long-night stands. She and Kaysar wouldn’t be together more than a few weeks. A month or two tops. Maybe? Probably?

She’d grown up hanging out online with much older gamers. Too often, they’d bragged about their conquests, all man is god, woman is whore. If they acknowledged the woman at all. Most they’d dismissed as unimportant. Forgettable. No, thanks. Cookie had wanted—still wanted—more. To be essential to someone. If only for a little while. Even if she didn’t let the other person become essential to her.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“Thousands of years.”

“Ah. That wonderful age when you start counting in adjectives. I believe you’ve reached what’s known as decrepit.”

“I am not decrepit.” His tone suggested he currently pursed his lips.

“Denial is the first sign that you are, in fact, decrepit.”

The cutest little puff of air left him. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-six very mature years.”

“Also known as infantile,” he said, and she chuckled. “Tell me how you spend your days in the mortal realm.”

“I play games.” She racked her mind for an understandable explanation, but her thoughts grew dim...dimmer. She began to drift off, even though she continued to fight. “Don’t want to sleep. Want to learn more about you...”

Her exhaustion won the war. A final thought wafted through her mind as darkness swallowed her whole. He might be a little necessary.

* * *

COOKIE SLEPT LIKE the dead. One second she knew nothing. The next she was blinking open her eyes, greeted by a wealth of sunshine. Groggy, she stretched under the covers. Had she ever been so wonderfully warm and pliant?

Ohhh. What is this? An ache here, an ache there. Arousal simmered inside her, a delicious heat unfurling between her legs. Well. Her mind might have shut off last night, but her body certainly hadn’t.

Perhaps she and Kaysar should—“Kaysar!” She jolted upright, fighting a sudden swell of panic. Where was her gorgeous guide? Because he wasn’t beside her. Or beneath her.

Her jaw dropped when she noticed the state of the room. Furniture was overturned and splintered. Fist-size holes littered the walls. Only the bed was safe. Had there been a battle she hadn’t heard? Or had he done this in a fit of rage?

Pearl Jean and Kaysar believed Cookie carried darkness within her. Looking at the devastation inside this room, she could say the same about King Kaysar.

So why wasn’t she afraid of him even now?

Without exhaustion coloring her thoughts and actions, the truth shone so brightly. The man hurt, and something inside her commanded, Soothe.

Her? When she couldn’t even soothe herself? Should she even try? Soon, they’d find a doormaker and say their goodbyes. Maybe. Hopefully. If not, she’d get herself home once she recharged. If she did. When she did.

She shuffled from the covers and padded to the bathroom, where she splashed her face and brushed her teeth. Despite last evening’s feast, she had no need to use a toilet. A wonderful and hopefully permanent development. Now that she considered it, she realized she hadn’t experienced an urge to go since her arrival.

As she reached for the leather pants Kaysar had left out for her, her reflection caught her attention. Her hair contained more brown than pink today. Her eyes were gray with green specks. Not exactly the attributes her parents had given her but closer.

Would she ever be plain ole Cookie again? Did she want to be?

Was she always meant to be a Cookie-Lulundria combination?

She tugged on the leathers and gave her reflection a final glance—whoa. Had her eyes changed color again? Leaning in, she tilted her head this way and that. From gray with specks of green to green with specks of gray again. But why? What had changed? All she had done was dress.