Heartless (Immortal Enemies 1)

More than the pixies, the land and the animals bore a wealth of similarities to Rhoswyn. In both locales, rabbits were stripped like zebras. Frogs had the most endearing cat whiskers. Most of the snakes she’d come across had possessed two heads. Foxes used their nine-point tails like a whip.

What if the designer of The Fog A.E. had visited this land?

Once, she’d caught sight of a cluster of ogres who’d looked just like a painting hanging in the game’s main HQ. Huge, furry and beastly, with tusks and a tail. They lived to kill invaders.

Cookie had braced for an attack as they’d snorted and stomped with boundless aggression. However, not a single ogre had ever even taken a step in her direction. As if she were marked with a shield of protection, the way avatars were often marked. For the right price, anyway.

Twice she’d passed an enclave of trolls. Big, muscled brutes with horns. In the game, they often beat and enslaved weary travelers. They, too, had exuded aggression at the sight of her. Like the ogres, they’d kept their hands to themselves.

What if her heart donor had come from this land? What if the organ had unlocked a door between the two worlds? It was an idea, anyway.

In the game, pixies coexisted alongside fae. Mystical beings with a variety of magical powers. Which explained her sudden ability to grow ivy beneath her skin, in the rich soil of her veins. Magic also explained her inability to halt her steps—she was being led by an invisible chain. Step. Step. Step. This way. Pivot. That way. Where would she end up?

What if Cookie’s donor had been...fae?

Everything had changed after the transplant. The way she’d healed with supernatural speed. Her total lack of scars. The Miracle Grow Rapunzel hair. Skin ivy. What she knew beyond a doubt: a new world meant new rules. If The Fog A.E. was based on this land, magic was the norm. She might be able to do more than vine harvesting or whatever.

And dang it, was someone following her? The unease returned.

Hand unsteady, she smoothed hair from her damp brow and glanced over her shoulder. A pixie hovered mere inches from her face. A pretty pink Thumbelina, who decided to perch on her shoulder.

Cookie’s nerves sharpened as the little beauty clasped her ear with a surprisingly strong grip and spoke directly into it. “Turn right.”

“I’m sorry, but my feet don’t want to go right.”

Thumbelina tugged on her lobe, shouting, “Turn. Right. Here. Human. Fool.”

She helps me? Was the current direction too dangerous for the “human fool?”

Adrenaline spiked. Gearing up to resist again, Cookie reached for a branch. Once again, her feet rebelled, continuing to march forward. She gritted her teeth and twisted, straining to grab a sturdier branch. That one right there. Almost...

White-hot pinpricks seared her skin as ivy budded from her forearms and hands. Vines uncoiled and propagated, wrapping around the tree’s trunk and jerking her to a stop. Except for her feet. Step, step, step. Going nowhere. To her great relief, the foliage proved stronger than the invisible chain and she remained in place.

Wait. Her ears twitched. Was that a rush of water? A whimper escaped.

Smacking her dry, chapped lips and envisioning a pool of fresh, delicious, amazing, wonderful water, Cookie used the stalks of ivy to push her body forward, despite the objections of her feet. The farther she ventured from the undesired path, the less her feet fought her mind. Soon, she no longer required the vines. When they withered, she remained on her current route.

I did it? I won? Branches grazed her cheeks, a pinprick of heat here, a pinprick of ice cold there, but she didn’t care anymore. Victory felt good, and water awaited.

Thumbelina flew ahead of her, disappearing in a wall of foliage. Cookie pushed through the tangle and stumbled into a clearing with a small, crystal-clear pond. Tears welled, blurring her vision as she waded into the water. Cool liquid engulfed her, easing the worst of her aches.

She ducked under the surface; on her way up, she swallowed drink after drink, moaning with delight. How clean it tasted. Cleaner than anything she’d ever consumed at home.

Return to me.

The husky voice echoed inside her mind, a remnant of that long-forgotten memory. A dream. Part of her heated, part of her chilled.

Though she would love to linger in the pond, she exited, lumbering to the shore. Time to find a town. Between one step and another, the flash of an image invaded her mind, arresting her. A man. Naked. A tall, pale-haired brute, with rough but handsome features and a crapton of tattoos. The sides of his head were shaved, the top locks long and thick. Very Viking-y and utterly delicious.

Sculpted muscle packed every inch of his powerful body. Golden skin glistened with moisture. He wore an expression of murder and malice as he faced off with another man, who stood in shadows.