Heartless (Immortal Enemies 1)

Maybe, maybe not, but Cookie most certainly didn’t wish to know about it.

And yet? “Yes,” she croaked. “Will I crash and burn with Kaysar?”

Today’s trials, tomorrow’s strengths.

“Let me show you what he’s doing right now. Then, you tell me the answer to your question,” Amber said.

An image appeared in Cookie’s mind, there and gone, but she had no trouble memorizing every detail. Kaysar, prowling over scorched earth, smoke billowing all around him. Shadows cloaked his powerful form as he approached a patrolling soldier.

With a slash of his claws, the soldier died.

“I’m confused,” Cookie said. “Is that supposed to be a deal breaker for me?” She only wanted him more. That soldier had guarded Kaysar’s abuser. Meaning, not innocent.

The ground shook with enough force to impel Amber in her direction. They crashed together, and Cookie bounced back, her shepherd’s staff clattering to the floor. The oracle toppled.

“What’s happening?” she cried when the shaking intensified.

A large stone fell from the ceiling, hurling straight toward the seer. Cookie unleashed a wall of vines, protecting the other woman long enough for her to roll out of the way.

As her leaves withered, dust plumed the air, tickling her nose and throat. She coughed and coughed.

Amber coughed, too, and remained on the floor. “My inner vision is hazy but...I think an army of goblins has entered the palace. They’re out for our blood.”

Ghost goblins, like the ones in the game? Foreboding creeped down her spine as she tugged the oracle to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go kick butt.” Hopefully.

“What? No! We stay here, where we have an escape hatch if we’re found.”

Cookie struggled to make sense of her refusal. Escape? “I don’t think you understand. If we remain here, we can’t fight the creatures and defend my castle.” She pivoted, ready to run. “Let’s go.”

Amber latched on to her wrist, stopping her. “You don’t understand. You’ve never fought goblins, and I don’t yet see a path to victory.”

Her stomach turned. “Do you see a loss?”

“Maybe?” the oracle hedged.

Maybe wasn’t a guarantee. Good enough. “Sometimes you can’t see the end until you get to the middle.” A trick she’d learned sacking digital fortresses. “Imma go get in that middle.” No one took her stuff, especially not goblins.

“Wait,” Amber called as Cookie wrenched free and jogged off. “I see now,” the oracle continued, and she slowed. “Others lead the goblins...”

Another image flashed into her mind, there and gone. A picture of Micah, his skin smeared in red paint. No, covered in blood. Beside him was a smaller man, who was in no way, well, small. He was older, though, with silver-blond hair and a barrel chest. He looked like an older version of Jareth.

A Frostline, then. The Frostline, most likely. The one Kaysar hunted.

The Winter Court king Chantel longed to kill.

Had the two men escaped Kaysar’s wrath? Or something worse?

Fire blazed beneath her skin, and she raced for the exit.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

KAYSAR SULKED THROUGH Hador and Micah’s campground, enveloped by shadows, unseen as guards made their rounds and went about their evening. Irritation rode him hard. When had his vengeance become such a chore?

Again and again, his mind returned to Chantel—to his desperate longing. He continued to replay their last moments together and cringe.

Long ago, his father had kissed his mother goodbye anytime he’d journeyed to the Summer Court market for supplies. Though the trips had usually only lasted two weeks, they had embraced at length, clinging to each other as if they were to be forever parted. Always afterward, his mother had touched her lips repeatedly, seeking the comfort of a remembered kiss.

Kaysar had missed an incredible opportunity. He could have left his woman with his kiss.

Did she miss him, even a little?

He shoved his hand into his pocket and sifted her lock of hair between his fingers. He’d spent days away from her, his instinct to return slowly eroding his calm. She slips away. Can’t let her slip away.

He sensed trouble, and quickened his pace. Focus. Five minutes ago, he’d watched Hador and Micah enter a war tent set in the center of their campground. Surrounded by countless guards—Dusklanders in armor and Winter Court mercenaries in fur—the enclosure had few vulnerabilities.

No flittering had occurred, the ability limited to the area around the palace due to some kind of special rock Micah had used. And yet, Kaysar no longer believed the pair occupied the tent. None of the twelve silhouettes fit the exact measurements of his targets.

Yet how could the two kings have left the shelter? Unless Hador employed the same strategy Kaysar had once used against him—an underground tunnel.

There hadn’t been time to dig—except the two hundred years of Kaysar’s absence.

Kaysar cursed and launched into a sprint. Had Micah constructed tunnels throughout the land?

Anyone who stepped into his path, he rammed, clawed or stabbed, whatever proved necessary. He hurled his body through the entrance of the tent, the flap ripping. Quick scan. Twelve guards, no royals. He dispatched his foes quickly and searched—oh, yes, a tunnel.