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They seemed to think so. They hushed in an instant.
Hinges squeaked when the door swung open. He regressed into the shadows, allowing the prisoners to spill from the cart. Until—with superfast reflexes, he snatched a woman by her garment, yanking her to his side.
“Your shoes,” he said, his voice as hard and cold as steel. “Give them to me.”
The tearful woman squeezed her eyes shut and nodded, bending down to unstrap her sandals.
Oh, no, no, no. “Stop,” Cookie shouted, rushing over. “Keep them.” Steal an innocent’s property to save herself? Big nope. Not outside of a video game, anyway.
The owner of the footwear paused, hopeful as she glanced from Cookie to Kaysar.
He met Cookie’s gaze. The rain picked up, washing away the evidence of his earlier battle. “The woman will give me the shoes or I will take them. Which is it to be?”
The prisoner ripped off her sandals as swiftly as possible.
Cookie forged ahead. “I will go barefoot if I must, Kaysar. I’m not accepting those shoes.”
“Accept them or I’ll—” He pressed his lips together. “You will accept them. No other option is available to you.”
Okay. He clearly operated under the misassumption that she’d cave to his demands, if only he fronted long enough. To make him understand the depths of her stubbornness and the strength of her determination, she was going to have to call his bluff. And actually follow through if necessary. Bring it. “If you force this, I’ll leave you at the first opportunity.”
“You dare to threaten me with your abandonment?” he demanded, his lethal side making another appearance. “Me?”
All right, then. Time for that follow-through. “Forget the sandals,” she said, and humphed. He needed to learn a valuable lesson. Screw with Cookie and lose. But man, she thought she might actually miss him. Not his sterling personality, but the connection she’d felt when he’d wrapped his arms around her. An elusive sensation she’d craved for years. “I’m leaving with the others.” Perhaps the better choice, regardless of his next response. “Goodbye again, Kaysar.”
Head high, she followed after the females he’d sprung from the cart. Maybe her would-be protector would do the kind thing and call her back, ready for a genuine bargain. Maybe he wouldn’t. There at the end, his thunderstruck expression had been satisfying. The undercurrent of his rage even more so, despite the danger.
Did she actually want him to call her back? He might not be stable.
Well, so what? She wasn’t known for her rationality, either. And dang it, Kaysar was the best option to protect her from hidden and not-so-hidden dangers—because he was her only option. How could she navigate the world without another blood-map? How would she know the difference between a doormaker and an ordinary fae without his help?
Wait. Were any of the escaped prisoners doormakers? “Hey, guys, wait up,” she called, kicking into a jog, moving farther and farther from Kaysar—who didn’t call her back. The rain lightened at least.
No one waited up. They disappeared beyond a line of trees.
Still no callback. Whatever. She and Kaysar were parting. No big deal. Most people opted not to hang out with her at some point or another. Apparently, she was “abrasive.” Pearl Jean and Sugars were the only stickers. The pair she’d been unable “to unconsciously drive away,” as her therapist once said.
This was for the best, anyway. Why team up with a domineering, commanding male who might snap at any moment? Surely someone would let her tag along, ask questions and—
“Stop,” Kaysar bellowed, power crackling in his voice.
Oh, thank goodness. Cookie’s feet froze while her heart raced faster. Any woman still visible froze, too, as if too frightened to move.
“Return to me,” he commanded. “All of you. I agree to your terms, Chantel. I’ll fetch you another pair of shoes.”
He would? Shock hit her first, nearly knocking her on her butt. She’d won their private war?
“I believe I issued an order to the rest of you.” He bellowed again, but the crackle was missing, replaced by impatience. “Why is no one standing at my side? Shall I start hunting?”
In unison, the women raced for Kaysar, many exiting the line of trees. Wow. He spoke and everyone obeyed, as if the price of disobedience was too high.
Was it too high? Would he actually stoop to harming the women if they refused him? Cookie enjoyed a bloodbath as much as the next person, but come on! These prisoners had done nothing wrong.
As the ladies passed her, one muttered, “He’s king of the Nightlands and ruler of the Dusklands. Do what he says or die.”
Wait. He was an honest-to-goodness king, with a crown and a throne? He had mentioned owning a castle and claimed to own the land. His master-of-all-I-survey attitude certainly fit. But why leave out his title when he’d introduced himself?
As a king, he had more resources at his disposal than the average fae. He definitely had more power. What doormaker would have the stones to refuse his bidding, if ordered to help her?
