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“Noooo,” the Viking shouted. “Do not hurt her.”
A stampede sounded behind her. Had her guards given chase?
A quick look back—argh! A hard weight slammed into her, throwing her face-first into the ground. For the second time that day, she ate a mouthful of dirt. Air exploded from her lungs, and stars winked over her eyes as the women dog-piled her.
“Lulu, please,” the Viking called, running over.
“That’s not my name,” Cookie grated, squirming and fighting. The rain helped, slickening her skin. Yes! Freedom. She came to her feet and sprinted off once more, barely dodging the Viking’s clasp.
Her tasks crystalized. Get to safety. Find Kaysar.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THIS MUST BE my origin story. A real-life hero quest or whatever.
Cookie hated hero quests. She mumbled under her breath as she tripped through the forest of pain. Her fight-or-flight response remained in high gear, whipping her blood into fuel. Not that it did her much good. The numerous gashes on her feet left trails of crimson for any would-be detective to follow.
She’d fled from the prince, her donor’s abusive ex, what? Twenty-four hours ago? A thousand years? He’d given chase. Because of course he had. Somehow, she’d managed to evade him throughout the night and survive the freezing wet. She’d even evaded him throughout the morning. Now afternoon sun streamed through a colorful canopy of leaves, spotlighting her every move.
How much longer could she go on? The rain she’d lamented, she now missed. So thirsty. She still hadn’t eaten, her empty stomach protesting. Her clothes had dried, but they were stiff and dirty. Itchy.
She’d lost count of the trolls and ogres she’d stumbled upon. They’d reacted like the others, snorting and pawing, ready to charge, only to let her pass without incident. With the exception of one. That particular ogre had barreled over and pinned her against a tree trunk, his beefy hands caging her in as he huffed and puffed his big, bad breath all over her face. But in the end, he, too, had let her pass. The whole lot of them had done the same thing to the evil prince. She’d doubled back a time or two, hoping to witness his comeuppance.
Why hadn’t Kaysar found her yet? Were fae males like humans? Had he already given up on Lulundria, the woman he supposedly craved? Well, good riddance. Cookie didn’t need him. No matter how much she’d once thought otherwise. She wasn’t the damsel in distress or the princess in need, as he believed. She had skills. Good ones. And she would remember what they were as soon as she unearthed a safe—semi-safe—halfway decent spot to rest.
Which direction to go? To the left, trees, bushes and flowers flourished, a breeding ground for pixies. To the right, shadows ghosted over gnarled limbs that were littered with thorns.
Left—anything could be poison. Right—those thorns probably sliced like razors.
“Lulundria?” the Viking called. He’d gotten closer. “Please, sweetheart. Kaysar will recover from his injuries any moment.”
The two had fought, and the Viking had won? Dang. That sucked for her. And Kaysar. If the Viking prince was strong enough to incapacitate the centaur slayer, the fiercest warrior she’d ever met, what kind of harm could he cause Cookie?
An image of his ice daggers flashed, and she shuddered. Rephrase. How much more harm would he cause her?
Despite protesting muscles, she quickened her pace. The thorns it is.
As she advanced, branches slapped her. A sharp rock sliced the bottom of her foot. She muffled a shout of pain with her hand. Sweat beaded on her skin, stinging every wound, but she didn’t slow.
Keep going, don’t stop. Breath sawed in and out of her mouth. She jumped over a procession of fireants, her knees nearly buckling when she landed. Halfway there...
A twig snapped somewhere behind her. Cookie chanced a glance over her shoulder, her gaze darting. He wasn’t within sight yet. A relief. But it was only a matter of time. A worry. She plowed ahead, pumping her arms faster. Harder. Blood rushed in her veins, her hands heating. Suddenly ivy budded from her fingers.
The vines slithered away from her, as before, but they didn’t go far, and they didn’t create a doorway. What the—Ever-thickening stalks coiled around her, knitting a cocoon of foliage, covering every part of her body and rooting her in place.
Her heart continued to race. How had she created her branchy, leafy prison without thought or practice?
As she fought to control her breathing, the leaves eased off her. The ones in front of her eyes parted, providing a slit for viewing. Forget breathing. The Viking materialized roughly fifteen feet away. Frantic, he searched high and low.
“Lulu? Please, sweetheart. I know you’re here. The trail has stopped.” He shoved branches out of his way and kicked rocks, closing in on Cookie... “I love you. I’ve missed you so much.”
Closer still... Tremors sped through her. When his attention shot her way, blood rushed to her ears, and she froze, even her racing heart seemed to stop. But he merely cringed and moved on, skirting around the vine to avoid contact and continue his hunt.
