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Okay. All right. Maybe the clothing ability wasn’t that bad. Cookie the Vixen might be able to do what Cookie the Jewel Collector hadn’t: win a kiss from a fae king. So badly she craved his mouth on hers.
What would Pearl Jean think of the man? Would Sugars hiss and scratch him, as he’d done to Nick?
Ugh. Why did it matter? Cookie and Kaysar were from two different worlds. They had no future. Not that anyone did.
She turned her attention to the second item from the bag. A pink dress with less material. The skirt appeared gossamer, as if paper-thin scarves had been sewn together, with slits here, there, everywhere. Love!
Next she found a tunic and another pair of leathers. Ugh. Enough garments. Where was the good stuff? She dumped out the rest of the items. Maps. Toiletries. A flask with—she unscrewed the lid and sniffed. Oh, wow. Her eyes burned and watered. So dizzy. A flask with the most potent alcohol ever.
When her vision levelled, she resealed the container and stuffed it in her back pocket for safekeeping, then resumed her investigation. Another diamond choker. A double-looped ruby necklace. A plethora of rings with stones the size of walnuts. An emerald armband. Mine, mine, mine.
Oh! She found two daggers with bejeweled handles. A black brick of...tree bark? Rocks he’d collected on their hike? Thirteen, to be exact, each weighing a pound or more. But why had he added the rocks? A fae custom, maybe? Magic?
Her sixth sense—Lulundria—told her, No. The rocks served no purpose...except to weigh her down and wear her out.
The words echoed, her heart doing its you are on the right track leap. Suspicions whirred. Weigh down. Wear out. She remembered Kaysar’s reluctance to visit the outpost, to buy comforts she’d desperately needed. His outright denial of the outpost’s existence. Nothing we need here. His high price to flitter rather than walk. His suggestion that she never remember Lulundria’s memories. His hatred of Jareth...whom he considered Cookie’s husband. His war with the man.
Confusion gave way to anger. Had Kaysar kept her miserable on purpose? Had he made her miserable? How many times had he accidentally led her into a briar patch? The few times they’d stopped to rest, some kind of critter had attempted to bite her. Her. Not him. Every. Time. As if she’d been purposely led to the animal.
But why would he do this to her? Just to strike at the Viking prince? Or did he not wish to find a doormaker and simply wasted Cookie’s time until she capitulated to his demands and signed on for a temporary vacay in his palace? Because both explanations fit both sides of him.
Her nails sharpened into little claws, her own personal thorns. A shock as much as a delight. But why had Kaysar allowed her to discover the rocks? Had he forgotten them? Not likely. Did he think her too foolish to uncover his ill intent, once she’d rested?
Cookie zoomed her gaze to the lingerie—sorry, the gowns he’d provided. They offered no protection against sharp limbs or bugs. Or weather. Another method of controlling her?
He absolutely wanted her miserable.
She couldn’t believe she’d ever considered the possibility of sleeping with the prick.
She practically dislocated a shoulder as she tugged off the boots. “Pretend you desire me? Make me carry rocks? Fine.” She stood and stripped with more force than necessary. “I’ll make you desire me. You’ll be as hard as rock with no outlet,” she muttered with clenched teeth. The fool had given her an arsenal to use against him. Sexy clothes and scented lotions.
Cookie would take him to the brink and leave him there.
Motions clipped, she gathered her bundle of toiletries. A girl should look her best when she dished her payback.
In the water, she used the fancy soap, scrub and oil, the sweet perfumes complementing her unique scent. When she finished, she dried off and peered at the two gowns. Pink or green? If her outfits affected her personality, it mattered. She had a pretty decent mad going right now, and she refused—refused!—to cool off.
Justice would be served hot.
Her tasks aligned. Wind him up, let him down, and get the heck out of Dodge. After she’d made his body as uncomfortable as hers, she would snatch up her things and bail.
You couldn’t team up with someone you couldn’t trust.
With more and more similarities popping up between Astaria and Rhoswyn, Cookie could figure out the Dusklands terrain on her own, thank you.
Maybe you shouldn’t play with the killer’s affections?
Please. She still wasn’t afraid of him. In fact, there was no one else’s affections she’d rather play with. The idea of kissing Kaysar, of revving his engine and leaving him wanting more, excited her in ways she craved. Or Lulundria craved? How could she know? Did it even matter anymore?
