The Mad King (The Dark Kings #1)(70)

The white frosting looked delicious, but the cake was green. And not St. Patty’s Day dyed green either. No, this was sitting out on the counter, rotting from humidity green. She wrinkled her nose as the smell finally smacked her nostrils. Spoiled eggs and ten-day-old banana peels.

Her stomach soured. “You know, I’m not actually all that hungry.”

He rolled his eyes, popped his into his mouth, and before she had a moment to protest, he’d slid hers between her teeth. Reflex forced her to chew, her tongue bursting with the unexpected notes of strawberry cordial.

But the delicious buzz lasted only a second before Alice was slammed with vertigo. The bit of rotten cake revolted in her stomach. She reached out blindly, almost falling as the world slid sideways and her with it, like looking at fun house mirrors while the walls around her rolled and rolled. She screamed. A firm set of hands clamped onto her waist and then she could breathe, because he felt so real and immovable. Blessedly still. She gulped in air and clung like a baby monkey to its mother’s back.

“Breathe, Alice.” His hands petted her hair, calming the panic laying siege. After a second, trusting herself not to throw up, she opened her eyes.

Either the world had grown or she’d shrunk. Grass towered around them.

“Come.” He gripped her hand, and she allowed herself to be led, still feeling drunk and wobbly.

He wound a tight path through the emerald forest. Any other time she might have enjoyed it, looked around and absorbed it all. She was finally in Wonderland. But right now she was too tired to care and simply wanted to get to where they were going.

In the distance she spied a teapot with a twilight meadow scene on it. As they neared, she noticed at its center was painted a white cottage covered in thorny roses.

He walked up to the teapot. What exactly did he plan to do with that thing? Gah, she hoped that wasn’t his house. While fitting, she had zero desire to curl up on a cold ceramic floor.

Then he did a strange thing. Which was kind of stupid, because was the Hatter capable of doing ‘‘strange?’’ His name sort of implied the fact that he was as bizarre as seeing a man-sized white rabbit swearing at her.

He reached for the red door of the cottage, and his hand phased through the teapot like it was little more than a mirage. The door swung open.

She frowned and tapped the teapot, shocked at its solidness. He looked at her, and somehow she understood his intention.

“This is your home?” she asked.

“Yes.”

The way he acted, the apprehension in his gaze, she sensed this cost him a great deal. She wasn’t sure why, though she really shouldn’t care. He was a brute. Totally rude. And yet his hug and touch made her want to melt into a puddle of goo at his feet. Much easier to hate him when he was a jerk, and so much harder to do it when he wasn’t.

Damn her soft heart.

The cottage was quaint, the roof slightly sunken in, and the paint chipped off in a spot or two. The thing was in desperate need of work, and it was a wonder it still stood.

“Hmm. It’s... nice.” She didn’t want to lie, but really, it was pretty bad.

His lips twitched and, oh man, she forgot everything. His rudeness? Gone. His indifference? Gone too. All she could see was that smile. She was pathetic. Seriously crazy. If he’d been sullenly handsome before, now he was HOT to the nth degree. Her stomach flopped.

The painting stretched, bulged, and when he stepped through, it almost seemed to absorb him. He hadn’t released her hand. She didn’t have a moment to panic or think, disoriented the moment her foot slid through the door.

She was upside down. Or was that right side up? Hard to know for sure because the furniture and bookcases sat inches from her. But she clearly stood on the roof or, rather, a roof beam. The door they’d stepped through was definitely below her.

Maybe?

Then the world around them rolled like the display of a slot machine, and she plopped down on the floor, landing on her backside with a thud. She wasn’t moving, but felt like she was in the dizzying rush. When it finally stopped, she rubbed her butt.

He snorted.

“Don’t you laugh.” She wagged her finger.

Hatter pressed his lips together and mumbled something.

She narrowed her eyes. “What did you say?”

“I said...” And that was as far as he got before he started laughing.

She crossed her arms, but the longer he laughed, the harder she fought not to join him. Finally he held a hand out to her.

Grumbling, she took it and noticed the door was where it should be and the beams above her head. “That gonna happen again?”

His lips twitched. “No.”

“You know what, Hatter, I don’t think you’re as crazy as everyone else thinks you are. I think you’re a big fraud.” She tried to be stern, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.

Light danced in his expressive, suddenly warm brown eyes.

“Ah, I knew it.” She couldn’t resist teasing further.

He snorted. “I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.”

“And now it’s gone.” She rolled her eyes. “And just for the record, you might want to read something other than Poe. Incredibly depressing.”

He jerked, shocked. “You know Poe?”

She grinned, crossing her arms under her breasts, and experienced a momentary thrill of feminine delight when his eyes zoomed to her chest. “I know a great many things, Hatter. Like the fact you find my shirt fascinating.”