The Pleasure Slave

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Imperia

"Close your eyes, Zirra." Instantly she obeyed. Firelight licked the lushness of her features. Freshly bathed, Romulis reclined against the corner wall. The marble slat was cool and seeped past the fibers of his silver Imperian robe. The coolness did nothing to damper his arousal. Zirra sat at the edge of her bed, her sheer white gown clinging to her every curve. Had there ever been a woman more alluring? She fairly hummed with mating heat. She radiated it, smelled of it, moved with it. He had lusted for her since the first moment he had seen her, and his desire for her had not lessened over the years. Nay, it had grown.

He had known instinctively that she was his chosen life-mate. Yet she always denied him. A lesser man might have given up long before now. Mayhap he should have admitted defeat. He liked to think he possessed too much pride to beg for her attentions.

But here he was. Here he was, willing to accept any scrap of tenderness she might offer. When she had summoned him, she'd interrupted his magic and talon practice, yet he eagerly dropped his sword and came to her, just because she had need of him. He'd hoped she meant to at last accept him. But she hadn't. Instead she had asked him to help find her former lover. The rage he had felt at that moment still beat within him. He yearned to cleave Tristan in two. At the very least, beat the warrior to a bloody mass.

Unable to do either of those things, he agreed to help Zirra find him. Because now she owed him—and he had every intention of collecting. Soon. Not yet, but soon.

"Are you peeking?" he asked her.

"Nay." She squeezed her eyelids so tightly little grooves formed at the edges. His voice was tight with irritation when she added, "Why will you not call him back?"

"Because his box will then belong to me, and I wish not to own him. Do you wish for me to own him?"

"Nay," she shouted vehemently. Then more calmly, "Nay." She paused. "If you owned him, you could gift the box to me."

"But I would not. I would cast the cursed thing into the nearest hearth and happily watch the man inside burn." Her eyelids popped open. "You would not dare—"

"Aye. I would. Now offer no more complaints, or I will leave you here on your own."

It was a threat neither of them believed, for he wanted her too severely. Needed to taste her too desperately.

And they both knew it. He would give her anything she asked, even another man, if only to know her passion just once.

I am a fool, he thought with disgust.

"Close your eyes," he demanded again. She did.

Guilt wound through him. He was disobeying his father, a man he respected, a man he admired. Still that did not dissuade him. As if an invisible cord tugged him, he strode to her. She sensed his nearness and tiny bumps rose on her flesh. Her scent drifted to his nostrils, magic and moonlight, and was so completely arousing he grit his teeth against the pain of wanting her. Unable to stop himself, he traced a fingertip over the curve of her ear, then tangled his hand in her hair. Her lips parted on a wispy catch of breath.

Dewy mist swirled from the sea, past the windows, kissing her cheeks and neck, dampening her hair and silky blue robe. She was beauty and strength epitomized, a woman who would appeal to any who looked upon her, yet there was something very vulnerable about her, something at the periphery of her smile. Insecurities, mayhap.

"Reach inside yourself," he whispered. "Find the source of your magic."

Her lips pursed as she concentrated. The fact that she did not hesitate sent another surge of anger through him, battling with his desire, mingling with his guilt. He wanted to hate Zirra, wanted again to hurt Tristan. How did such a man, who lacked any mystical powers, command such devotion from this sorceress?

Scowling, he dropped his hand to his side. "My father's spell did not destroy your powers. It merely covered them, like a blanket. Reach under the blanket."

"There," she said excitedly. "I can see what you mean." She clapped her hands, keeping her eyes tightly closed, and he suddenly sensed a charged energy enveloping her. "I have it. I have it!"

So lovely. So deadly. "Now open your mouth," he commanded roughly.

Her lashes fluttered open, casting shadows upon her cheeks. When she saw him, she gasped, startled. "Romulis?"

"Hold on to the source of your power and open your mouth," he commanded once more, his voice rough with the force of his desire.

Just as before, she obeyed.

He crushed his lips to hers, his tongue immediately pushing deep and hard. Her teeth scraped him. Greed and decadence were her flavors; heady, forbidden, and he did not want to like them, but he did. All too well.

She purred, a deep throaty sound. His powers swirled around them, blending with the mystic abilities she clasped in her mind. Arcs of energy charged and lit the air and hummed along their skin. He pressed his erection between her thighs. Her nails bit into his shoulders. He palmed her breasts in his hands, measuring their luscious weight. She ground herself against him, searching for completion. He groaned, a sound of victory and joy, because he felt her need and knew she wanted him.

"Oh, Tristan," she breathed.

Romulis jerked away. Enraged, he glared down at her, taking in the swollen redness of her lips, the dewy desire in her eyes. His chest rose and fell rapidly. How dare she say another's name while he kissed her. How dare she! He could withstand many things from this woman, but not that. Never that.

Her eyes widened when she realized what she'd done. "Romulis," she said, shaking. She even reached for him, but he shrugged her off. "Do not be angry with me. Please. I cannot succeed without your help."

She cared only about his anger and the fact that he might change his mind and not aid her cause. And still he wanted her. His fists clenched at his sides. "Angry?" he said with deceptive calm. "My emotions matter not. I gave you my vow, after all, so I will help you."

"You must understand. He is—"

"Silence."

She clamped her lips together.

"I find I must wash the taste of you from my mouth." With that, he whipped around and strode toward the entrance. "But I will return. Doubt it not."

Romulis did not approach her again until the four suns had set on the golden horizon. By that time, Zirra had regained authority over her emotions. She would not allow him to startle her again with his kisses. Kissing him had been a pleasant diversion, exciting even, and had somehow given her a sense of her deepest power, but Romulis was an uncontrollable force, one who sought to dominate all he encountered, and she would not allow herself to be conquered.

She did the conquering.

Tristan was proof of that. If only she could clasp her powers on her own, but nay. Once Romulis left her, she'd lost her tenuous grip on them.

The wispy white fabric hanging over the entrance to her chamber swished.

Frowning, she spun… and found herself facing him. Romulis dropped the door scarves and they fell behind him, enclosing him inside. A gentle sea-dewed breeze floated from the windows, whisking the hem of her white gown about her ankles, making her shiver. Surely her reaction had nothing to do with the prince.

"Let us get this over with," he said, his tone emotionless. Bored, mayhap.

She didn't offer another apology for calling out Tristan's name while Romulis kissed her. What did she care if his male pride was hurt? He had sworn to give his aid, and he would, no matter how she infuriated him.

"It certainly took you long enough to recall your vow," she told him, straightening her shoulders and giving a regal flick of her hair.

The corner of his left eye ticked ominously, and he took one threatening step toward her. His eyes glowed with barely suppressed rage. Then he stopped, collected himself and made his expression once more impassive. "Sit at the edge of the bed."

Ire pounded through her. The prince was just like his father, always issuing orders, always expecting total compliance. She deserved so much more. She deserved devotion and love, affection and respect—things Tristan gave her when she commanded him.

Watching Romulis, she moved with deliberate leisure, swaying her hips and exaggerating each motion. When she perched where he had commanded, she eased back on her elbows, pushing the roundness of her breasts against the sheer fabric of her gown.

"I am waiting," she said.

"Clasp your power in your mind."

Though she wanted to taunt him further, she closed her eyes, reached within herself and easily found the source of her mystic abilities, a source Percen could not bind. They swirled and churned, dark and dangerous, searching for an outlet.

Romulis came to her then and cupped her cheeks in his big, hard hands. "Repeat these words." He uttered a spell she'd never heard before, a spell of time and galaxies and hope. "Repeat them until you believe them, until they are a part of you."

She did, over and over chanting the spell, each time louder, more intense. Lances of her power sprang from her body and reverberated through the chamber. Bright rays of light bolted toward the arched ceiling like wings of an angel. She even added her own words to the spell. "Make Tristan's current guan ren hang from a tree. Destroy her."

"Say only what I tell you," Romulis commanded with a fury so intense she felt it all the way to her bones.

"Hang her from a tree. Destroy the woman and bring Tristan to this room," she said, uncaring she went against Romulis's orders. "Destroy her and bring Tristan to me."

I'm going to make love.

Julia smiled dreamily as she and Tristan held hands in the back of the cab. The warmth of his palm and the roughness of the calluses proved an amazing contrast, a contrast she wanted all over her body. She'd just spent the evening with this gorgeous, sensual man—who truly found her desirable, by the way—and now their date was going to experience the perfect ending.

Just imagining the skim of his hands up her calves, thighs, stomach; of his mouth sucking her nipples, caused something powerful and something wholly feminine to bloom within her. When the cab jerked to a stop, she and Tristan emerged. Almost immediately after she tossed the driver a twenty, exhaust fumes and gravel propelled around them.

Waving one hand in front of her nose and trying to subdue a fit of coughing, she searched for Tristan through the haze. Their gazes locked. His lips lifted in a slow, deliberate smile, and he reached out and clasped her palm in his once again. A shiver tingled up her arm, leaving a trail of delicious bumps.

"Are you ready to begin?" he asked.

Her knees almost buckled in eagerness. "Oh, yes."

"Then come."

He tugged her toward the house. They were just about to step up to the porch when the cement beneath her feet shifted. Suddenly her world was spinning out of control. She gasped. Tristan whipped around and tried to jerk her into his arms. But as they were spinning, they were falling farther apart.

Fear grinding inside her, she clawed her way to him, and he fought his way toward her. They met in the middle. She clasped him tight, afraid to release him. His grip on her nearly cut off her air supply.

"What's happening?" she cried. If he answered, she didn't hear him. Loud, piercing screeches erupted, like fingernails against a scratchy surface. She felt as if she were being sucked into a vacuum. A million twinkling stars whizzed past, so close she had only to reach out to grab one in her hand. Brilliant flashes of color filled her vision. Rays of pink, purple, green and blue. They twirled together, forming a kaleidoscope, spinning quickly. They had to stop spinning.

Tristan's grip on her tightened, and he held her as close as their bodies would allow. And then, as suddenly as the spinning began, it ended.

The ground hardened beneath her feet, once again a solid anchor. Her dizziness lasted for several prolonged moments, but when it passed, she opened her eyes and expelled a shocked puff of air.

"Where are we?" she asked softly, the words echoing around her.

Silver marble covered large, spacious walls, and some sort of smooth crystal provided a glistening floor. There was no furniture present, only empty space. No light fixtures, either, and yet the room was lit with a crown of brilliance. A large window claimed the farthest wall, and Julia released Tristan and strode to peek outside.

Confusion rocked her as a pink-and-purple skyline filled her vision. Dragonlike creatures soared through the air, their wings spanning an incredible length. Below, she drank in a view of a clear silver sea and white sand. Trees dripped with brilliant sapphire-and-emerald-colored fruit, and two golden moons decorated the night. A cool, damp breeze scented with sweet rain kissed her cheeks and ruffled strands of her hair.

Mouth agape, she spun. "Where are we?" she asked Tristan again. "And how did we get here?"

"We are in Imperia," he answered, his own shock dripping from each syllable. A flicker of joy lit his eyes. "I do not know how we arrived here, at this time, but I do not wish to question my good fate." His face now gleaming with immeasurable delight, he walked around the edges of the walls, his fingertips brushing each surface. "These are lamori gems. Watch." He caressed one of the stones, and the dull silver shimmered to life, glowing with vitality.

Unable to stop herself, she reached out and stroked the stone nearest her. No heat. Only cold and tangible reality. Yet a rosy light began to illuminate the inner sphere of the stone. Then the walls began to move, slowly at first, growing faster and faster, spinning like before, but shooting backward in a constant motion, its end never appearing. Panicked, Julia raced back into Tristan's arms. He held her close.

"Time," he said. "Time is reversing."

How many minutes passed while they stood, unable to do anything but watch, Julia didn't know. How was any of this happening? When everything calmed, she blinked in surprise. They were standing in the same room—the same room, but different. A large, delectable bed occupied the center, the sides draped by sheer white lace, the top covered with white furs. An elaborate vanity and a plush chaise longue filled a separate sitting area.

She scarcely dared to breathe as she returned her gaze to the bed.

She gasped, for the first time noticing that a woman reclined there, her delicate spill of black hair against the white silk sheets and perfect features giving her a beauty so real, so… alive, even Julia felt the force of it. A bronzed, muscled warrior stood beside her, his eyes glowing with barely suppressed rage. The man was scowling, the woman grinning. She jumped to her feet the moment she spied Tristan, her creamy gown floating around her ankles. She moved her mouth, yet no sound emerged.

"Zirra," Tristan spat, latching tightly on to Julia's waist and keeping her snug against him. In the next instant, the world around them began to spin again. More stars. More colors. Round and round they went, and her stomach clenched. When the spinning stopped for this third time, she faced a field of tall, flourishing trees. There were no houses, no cars, no electrical poles.

"We must wait for time to go forward once more," Tristan said, his breath a ripple against her cheek.

His body trembled slightly, she realized, fighting against her own trembling. Just how close had she come to losing him?

"He was here," Zirra cried, her joy all but bursting from her chest. "He was here!"

"That he was," Romulis offered, his tone a bit too happy for her liking.

"Where did he go?" Swift and sure, she searched her entire room, every nook, corner and hidden hollow. "Is he hiding?"

"Your power was not strong enough to hold him—not without his box in your hands. And so he journeyed back to his new world."

She screamed with her rage. "I must reclaim his box. I must. Teach me another spell."

"Think you my father would allow that? He spelled the box as surely as he cast Tristan away. The box cannot return here with magic alone. The cursed thing must be brought by someone's hand. All I told you I would do is bring him to you. I did not say how long he would stay."

"Bastard!" A screech of rage broke through her throat, and she whipped around and glared at this man who was supposed to help her. "Bastard."

"And yet you should have realized."

"Bastard," she snarled again.

"What has you more upset, Zirra? The fact that he disappeared? Or the fact that he looked happy with the other woman?"

"He belongs to me. Do you not understand? I am his master. I control him. If I cannot hold him here with my power, I will find another way. I will possess him again, Romulis. This I swear to you."

Julia stared at her house, which now towered in front of her, then looked up at Tristan, who still stood beside her. Finally the shock of what had happened dwindled away, and she experienced confusion and fear in full force.

"I don't understand what just happened. We were standing here, then we weren't, and now we are. How is that possible? How did we travel through time and galaxies and reach Imperia?"

Steel glinted in his eyes, making the violet seem like a whirlpool of deep purple liquid. "Zirra, the one who cursed me, tried to call me back."

Julia's mouth went dry. "But your box… I have your box."

"This I know. My guess is 'twas why we were returned here."

This isn't happening, she thought. She wasn't ready to lose Tristan. Not now, perhaps not ever, and the fact that she could lose him terrified her.

"Let's go inside," she said. She didn't want to stand out in the open, didn't want to be any more of a target than she needed to be. She wanted him within the walls of her house, the doors locked. But when she tried to move forward, he stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Did you not turn out the lights before we left?" he asked, frowning.

"Yes. Now hurry." Frown deepening, she allowed her fingers to curl around his, and she tugged him toward the door.

He planted his heels firmly in the ground, preventing her from moving another inch. "I believe someone has invaded your home."

Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she saw that light seeped from beneath the closed curtains of her front window. "Oh, my God."

"Get behind the bushes," he demanded, morphing into superhero mode.

His face was an angry mask of determination, his gaze cold and hard.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, her words broken. While Tristan was unbelievably strong, he was not impenetrable to bullet or knife wounds.

He didn't repeat himself, didn't reply. Instead, using gentle force, he pushed her behind the bushes. His fists clenched at his sides. "Remain there until I return."

Tristan unsheathed his daggers, one from the waist of his drocs, the other from the sheath he tied to his boot, and with a stealth born of years on the battlefield, moved into the house. Broken glass and leaves littered the floor. The talking cube was shattered, lying in tiny pieces across the floor. In the center of the room loomed a tall, thick tree, its branches sprouting in every direction.

Zirra, he thought, baring his teeth. 'Twas a part of her spell. He didn't understand why she'd wanted a tree in Julia's home, however. But there it was, leaving destruction in its wake.

Fists clenched, he silently and methodically searched every chamber in the house, ascertaining the damage, ducking under limbs. His fist grasped the hilts of his daggers so tightly his knuckles drained of color. So many things had been destroyed in the sorceress's magical rage.

If she were capable of this, what else could the sorceress do?

Tristan suddenly knew a fear greater than the anger spilling into his veins. Zirra hoped to win him back and hurt Julia in the process. And she had almost succeeded. Seeing her, knowing she wanted him still, caused all of his old resentments to rise to the surface. He'd been so happy at first, to stand inside the Druinn castle, to see his homeland. Yet all of his happiness had faded when he spied Zirra.

In the past, females had attempted to steal his box from his current guan ren. Some had succeeded; some had not. Those times of success, he had found himself sucked back inside his prison, awaiting a summons from his new mistress. He'd never minded, for one guan ren was the same as any other. With Julia, however… Ah, he would not allow himself to be taken. Not by Zirra. Not by anyone.

His arms trembled as he returned his weapons to their pouches and lifted a broken portrait of a young Julia standing next to an equally young Faith, this photo slightly different from the other he'd viewed. Julia's bright eyes smiled up at him with such innocence and trust.

"Oh, my God."

The soft, feminine voice had him whipping around, shoving branches out of his way. Julia stood in the doorway, her jaw slack, her eyes wide with shock and fear. "You were told to wait outside, woman."

"I was worried about you."

The words knifed through him, leaving a trail of guilt in their wake. Women lusted for him, but they certainly never worried for him. And yet, the one woman who did care, he had failed. He had been unable to protect her belongings. His hands shook as he set the portrait back onto the leafy floor. How did one man, one warrior, battle against a magic he could not see or touch?

"I am fine, Julia," he said. "Completely unharmed. Come and see." Never removing his eyes from her, he opened his arms and simply waited. With a broken moan, she raced to him and threw herself against him. Her fragrance, still so sweet and all her own, was now laced with fear—for him. "All will be well, little dragon."

Now that she knew he was unharmed, she began to break down.

"My house," she whispered raggedly. "My things. That tree!"

He continued to cradle her against him. It had been centuries since he had willingly comforted a woman, and it tore him up inside to do so now. He hated to see Julia so upset. He hated to see her tears, and he used his fingertip to gently wipe them away.

"Should I notify my insurance?" A humorless sound escaped her lips, and the sound tinkled like jagged bells grinding together. "What would I say?"

He gently led her to the couch.

"Sit," he told her, taking her hands in his. Her fingers were ice-cold, too cold. "Rest for a moment."

"I don't want to sit," she said, her voice hoarse. Wide-eyed, she looked around, trying to take in everything at once. Her beautiful paintings were in tatters from the branches. Her lovely emerald-and-sapphire chaise was a broken shell. Trembling, she said, "I know the box is here, but I need to see it, to hold it in my hands."

He sighed, hating that she would not accept his comfort yet, and released her. "I understand."

Lips tightly pressed together, she inched to the fallen faux plant that had once stood tall and shaded the bay window. She unscrewed the vacuous bottom. Upon seeing that his box still rested there, she released a relieved, battered breath and blinked up at him. "It's still here." She paused. "My computer!" Cheeks becoming even more pale, Julia shoved the box back into the planter, rescrewed the lid and leapt to her feet.

She raced from the living chamber, ducking limbs, and into her office, only to find equal devastation. All of her business files and account books were strewn across the floor, knocked over by the tree's long arms. Her computer was smashed. Her pretagged inventory damaged beyond repair. Horror wrapped around her.

She blinked back the sting of tears and felt Tristan draw near. He didn't utter a word. Staying behind her, he anchored his arms around her waist, tracing his palms over her stomach, stopping just under her breasts. His chin rested atop her head, and she felt the ripple of his breath against her hair. Almost completely broken inside, she welcomed his strength, his warmth. How could something like this have happened?

Numb with shock, she toppled to the cold wood floor.

"Julia," Tristan said, every nuance of concern in her name. Watching her, he sank beside her and curled himself around her, gathering her into the heat of his body. He stroked her hair, kissed the sensitive edge of her ear, all the while murmuring words of comfort.

"I don't understand this," she said, closing her eyes against the destruction.

"Some people let darkness fill their souls," he answered, locking one arm under her knees and supporting her back with the other. Then he stood, cradling her in the hollow of his embrace. He ducked his way to her bedroom. She didn't offer a single protest when he laid her down on the mattress and removed her skirt. After gathering the covers, from the floor, he tucked the soft material around her trembling frame, placed a soft kiss on her forehead and turned to leave.

"Tristan," she whispered, stopping him. "Where are you going?" The thick foliage offered a shadowy canopy.

"I wish to clear the mess."

"Will you stay with me tonight and hold me?"

"Aye, little dragon. Whatever you desire." The bed dipped as he eased in beside her and gathered her close, so close every hollow and curve of her body fit snuggly against him. His scent mingled with pine and surrounded her, familiar and so desperately needed. She breathed deeply. "I know not what I can say to end your torment," he whispered, "but somehow I will help you forget this happened. I swear it."

With his promise in her ears, she allowed herself to sink into the comforting clasp of darkness.