The Pleasure Slave

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

You Own Nothing, Not Even Your Own Happiness

Later, they found themselves in the backyard, a cool breeze dancing around them and muted rays of light fighting for evening dominance. Tristan's box was still locked inside the planter, where it would stay, giving them both a sense of relief and relaxation. They laughed, played tag and rolled atop a damp red hill. Because of the storm, the ground was soft and wet, and streaked them both with mud and raindrops.

Tristan made a great production out of removing the mud and twigs from Julia's hair as she struggled to contain her laughter. Each time she smiled, his own lips would stretch, unbidden, into a grin. He did not recall a time in his life when he'd been happier or more carefree than he was at this moment. Like children they were, so lighthearted and vibrant.

When their bodies ached from their antics, they settled on "lounge chairs," as Julia called them. Lying there in the cold and holding each other to stay warm, he shared memories of his mother and of the trouble in which he, a precocious and mischievous little toddler, had always found himself. Julia shared her favorite memories with her sister.

"Before my parents split up," she said, "I once found Faith's diary, copied the pages and taped them all over the house. I'm still not sure if she's forgiven me."

"Cruel, cruel Julia," he teased.

"I had to do something to make her suffer." Almost absently, she picked at the ivory buttons on his coat. "My sister had sneaked into my room the night before and cut off all my hair."

His fingers tangled in the thick mass, angling her head up to face his flashing eyes. "Such a travesty deserved a harsh punishment. You did well."

He captured her lips with his own then, a hungry kiss that filled his soul and melted his bones.

When Romulis appeared to Zirra again, he gripped a turquoise shard of the Kyi-en-Tra Crystal, the source of all their power. Smug secrets danced in the golden depths of his eyes as he angrily faced her.

"Think you Tristan is the only man who can meet your desires?" he growled.

"Aye," she answered, though a single doubt sprang to life inside her. She hastily tamped it down. "I do," she said with greater force, more for her own benefit than his.

He blinked, the action somehow highlighting the smugness in his eyes. "Even if I prove beyond a doubt that he hungers for another?"

Her stomach twisted at the thought, yet she had to know. "What have you found?"

"Watch," he commanded. "See."

He lifted the prism. With a few muttered words, multiple rays of color exploded toward the ceiling. Red, pink, blue, green, all brilliant and nearly blinding. They whirled together, colliding, mixing, and when they evaporated, she spied Tristan's image hovering in her air.

Zirra watched him and his guan ren play and laugh. Tristan tackled the woman to the ground, twisting in midair to take the brunt of the fall upon himself. The woman smiled up at Tristan. He returned the smile with one of his own, one filled with joy and affection. Then he kissed her hungrily.

Waves of emotion flooded Zirra, a sea of anger and fear, cresting with a relentless desperation so intense she wanted to shout You belong with me.

"I cast a spell to destroy that woman," she said through clenched teeth. "Why is she still alive?"

"Your magic was too weak to do much harm."

"But yours was not, and you helped me with the spell."

"Nay." He slowly shook his head. "I only helped you with your powers. I used none of my own."

Pure hatred filled her. For Romulis or the woman, she wasn't sure which.

"Kill the woman for me, Romulis. Kill her."

Lethal fury smoldered in his gaze, and he watched her for a prolonged moment.

"This is how you react? Do you not see these two are in love?"

"They are not in love, you fool," she spat. "Otherwise, his spell would be broken."

"Why can you not forget him?"

Her nails cut into her palm.

"I will forget him when I am dead, and no sooner."

"Mayhap that can be arranged," he said quietly, deceptively, and strode from the chamber.

Zirra spent the next hour agonizing over exactly how to acquire Tristan. She wanted his box, and to get it, she must first destroy his guan ren. But how? How did she accomplish those things when her magic continued to fail her? When Romulis continued to refuse her?

The answer lay in Romulis. He could not refuse her for long, for he had given her his vow. He must help her.

Scowling, she prowled through the empty, silent hallways, a meadow of arching walkways, sea-scented air and cool, midnight-colored marble flooring, a direct contrast to the alabaster columns that stretched to the high, high ceilings.

Because she did not acknowledge the lamori gems, they ignored her, enveloping her in darkness. But then, she did not need light; she knew the way. Knew all the palace residents slumbered peacefully in their beds. Because of their magic, they assumed no one possessed enough courage to stalk their hallowed halls. That complacency might one day be their downfall, she thought disgustedly.

Finally she reached Romulis's private passage. She did not bother to announce her presence. She brushed past the wispy sheers and stormed inside. She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening. Her breath burned in her chest as she drank in the image Romulis presented.

He lounged in his bathwater, head reclined against the rim, dark hair in disarray about his shoulders. How utterly masculine he was. How beautiful.

When he saw her, he unabashedly eased to his feet. Her gaze traveled the length of him, all golden muscle and virile hardness. Rivulets of water trickled down the ridges of his abdomen, pooled in his navel, then caught in the dark curls surrounding his growing cock. He smelled of elsment, an aphrodisiac to their people, and she tried to hold her breath against his allure.

"What do you here?" he demanded with a calmness that belied the luminance in his eyes. He stepped from the opal tub and toward the bed where his robe draped the bottom ledge.

Before he reached it, she closed the distance between them and gripped his shoulder. He spun around and faced her. Without a word, she pushed him backward until his knees hit the edge of his bed. And he let her. Though he possessed the physical strength to stop her, he allowed her the final push. He fell, naked, splayed atop the silkiness of the black furs.

Her legs suddenly felt heavy, and she wanted to sink into him. She fought past the urge and glared down at him. "You promised to help me. I demand that you do so."

"My vow was not offered with a time constraint. I will aid you when I decide, not a moment before."

"Arr!" she screeched. "You are worse than your father, always trying to thwart me."

"Why must everything be about you?" Romulis crossed his arms under his head, his expression still relaxed, almost impassive. "What if I collect your debt to me now? What if I demand you forget Tristan and pleasure me?"

"Have you no pride?" she said, the words somehow foul in her mouth. "You would welcome my touch while I imagine you to be another man?"

His nostrils flared and his lips strained over the whiteness of his teeth. "Leave. Now. You are a greater fool than I, and I find I am tired of dealing with you."

She stormed from the room. If she could not go to Tristan this night, she would just have to find a way to remind him of her ownership.