The Pleasure Slave (21 page)

The rest of the meal passed in a sexually charged silence as they each watched the other, each anticipating what came next. When their plates were taken away, Tristan ordered dessert, then leaned over the table and picked up their conversation as if it had never ceased. “Tell me about your childhood, little dragon. I know very little about your past.”

She set her napkin aside and regarded him. “What exactly do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“Hmm…well, I had a typical childhood, I guess. My parents split up when I was eight.”

When she didn’t continue, he said, “That tells me nothing. Give me the complete story.”

“The complete story. Okay. I don’t know why my parents had children. We were more a nuisance to them than anything. When they weren’t fighting with each other, they were fighting with us. During the divorce proceedings, they argued over who got custody of me
and Faith, though not the way you’d expect. Mom wanted us to go with Dad, and he wanted us to go with Mom. We ended up with my mom and never heard from my father again.”

There was no bitterness in her tone, only acceptance and regret. Tristan touched her knee, keeping the action gentle and reassuring. There was a vulnerability about her, a sadness that enveloped her and touched his heart—a heart he’d thought long dead.

“Tell me the rest,” he coaxed.

“There’s not much more to tell, really.” Tracing a circle around the rim of her glass, she said, “About five years after the breakup, my mom remarried. Her new husband was a salesman, not a very good one I might add, but he traveled a lot with his job. She liked to go with him. Faith and I spent weeks at a time alone. It’s a wonder child services didn’t take us away.”

As she spoke, he traced his fingertips over her knee, offering comfort for all she had endured. “Do you ever speak with your parents now?”

“Rarely.”

“I am sorry.” He wanted to wipe the painful memories from her mind, but also wanted to learn more about her. There would be time for forgetting later, when he filled her mind with passion and pleasure. Right now, he said, “Will you tell me about your first date?”

She did, her voice trembling with every word.

By the end of the story, fury raced a treacherous path through Tristan’s veins. Killing the boy who had hurt his woman wasn’t punishment enough. He wanted to tie
the idiot to an
hendrek
hill—naked, of course—letting the tiny creatures slowly eat him alive. Instead, he drew on his battle instincts and kept his emotions under tight restraint.

He didn’t have to scratch too far below the surface of her words to understand the anguish she had endured. Both her mother and father had rejected her. The first boy she showed interest in had rejected her. Now Julia simply expected rejection. That explained so much of her personality, and he sympathized, for he himself had endured many of the same rejections as a child.

The waiter deposited their dessert on the table then disappeared in a flurry. Tristan toyed with the stem of a plump red fruit. Were they alone, he would sweep the dewy softness along her silken skin and lick away the evidence. Since they were not, he pinched the fruit between his fingers and held it to Julia’s lips. “Open up.”

The pink tip of her tongue emerged, tasted, then devoured. “Mmm, that’s good. Thank you.”

He gulped.

“What about you?” she asked, unaware of the fire she continually stirred inside his body. She speared a small corner of the cake with her fork and brought it to her mouth. “What’s your life story?” Her teeth closed over the sugary confection.

He dragged his gaze from her luscious charms, across the wide expanse of the dance floor, to rest on the far window that paid homage to the night heavy with glowing stars. “This you do not want to know.”

“Yes, I do,” she said without pause. “Besides, you
owe me. I told you about my childhood. Now you have to tell me about yours. That’s only fair.”

Tristan had never shared this part of himself with another, not even Roake. But he refused to lie to Julia, or sweeten the details. She desired to know about him, and so he would tell her. “There were times when I was young that I wished my father did not want me. I never knew why, but I always knew he hated me.”

“Surely he didn’t
hate
you.”

“Then why did he give me these?” Tristan clasped her hand and placed it under his shirt, then guided her fingers to his back, to his scars.

“Tristan,” she whispered, horrified, not knowing what else to say.

“My scars did not appear by divine power, Julia,” Tristan said, his eyes fierce. “He hated me, and proved it every time he wielded the whip.”

“Oh, Tristan. I’m so sorry.” She wanted to put her mouth on every scar, to kiss and make them better while she flicked her tongue over one peak, then another. Temptation caressed insidious ribbons throughout her body as tears welled in her eyes. She allowed her fingertips one last stroke before removing them from his clothing and placing them in her lap. She imagined Tristan as a young boy, beaten, bruised and unloved. While her parents merely neglected her, his father had physically abused him. She ached for him, for what he’d lost and endured. “I’m so very, very sorry.”

“Do not cry for me, little dragon.” His anger and frustration for those years still ate at him at times, but
Julia’s compassion helped soothe the pain that lingered. “I did not always know hatred.” Smiling gently, he wiped the moisture from her eyes and the curve of her cheekbone. “I spent the first five years of my life with my mother. She adored me.”

“How did she die?” Julia asked softly.

“She did not.” His eyes darkened to steely gray, revealing secrets and pain. “Where I am from, warriors are looked to with respect and reverence. She was unmated, only a slave, and could not teach me the art of warfare. When the time came, she entrusted me into my father’s care so that I might acquire the proper training.”

“A five-year-old child training to be a warrior? Your childhood makes mine seem like a fairy tale.”

“Suffering comes in many forms. Do not discount your own.” He placed his napkin on the table, effectively ending that line of conversation. “Tell me why you have not arranged the upstairs chambers in your home.”

Her shoulders lifted in a delicate shrug, and she graciously accepted the change in topics. “When I bought the house, I imagined myself there with a husband and children. I wanted to make the upstairs a nursery, one room for a boy and one for a girl, but I haven’t yet because seeing them all fixed up and knowing I have no one to live there will hurt.” She paused. “That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

“Stupid? Nay.” Heartbreaking? Aye. For he could never give her the children she craved. And he suddenly longed to see her cradling his son or daughter in her arms. Ah, was there anything sweeter? He should never
have mentioned the room, and if she said one more word about them, he might offer her promises he could not keep. Might drop to his knees and swear at the heavens for all that he would never experience.

“What else do you dream about when you are alone?” he asked hoarsely. “What do you secretly crave?”

“Besides another cherry?” she asked, following his lead with a gentle smile.

“Aye. Besides that.” He pinched another fruit and placed it at the portal of her lips. Watching him, she chewed, swallowed. Her eyes widened when he leaned over and licked the remaining evidence from the corner of her mouth. “Well, what is your answer?”

“About what?” she asked breathlessly.

His nearness warmed her ear. “Your dreams.”

“I dream about what every other woman dreams about, I suppose. Finding my one, true love.”

“That much I already know.” Under the table, he stroked her knee. “Is there nothing else you desire right this moment?”

She hesitated only briefly, giving him the idea she was not truthful with her next words. “There’s nothing else I want.”

“Then I will just have to do everything in my power to change your mind, will I not?” He didn’t wait for her response. “Are you ready to go home?” he asked, the words
to begin your next lesson
hanging in the air unsaid.

This time, she didn’t hesitate with her answer. “Yes. I’m ready.”

Imperia

“C
LOSE 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.”

R
OMULIS 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 en
countered, 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.