Gena Showalter: The Pleasure Slave

"I will not rest until you've suffered a thousand deaths," she spat, then collapsed to her floor with a sharp cry of realization. She no longer owned him, and she could not curse him again now that his heart knew true love.

"Worry not. I will suffer forever," he replied, "for I am parted from the woman I love." How true those words were. His life was nothing without Julia.

He turned to leave Zirra sobbing, when a thunderous sound stopped him.

Percen, High Priest of the Druinn, appeared in a whirl of wind, resplendent in his royal robe of turquoise and scarlet cloth. The surge of power he brought with him almost knocked Tristan to the ground. He felt the High Priest's grip upon his arm and turned to face him.

"I wish words with you, Tristan. But first… " Percen released Tristan and pointed an accusatory finger at Zirra. "I must deal with you. You are a disgrace to our kind."

"Nay, I am the best of our kind," she snarled, jolting up.

"Keep talking. You are only increasing your punishment."

Gone went her haughty smile, her smug air. She looked petrified and snatched up her robe in an attempt to cover herself.

"What of Romulis? He aided me."

"Nay. He aided me by distracting you, and thought he could save you in the process."

"Percen—"

"I told you to leave this mortal alone. I told you the Fates would one day return him."

Tristan stared at the man who had hurtled him through the galaxies and felt… empty. He could not hate the man for having sent him to Julia, any more than he could despise Zirra, who felt love's arrow so fiercely in her heart. But all he wanted now was to return to Julia.

"Percen—"

Percen silenced Zirra with a wave of his hand.

"You will interfere in the lives of mortals no more. The Alliance is too important to our kind." He raised his hands in the air and uttered a spell very much like the pleasure slave spell Zirra had uttered over Tristan so long ago.

Zirra's eyes widened with horror as her body became transparent and then, like a whiff of smoke, blew into the very box Tristan had once occupied. Percen lifted the box.

"I'm giving you to the mortal Peter," he said, patting the lid. "I want you far away from my son. He was to keep you occupied," he muttered, "not fall in love with you. Mayhap some time away from you will show him the error of his ways."

Percen sighed, then looked to Tristan.

" 'Tis my hope Romulis will meet his true life-mate soon. Mayhap I will release Zirra later. For now, she must learn her proper place." He once again laid a hand on his shoulder. "I cast the world traveling spell because the time had not yet come to free you. Do you forgive me?"

"I understand and forgive." And he did.

"The Druinn will leave you in peace."

"Wait," Tristan rushed out. "I would first beg a favor from you."

Percen paused, his expression weary, then nodded.

"Ask."

"There is an otherworlder, Julia. I ask that you send me back to her."

He shook his head.

"Your place is here. The centuries you endured on other worlds have not yet passed here. To us, you have been gone only a few cycles. We are still adrift as the rebellion grows, and we are in need of leaders such as yourself to calm the angry waters of the people. I am sorry, Tristan, but you must stay here. It has already been prophesized that your firstborn will one day rule Imperia."

Tristan blinked, almost choking on a wave of longing. "My son will rule?"

"Your child will end the feud between our people. Permanently. Would you have this planet at war, simply to be with your woman?"

Part of him cried nay. Another part of him screamed aye.

"Bring Julia to me, then. She can give me this son, for I will not father a child with any other woman."

"What if she does not wish to come?"

He refused to ponder such an occurrence.

"She will come to me."

Percen sighed.

"Then I offer you this—if you spend the next season fighting the rebellion and still yearn for the otherworlder—and she wants to come to you—I will bring her to you."

Knowing he had no other option, Tristan gave a stiff nod.

Your Greatest Satisfaction Is Knowing You Pleased Your Master

"Julia," Faith said on a sigh. She sat beside Julia's bed, concerned. "Tristan left you. You can't mope here forever, neglecting your life and your business, praying for him to return. You have to move on. No man is worth this amount of suffering."

"You don't understand, Faithie," she replied softly. She'd known saying goodbye to him would be hard. Brutal, even. She'd thought she would be prepared. But this… this was the crudest torture, loving Tristan and living without him. He was everything to her; without him she had nothing.

She'd always thought of herself as content. But she'd never known true contentment before Tristan. Murky darkness filled her bedroom because the curtains were drawn and the lights were switched off.

She liked it this way. Here, she could remember; she could picture Tristan in her mind and could catch a hint of his lingering scent on the sheets and pretend that he really was here.

"Just go, Faith," she said.

She wanted to be alone with her memories. Maybe if she concentrated hard enough, he would appear. Don't cry , she commanded herself. Whatever you do, don't cry. Once you start, you'll never stop .

"I saw Peter yesterday," Faith said.

"I don't care."

"I don't know what happened to him, but he was glowing."

"I don't care," she said again.

Her sister remained undeterred.

"Refusing to leave your bed isn't going to help you. Thousands of women have been dumped all over the world. You have to pick yourself back up and prove you can live without him."

"He didn't dump me." She'd heard every word. Heard Tristan tell her to live her dreams, heard his unspoken vow of love. He'd left with Zirra to save her. Oh, how she ached for him, how she longed to tell him again of her own love. "He was forced."

Faith snorted. "That man was a mountain. No one could force him to do anything he didn't want to do."

"Yes, they could." Her voice almost imperceptible, she told Faith the entire story. Her sister didn't believe her, and she didn't have the strength to convince her.

She'd closed her shop this past week. She simply hadn't had the time or the energy to work. She needed Tristan, and her every waking moment was spent here at the house, in bed or on the computer, searching for information about magic and spells, something, anything to lead her to Imperia.

To Tristan.

So far, she'd found only emptiness and despair.

Remember me , he'd said, his voice sad.

"I miss him so much," she told her sister, and one lone tear slid down her cheek. That was all it took for the damn to break. She sobbed and shook with the force of her grief, all of her tears cascading down her cheeks, wetting her pillow.

Faith gentled a hand down her hair, held her tightly and cooed soft words of comfort.

But there was no comfort to be found.

Imperia

On the last day of his required season without Julia, the fine hairs on the back of Tristan's neck rose, warning him of a coming adversary. He sat atop his horned stag, darkness surrounding him and his men. They had already fought many battles, and he knew many more were to come. It was as if he had never left this place, his battle instincts were so sharp and attuned. Mayhap that was because he only wanted Julia in his arms, and was willing to do anything to get her here.

He knew his men wondered why he fought so hard, harder than ever before. He had told only his friend, Roake, who had agreed to fight at his side, giving his aid.