Gena Showalter - Gena Showalter Bundle - The Stone Prince / The Pleasure Slave / Heart of the Dragon

“You thought wrong. His name is Jorlan, and he’s mine.”

Frances stared over at Jorlan with horror. “You don’t have to worry about me making a move on you. Men are the Black Plague of Death upon the Earth, so why would I want one?”

Jorlan frowned.

Katie just prayed Heather listened to her mother’s words of wisdom. “Well then,” she said, brushing her hands together. “I’m glad that’s settled.” She was just about to change the subject when Frances did it for her.

“I’ve got a joke for you. A husband looks at his wife and says, ‘I’m in the mood to try a new position tonight. Something I’ve never done before.’ The wife sends him a flirty eyelash flutter and says, ‘A new position sounds wonderful. You can stand by the ironing board and I’ll stretch out on the couch, drink beer and fart.’”

Everyone chuckled except for Jorlan, which was to be expected. Yet somehow, the expression tightening his features didn’t fit with simple male irritation. This seemed altogether more serious. Frown sharpening, he whipped out one of his “weapons” and scanned the surrounding area.

“I sense trouble,” he said.

Katie lost her smile. Her gaze jerked around the porch. “What’s wrong?”

With his palm gripping her forearm, he pulled her off to the side until they were alone, but his gaze never ceased its search. “A sorcerer is here.”

“Are you sure?” Katie didn’t feel anything, didn’t feel the faint stirring inside of her that she’d felt this morning. But she had to ask. “Is it Mon Graig?”

“Nay.”

“How do you—”

“’Tis a different kind of magic.” Jorlan drew in a long, deep breath. “I sense no immediate danger—but one must be careful when dealing with hidden powers.” With that, he deposited her back on the porch. Without another word, he slipped away and slowly circled the house.

“Was that a spatula?” Frances asked, her face drawn together with curiosity.

“Yes,” Katie answered as if it were perfectly normal for a giant of a man to wield a cooking utensil as though it was a lethal blade. “Yes, it was.”

PERCEN DE LOCKE GRINNED slowly.

At last, after a seemingly endless search, he had found Jorlan.

He had found Jorlan!

Of course, his brother was no longer stone, but flesh and blood. Percen’s first reaction to that fact was fury, but as he watched Jorlan interact with the mortal women, that anger melted away and his smile grew. Jorlan was free, but only for a time. The spell had not yet been broken completely. Its shackles were still wrapped tightly around his brother. How wondrous! Jorlan must be desperate for his savior’s love, knowing his deadline fast approached.

Percen wanted to dance upon the grassy plain, but could not, for his twisted leg prevented such an action. He wanted to laugh and shout his success to the world, but could not, for he wished to keep his identity hidden.

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