The Pleasure Slave (27 page)

J
ULIA ZIPPED
along the highway. She and Tristan were almost home, almost in bed. She patted her purse, sighing contentedly when she felt the comforting bulge of the jewelry box.

She glanced over at Tristan, and her relaxed mood vanished. His eyes were closed, and his skin was unusually pale. Sweat beaded on his brow. At the corners, his lips were tinged with blue.

“Tristan?” she said, alternating her attention between the road ahead of her and the man beside her.

He didn’t respond.

Her stomach knotted with fear. “Tristan?” She yelled his name this time, and the sound echoed throughout the sedan. She punctuated the word with a shake of his thigh. “Tristan!”

T
RISTAN WAS LOST
in a world of darkness and light, one or both, he couldn’t decide. He only knew his body burned, an inferno of flicking flames. He was
trapped in some sort of prison, lying on the cold, hard ground.

Suddenly Zirra was straddled over his body, cruelly using him to gain her pleasure, yet denying him his own. He was almost glad he was to be denied release, for even while he prayed for it, he despised himself for giving her any part of him.

Nay,
his mind shouted.
This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. Fight it.

“Do you see how I control you?” she said huskily. “Do you see?”

“Aye.”

“I know you like this. I know you like me. How can you not?”

His jaw locked mutinously.

“Say it,” she demanded. “Tell me how you’re glad of my domination.”

“I am glad.” The lie tripped from his lips by force because the spell dictated that he please her, and his admission would surely please her, though he tried desperately to hold back the words. Zirra did not deserve such an avowal, untruth or not. She deserved only words of hate.

“What a good little slave you are,” she praised, raking her nails down his chest, not as a lover would, but as a master does to someone unworthy of tenderness. “Now tell me how much you love me.”

“I love you,” he growled, adding silently,
I loathe you.

“Liar,” she snarled, baring her teeth in a fierce scowl. “You are a liar. The spell would be broken if you spoke
true. How dare you lie to me, to your master. You will be punished, doubt me not.” She rode him hard, pounding against him with bruising intensity. When she came, she threw back her head and screamed. With rage and pleasure. Victory and glee.

He didn’t want to come. He fought against it. He always fought against it, but in the end, his body betrayed him every time.

Zirra’s spasms ceased soon after his own, and she glared down at him. “All I have ever given you is love, and yet you constantly throw that in my face.” She pushed to her feet and drew on her robe. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder when she turned to glare down at him.

“Why are you still in bed, slave? Bow before me. You owe me thanks for the pleasure I just bestowed upon you.”

He moved automatically, dying a bit more with every movement, and took his place before her.

Abruptly Tristan found himself chained to a wall. His surroundings were familiar. He’d been here before, he thought, confused. A progression of women paraded in front of him. Each female was allowed to touch, to taste, to do anything she desired as she strolled past him. The line seemed endless. He endured cruel pinches, eager tugs, stinging slaps, and by the end, his skin was a mass of purple and blue bruises. Even the battlefields of Gillirad had not wounded him so deeply.

“I am your master, your true lover,” Zirra said when the last woman left the chamber. “Will you ever again glare at me?”

“Only if you command that I do not,” he gritted out.

Her eyes flashed blue fire. “For that you shall spend the rest of the eve as you are.”

Again the image shifted.

Colors swirled behind his eyes and blurred together, spinning and spinning, tugging him closer to another part of his life.

He found himself standing naked before a bed. Zirra reclined on the mattress, white pillows at her back. “Tristan, come over here, darling.”

Without hesitation he obeyed. He crawled up the bed and hovered over her, staying on his knees as he knew she liked.

“I have need of you,” she purred.

“Whatever you wish, you know I will perform.”

Her features softened. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want you.”

“Tell me how beautiful I am.”

“You are beautiful.” He did not elaborate as she wished. She had to force his every move. He would give her nothing willingly, no more of himself than demanded, for that was the only control he had over himself.

“Love me,” she breathed, placing kisses up his chest and neck.

He despised her every touch, wanted to race from this chamber and spew the contents of his stomach each time she glanced his way. “Love is the one thing I do not have to give you, Zirra. You know that. Your spell was for me to give pleasure to my
guan ren.
It said naught of love. That was your mistake, and that is
what you must live with. For I will never offer you my heart.” He took great delight in his next words. “You sicken me.”

The nails that had softly scraped his back now sank into his flesh, causing droplets of blood to slide down his back. “Who owns you?”

“You do.”

“Who governs your fate?”

“You do.”

“Never forget that, Tristan, or I will make you suffer for it.”

Tristan vaguely heard someone, a female, calling his name from a faraway place. It was a voice he felt compelled to answer. His mouth refused to work, however.

The voice continued to echo in his head. It was Julia, he realized, and she was afraid of something. She needed him. In a panic to reach her, he fought his way through the dark haze enveloping his mind. As he fought, he became aware that his body was soaked with sweat and he was trembling. He sucked in a deep breath.

What had just happened? He had been inside Julia’s car, had been viewing the scenery of this planet he had come to admire. The red hills, the stone homes, the clean, crisp air. Then a dark presence had invaded his mind. He had been unable to stop from following the presence into his memories.

Aye, memories. That is what they were. But how had he relived them so vividly?

He already knew the answer.

Zirra. She was forcing him to remember. Since she
had failed to reclaim him, she now reminded him that she was out there, searching for a way. He bit back a curse.

“Tristan. Please, look at me.”

Bit by bit, he cracked open his eyelids. Julia was crouched in the open car door, her lovely face above his. To his left, cars whizzed past the window.

“Are you allowed to park here?” he questioned hoarsely.

A sob burst from her throat, half laugh, half desperate cry. “That’s all you have to say?”

“Aye.”

“Well, the answer is yes. This is the side of the road. Now tell me what the hell is wrong with you.”

“A dream. Only a dream,” he forced out.

“No.” She shook her head. “It was not just a dream. You were in some sort of trance.”

“I am fine.”

Though her expression remained unconvinced, she pushed out a shaky breath. “Are you sure?”

“I am fine,” he repeated. “The past simply demanded consideration.” His head fell against the seat rest, his energy quickly deserting. He felt himself sinking into sleep. “Take me home, Julia. Take me home.”

W
HEN THEY REACHED
the house, Julia helped Tristan to the couch, locked his box inside the plant stand, then raced to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. He drained the liquid with one gulp and set the glass aside. He stretched out his long legs, and she snuggled up beside him, her arms holding him close.

She’d never witnessed anything like what she’d seen in the car. He’d been deathly still, barely breathing. He’d alternated between pale and fiery hot.

Thank God he’d awakened on his own.

Thank God.

She didn’t know what she would have done if he hadn’t.

Yet, as her eyes had met his, she’d almost wanted him to sink back into the trance—anything so that she wouldn’t have to see the horror and pain on his face.

What had happened to him to cause such a look?

With her fingertips, she toyed with the fine hair on his arm. “Tristan?”

He didn’t stir, didn’t face her. “Hmm?”

“Tell me what happened. I want to help you.”

Silence.

Silence so thick an oppressive fog descended all around them.

“Speaking about what happened to you might help ease the pain. I won’t judge you, or laugh. I’ll simply listen.”

More silence.

And then he spoke.

“Zirra, the woman who entrapped me and kept me for several seasons,” he began hesitantly. “She was a cruel mistress. She demanded my love and when I wouldn’t give it to her, she punished me.”

He continued on, telling her of all the
guan rens
who had emotionally scarred him with their cruelty. He described horrors such as she’d never imagined, terrors
done to this strong, proud man whose only sin was his beauty. She listened to his every word, trying, hoping, to absorb some of his pain into herself.

“In the end,” he said, “I lost my will to fight. I simply accepted what was done to me and expected it. My only control was the pleasure I could give and the way I responded.”

“You are not a pleasure slave anymore,” she said softly. “You are a man, Julia’s man, and I am your woman.”

“Julia—” he said, his tone laced with regret.

“No. Don’t deny my words or tell me that you are what Zirra made you, that what we have can’t last. I know differently.”

“We can prevent the box from being stolen, but we cannot prevent time from passing. I will never age, never die. And you will, Julia. You will.”

“What if—what if you loved me? The spell would be broken and you would be mortal. Just like me.”

“Oh, that I could, sweet dragon. But I do not and I will not love you.”

She fought back tears. “Why?” The word was broken, hoarse. “Am I so unlovable?”

“Nay,” he said fiercely, taking her hands in his. “Never think such a thing. You are the most precious woman I have ever encountered. But if I love you, I will lose you. And I will
not
lose you.”

Confusion mingled with dread, twisting inside her. “I don’t understand.”

“The magic will be broken and there will be nothing
to bind me to you or to this world. As I have no magic of my own, I would hurtle back to Imperia without you.”

Another horror for him to endure, she thought then, fighting a wave of sorrow. Of all the things he’d had to endure, surely that would be the worst. Losing the one he loved. No wonder he refused to give his heart. Love and lose. He would be free, but alone.

Wasn’t that better, though, than an eternity as a slave?

“You want to go home, Tristan. I know you do. You said the words yourself.”

“Aye. I would like to once again walk the shores of my homeland, but I am content here with you. I would rather stay here with you, in fact.”

She closed her eyes against an onslaught of stinging tears. He was willing to endure an eternity as a pleasure slave for a flash of time with her. She tightened her hold around him. This man loved her. He might not recognize or acknowledge the emotion, but he did.

What did I do to deserve him?
The words filled her mind even as she accepted that she couldn’t, wouldn’t, keep him. To force him to endure a life of slavery…no. Not while there was a way to save him.

And there was.

Giving him up.

Oh, the knowledge ripped inside her, tearing apart her heart, body and mind. She’d have to live without him, because she was going to do whatever it took to grant him his freedom. Without him, she would suffer, she knew it, but it was because of her overwhelming love for him that she would endure, knowing he was free.

She would not let him sacrifice his own freedom for her. That, she could never do.

T
HAT NIGHT
, Julia lay beside Tristan inside the confines of her bed. They were both naked. He didn’t want clothes between them while they slept, and to be honest, neither did she. She toyed with a lock of his hair, running the midnight strands between her fingers.

I know what I have to do.

She was going to gain his admission of love. And he was going to disappear from her life forever. She trembled as her fingertips glided over his cheekbones, along his jaw. He didn’t wake. The clamor of her heart echoed in the quiet of the room. “Tristan,” she whispered. Even she heard the undercurrent of desire and determination in her voice. “Wake up. I need you.”