Prince of Stone (Imperia)

by Gena Showalter

  Frances looked up from her notepad, her expression incredulous. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. A pecan waffle.”

  After making the notation in the notepad, Frances said, “You know you’re gonna have to roll him out of here, right?” A devilish light appeared in her dark eyes, and she smiled, the skin around her eyes crinkling.

  Uh-oh. Katie sensed an incoming joke. Frances always had a new one.

  “The night of their wedding, a young couple started making out in their honeymoon suite,” Frances began. “As they undressed, the husband, a big, burly man—” she leveled a pointed glance to Jorlan “—tossed his pants to his bride, and said, ‘Here, put these on.’ Though confused by his request, the wife did it. The waist of the pants could have looped around her twice, that’s how big they were. So she told her hubby that she couldn’t wear his pants, they were big. He told her that she was right, and to never forget it, that he was the man and he wore the pants in their family.”

  “I’m liking where this is headed,” Katie said with a grin. No doubt the wife put the man “in his place.” Just not the place a guy like Jorlan would expect.

  Speaking of Jorlan, he nodded as if Frances had just spoken the gospel truth.

  “Oh, yeah. Just you wait. It gets better.” Frances took a deep breath before continuing. “Irritated by her husband’s stupidity, the wife whipped off her panties and tossed them at her husband, telling him to try them on. Thinking to pacify her so he could still get lucky, he complied. When he couldn’t get the little scrap of material past his thighs, he told his wife he couldn’t get into her panties, after all. He was gloating, so she told him that was the way it was gonna be until he changed his attitude.’”

  Katie chuckled. “A modern-day superheroine. I can’t wait to share this one with my brothers.”

  Jorlan leaned back in his seat, pensive.

  “I thought you’d like it,” Frances said. “Anyway, I thought a joke would be the perfect icebreaker to give you my news. I’m sorry, doll face, but I’ll be closing the café next month.”

  “What! No, no, no,” Katie said, shaking her head.

  “I’m gettin’ too old to run this place. But I still got bills to pay, so I’ll be looking for a part-time job somewhere, if you know anyone hiring.”

  “I do know someone—me!” Katie bounced in her seat while clapping. “I’m in the process of restoring the old house on Gossamer Lane, and I could use the help. And the entertainment. And the snacks.”

  Frances looked between her and Jorlan, as if she feared she was getting punked. “Really? Seriously? It wouldn’t be charity?”

  Katie kind of hated when people acted as if charity was a bad thing. It wasn’t. Help someone now, and they could help someone else later. And one day, when you needed help, you’d have enough karma to cash in. It was a beautiful cycle, not an embarrassing one.

  “I seriously need the help.” Katie usually hired outside help for renovations and restorations. For some reason, she’d been reluctant to hire anyone for the Victorian, wanting instead to do the work herself.

  Lie! Not for “some reason.” Because of Jorlan. She hadn’t wanted anyone else viewing his statue. Even then, she’d been proprietary toward him.

  “When would you need me to start?” Frances asked.

  “Soonish.”

  Beaming, the other woman said, “Let me think about it tonight and get back with you. Okay?” With another meaningful glance at Jorlan, she sauntered away, whistling happily.

  Jorlan studied Katie, all curiosity and—dare she think it—admiration. “You were kind to her.”

  “You expected me to be rude?”

  “Nay. You are usually so prickly—”

  “What! No, I’m not,” she said…prickly. “Fine. I’m prickly. I’ll try to do better.”

  “I do not think you should change, Katie. I made a simple observation about something I like.”

  Yeah, right. “You’re saying you like when I’m prickly?”

  “I’m saying there are many facets to you and I’m determined to learn them all.”

  She gulped. There’d been a note of challenge in his voice. Challenge…and eagerness. She’d told him she wouldn’t sleep with him because she didn’t know him, and he didn’t know her. The fact that he was taking the time and making the effort to change that…

  She shivered wildly. I’m in big trouble.

  * * *

  JORLAN TRIED TO focus on the people around him. During every minute of his confinement, he’d dreamed of the day he would interact with other living beings. And, the more he learned about Earth’s people and customs, the better off he’d be. Yet…

  As strong as he was, he did not have the strength to look away from Katie. The more time he spent with her, the more she obsessed him. Everything he learned about her, he liked.

  “You’re staring,” she said.

  “I know,” he replied, without looking away. “You make my eyes happy.”

  Roses bloomed in her cheeks. He would have said more, but a wondrous aroma drifted to his nostrils.

  Frances, the aging servant, placed numerous dishes on the table, then pushed them in his direction. His stomach rumbled.

  Ravenous, he made short work of the entrées, devouring every crumb. So good! He relished the different tastes and textures. Some items were sweet, others savory. The light brown squares filled with dark blue spheres were his favorite.

  When he finished, Katie was only halfway done. A blessing. With each gulp, she closed her eyes and uttered a wordless exclamation of ecstasy.

  Considering dumping the food all over his body and playing the role of all-you-can-eat buffet, he settled back in his seat to watch her.

  Her next bite, she moaned louder, and he shot hard as steel.

  Needing a distraction, he speared a piece of her…what had Frances called it? Oh, aye. An omelet. He speared a piece to try.

  “Well?” Katie asked. “What do you think?”

  “Now that one need is satisfied, I need only a nice, leisurely pummeling to feel complete,” he said. “Mayhap the redhead would be interested.” Earlier, he’d gotten the distinct impression that Katie had been jealous.

  Even the thought thrilled him.

  Katie scowled, and he almost laughed. Whether she denied it or not, she was jealous. ’Twas the action of a possessive woman, and one that filled him with hope. Soon, I will have her.

  Oh, aye, soon Katie’s body and heart would belong to him.

  “Keep in mind,” she bit out, “that you have no money. Some women only sleep with rich men.”

  “I have an abundance of riches.”

  “Maybe in Imperia, but not on Earth. And I don’t see how you’ll get any without stealing it. No one but me will hire you, and really, any money you make belongs to me. You know, to reimburse me for your food and shelter. News flash. I’m not a woman who supports a man while he does nothing except watch TV, lie on the couch and drink beer.”

  “So you wish to hire me?” Interesting.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “Why not? The last house I renovated didn’t sell right away, so I couldn’t buy my next property right away, and my usual employees had to take other jobs. I could use the muscle.”

  “Do you, by chance, wish me to labor in the bedchamber?” he teased.

  “You wish.”

  “I do. I really do.”

  The corners of her mouth twitched. “Well, the work I’m offering has nothing to do with being naked, getting naked or getting each other naked.”

  He leaned toward her, his heavy eyelids sinking low. “Your dictate leaves many wonderful possibilities, for at times, clothing offers just as much, if not more, stimulation as flesh.” Aye, he could very well imagine her with a long, shimmery blue gown draped over her curves, covering every inch of her. Slowly he would raise the gown’s hem. Higher. Higher still, slowly revealing her succulent calves, then her thighs and finally her—

  “You march yourse
lf out of that gutter, buddy.” He thought she whispered, “Before I join you,” but couldn’t be sure. She slapped the table, glasses clanging together. “You’ll paint, put up siding, lay tile, shingle or whatever I happen to need done. Without complaint!”

  Complain about physical labor? When his body hummed with excitement and vibrated with too much energy? “After spending so much time in inertia, exercise holds great appeal. I will happily do whatever you require of me.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a half grin.

  A half grin he cherished. It was genuine and sweet, unlike any grin he’d ever gotten from another woman. Perhaps because she was the first one he’d treated as an equal versus a servant?

  “The work I will do. You have done the same tasks in the past?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes. Restoring homes is one of my passions. There’s just something so satisfying about breathing new life into an old building.”

  His chest did that clenching thing again. The fact that she enjoyed working with her hands, something females were forbidden to do in Imperia, that she fixed what was broken rather than discarding it in favor of something new, well, it told so much about her character. What man wouldn’t want one so loyal at his side?

  “Come on.” She placed a small green sheet of paper onto the table surface. “We’ve got a lot of work to do today.” She slid across the seat and stood.

  He picked up the paper, and she said, “This is money. The way we pay for things here.”

  After putting the money back, he pushed to his feet. Their gazes locked for one heartbeat before she turned away and headed for the exit. Jorlan had only taken four steps when someone said, “Excuse me,” and grabbed his forearm from behind.

  He spun, clutching the spatula hilt, ready to unsheathe it at a moment’s notice. The redhead smiled up at him.

  He relaxed his warrior stance. “Do you require aid, female?”

  “Require…oh. No, I just wanted to say hello,” she said, her voice throaty and seductive. “I’m Heather.”

  ’Twas exactly the type of reception he usually received from the fairer sex—zero prickle. If he showed the slightest interest, she might do whatever he asked. Yet he felt nothing, not even a faint stirring of lust.

  And, now that he thought about it, he remembered being bored by the females of his world. There’d been no challenge. No excitement.

  To be polite, he returned her smile. “’Tis my pleasure to meet you, Heather. I am called—”

  “Oh, I know who you are. You’re Hunter Rains, the self-help guy. Twelve steps to a better you, and all that. I recognized you the moment I saw you.” She looked down at her feet, suddenly shy. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I’ve read your book and I know you’re from overseas. I’d be glad to show you around Dallas.”

  Katie moved to Jorlan’s side, wearing a blank expression. “You going with Heather or staying with me, Hunter? ’Cause I’m leaving in three…two…bye.” She waved and skipped away, as if she hadn’t a care.

  He called, “Wait for me, Katie.” Was he smiling? He thought he was smiling. Her jealousy was delicious.

  She didn’t slow and she didn’t face him. She just raised her hand and extended her middle finger. An affirmation? A symbol she would wait one minute, but no longer?

  Heather never even glanced Katie’s way; she just blinked up at Jorlan. “You should totally come with me. We’ll have fun, I promise.”

  Jorlan faced the little redhead again—and marveled. He, a man who had been without bodily contact for more than nine hundred spans, was unable to summon a single shred of awareness for any woman save Katie since obtaining his freedom.

  “I thank you for your interest,” he said, “but I want the blonde.” More than he’d ever wanted another.

  The truth hit him, and he jolted. He did. He wanted Katie, not just because of the curse, but because of Katie herself.

  “But she’s so…tall. And plain!”

  “Plain?” He chuckled. “Her beauty leaves me breathless.”

  Heather released a disappointed sigh. “It was worth a try, I guess.”

  With nothing left to say, he followed the path Katie had taken. She had indeed waited for him inside the car.

  She glared at him. He smiled at her.

  “Look,” she grumbled. “If you want her—”

  “I do not want her, and I told her so.”

  “Oh.” Katie’s shoulders wilted. “Okay, then. That’s good—okay news that doesn’t affect my emotions in the slightest. But, uh, why did you reject her?”

  “I want you.” And I will have you.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Imperia

  PERCEN DE LOCKE HOBBLED across the ancient sands of the Druinn stronghold, a haven situated in the heart of Imperia, invisible to mortal trespassers. Moonlight spilled upon the crystal grains, creating an illuminating sphere of mystique. The fragrance of gartina and elsment infused a cool, moist breeze, ruffling his dark locks of hair. Stars twinkled from their perch in the heavens, so close he had only to reach out to hold their essence in his hands.

  What a mockery this beautiful refuge made of his emotions.

  His limbs shook with hatred and rage. He was barely able to move his legs one after the other as he paced. Only yestereve he had cursed Jorlan en Sarr inside an impenetrable wall of stone. The warrior had stood here, the centerpiece of the Druinn sands, yet now he was gone.

  Gone!

  Percen sensed his mother’s magic, smelled the flowery scent of her perfume, and knew beyond a doubt she was responsible, that she had either set Jorlan free or sent him away.

  Hands balled into fists, he closed his eyes. Using his mind’s mystical foresight, he searched through the lingering magic for answers. Energy coated the air in layers, each layer a different color, depending on the spell or magic used at a particular time. The most recent spell churned on top, giving off a reddish hue. ’Twas not a spell that worked beside another, but a spell that created and drew on other energies—a spell that opened a vortex.

  He knew the truth then. His mother had sent Jorlan away in an attempt to save the cursed warrior from Percen’s wrath. The knowledge smoldered inside him, blistering his organs.

  “Why do you torment yourself so?” a soft, feminine voice said from behind him.

  Percen halted midstride. Tiny white crystals scattered around his feet as he whipped around. A dark-haired beauty stood proudly before him, a cerulean-colored amulet at her throat. The center of the jewel pulsed with the life of an ocean. The woman’s regal shoulders were squared with concern. Feigned concern, he knew, for she cared nothing about him.

  “Did you come to gloat?” he snapped. “Your actions have delayed my vengeance.”

  “Nay. I do not gloat.” Her expression remained unreadable as she reached out to touch his shoulder. His simmering glare stopped her. She waited a whisper of time, then dropped her hand to her side. “It does not give me joy to see you hurting.”

  “Do not act as if you care about me. I know where your affections lie. The golden child. The perfect one.”

  Her eyes, pale blue just like his own, darkened with sadness. “I am your mother. Why do you believe I care for one of my sons but not the other? I have the same devotion for you that I have for Jorlan. Before, now, and always.”

  “Liar!” He closed the distance, his rage hungry. With no real warning, he struck her, hard, putting all his strength behind the blow. Her head snapped to the side, and a small trickle of blood flowed from the corner of her lip. “You know better than to lie to me, Mother.” He spoke slowly, softly. Harshly.

  His ears rang in the ensuing silence as he watched her cheek redden and swell. He had put that mark there, and the knowledge cut deeply, shamefully.

  He turned then, no longer able to look upon her, and held his breath, his chest burning, agonized. Better that than breathing in her sweet perfume.

  She sniffled, and he knew tears pooled in her eyes. His shame redoubled.

 
“I am devoted to you,” she said, her voice trembling. “You are my son. A piece of me. I love you, Percen. So very much.”

  How long had he waited to hear such a wondrous declaration? Forever, it seemed. Yet, her words meant nothing. Less than nothing! “Your actions belie your words, Mother.”

  “’Tis not true. I’m fighting to save your soul.”

  “Too late!” Percen had thrilled as he’d turned Jorlan to stone…just as his own heart had been turned to stone ages ago. “When my father died, and you wed the mortal king, you took Jorlan with you and deserted me as if I were garbage.”

  She flinched. “I left you with the Druinn because I love you. How can you not see that? I could not take you from them, knowing you were destined to become their high priest.”

  “What does power or sovereignty matter without love? All I’ve ever desired is the feel of your arms around me, comforting me. The sound of your voice soothing me to sleep. But you denied me those things as surely as you granted them to Jorlan.”

  Jorlan, who could do no wrong in her eyes.

  Jorlan, who had never known a moment of pain or suffering. Until now.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice as broken and disjointed as the winds of third season. “I thought I was doing what was best. What was right for all involved.”

  “No.” He cut her off, scowling. “You did what was easiest for you.”

  “Percen, please stop this. I love you. I love you, son.”

  Again, those words. How they cut into his soul, making him bleed inside, leaving a hollow ache where his heart had once resided. “As I said, your actions belie your words. You claim to love me now, and yet you sent Jorlan away, preventing me from obtaining my greatest desire.”

  Her eyes closed; her lips pressed together. “Aye. ’Twas I who sent him away.”

  A long silence stretched.

  “Tell me, Mother,” Percen said. “If I give you another chance, will you at last prove your love for me?”

  A pause heavy with tension. Then, “Whatever you wish, ’tis yours,” she whispered.