Prince of Stone (Imperia)

by Gena Showalter

  “This is it,” she repeated, her tone laden with a strange pitch he couldn’t identify. “It feels different than the others.”

  Her observation amazed him, considering she had no magic. She was not a child of the Druinn, nor did she possess the soul of the ancients. Yet she knew, just as he did, that true power crackled within these walls.

  “’Tis the magic you feel.”

  “The kind of magic able to take you home?”

  “Aye. The vibration is very strong, the essence quite unique, and somehow familiar. Whomever this sorcerer is, he is very powerful.”

  She darted her gaze around the room, lines of strain etching her features. Strain caused by what, though? “I’m happy for you, Jorlan. This is what you’ve waited for. You deserve to return home to your family, and live the life of your dreams. But…”

  Foreboding swept him up, up and away. “Say it,” he commanded.

  “I won’t be coming with you,” she whisper-croaked. “I’m sorry.”

  Finally, an answer. Just not the one he’d expected. “Why reject me now?” he demanded, tasting sickness at the back of his throat. He imagined he felt cold, liquid stone coursing through his veins, the curse preparing to imprison him again. For eternity this time, with no hope of escape.

  He forced himself to adopt a calm and rational manner. Because, whether Katie denied it or not, he was making progress with her, and he would continue to do so, even if he had to double—triple—his efforts.

  “If I fall in love with you, I fall in love with you. I won’t fight it anymore, and I’ll deal with the emotional fallout when the time comes. I will keep you company every day, and sleep with you every night. But…”

  He should rejoice. The foreboding sharpened, slashing at the calm facade. “Tell me.”

  Peering down at her feet, she kicked at nothing. “When the time comes, you will go home, and I will stay here.”

  Jorlan experienced a windfall of conflicting emotion. Furious elation. Happiness tinged with sadness. Confused understanding. She had just offered everything he’d ever wanted her to give. Love, sex and freedom. Yet, they weren’t enough. He needed more. All. Everything. Nothing less would do.

  But why? Why push for more when he, too, had viewed their relationship as a temporary arrangement with an inevitable end?

  Mayhap he would stay on Earth. Just until they tired of each other. Of course, that would mean postponing his blood vendetta against Percen and willingly abandoning his people. Were they being mistreated by the current great lord, whomever the male happened to be?

  Guilt wound around his neck and squeezed. If Jorlan visited Imperia to find out, and the passage of time between worlds differed enough, he might return to Earth to find Katie had died of old age a century ago.

  He swallowed. “Is it because of your brothers?”

  “They are part of the reason, yes.”

  “And the other reasons?” he grated, wishing he could just flip a switch and change her mind.

  She flinched at his ragged tone. “My job and my independence. You told me women aren’t allowed to work or to go anywhere without a male escort.”

  Both valid reasons, curse her!

  Voice soft, she said, “Come on. The line has dwindled. Let’s see if we can score an appointment with the psychic.”

  There was a tension-laden pause as he killed every protest to grace his tongue. He may have lost a battle, but he hadn’t lost the war. With a new plan of action, he could win this—win her.

  Finally, his impatience got the message and quieted. They would finish this line of conversation at home.

  Realization: he’d just referred to her house as his home.

  Sweat trickled down his nape as he said, “Aye. Let’s.” He took her hand, noted a slight tremor in her grip and stepped to the counter, where a man waited.

  “I welcome you,” the male said, beckoning them closer.

  Chin up, shoulder back, he said, “I have come for—”

  “I know why you are here. You seek passage elsewhere.”

  “You are the psychic, then?” Katie asked.

  “No. I am the assistant. Mon Graig is not here.” The man pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “I am unable to help you.”

  Another duo of conflicting emotions. Dread wound around hope and squeezed. “Someone here can and will help me. I am not leaving until I speak with your boss.”

  “There is no need to wait. If he desires to aid you, he will find you.”

  Jorlan’s teeth gnashed. Would nothing go right this day?

  Katie gave his fingers a comforting squeeze. “Where is this Mon Graig?”

  “Here, there.” Glasses shrugged. “Everywhere and nowhere.”

  Jorlan gripped the edge of the counter so tightly, he feared the bones of his knuckles would tear through his skin. “Where. Is. He?”

  Now Glasses blanched. “Do you think you’re the only one who desires a trip home? Mon Graig has many dwellings throughout this world and takes many patrons through a vortex. Sometimes he is gone a few days, sometimes years, but no one, and I do mean no one knows exactly where he is at any given moment or when he will return.”

  Exactly like the sorcerers of Imperia.

  I did it. I found a way home. Jorlan waited for a surge of excitement…urgency…something, anything. All he felt? Stress. When the psychic returned, he had to make a choice one way or another.

  With her free hand, Katie hooked a lock of hair behind her ear. Then she caressed the spot between his shoulder blades, where tension pooled. “How long ago did he leave for this newest trip?”

  “Nine weeks or so.”

  “And which world did he visit?” Jorlan asked.

  Glasses observed him for several beats, thoughtful. “Imperia.”

  Surprise punched Jorlan. This. This was the very reason he struggled to decide about going or staying. The time. He had to decide: home or Katie?

  At some point, he might have to craft a list of reasons for and against each option.

  She lifted their twined fingers to kiss the heel of his palm, and much of his tension drained. How did she soothe him so easily?

  “Use this time to raise some cash,” Glasses suggested. “These trips aren’t cheap.”

  The first reason to return home as soon as possible presented itself: Jorlan had no riches here, no way to pay his way. “How much is needed?”

  “Mon Graig will tell you when—if—he comes for you.”

  “Very well. Until then.” Jorlan nodded, satisfied he’d done all he could do. He wrapped an arm around Katie’s waist and ushered her out the door.

  * * *

  DRIVING DOWN THE HIGHWAY, Katie glanced over at Jorlan. He hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the psychic’s place, and she hadn’t tried to force him.

  She knew he needed time to accept her refusal to marry him as well as the possibility of the psychic’s prolonged absence. Meanwhile, his upset broke her heart.

  Who was she kidding? She’d had a broken heart ever since she’d politely turned down his proposal. Their days together were numbered, their paths soon to diverge.

  Tears singed her eyes, and she blinked until they cleared.

  Silence continued the rest of the trip, her nerves on edge by the time she parked in the Victorian’s winding driveway, next to a rusty, unfamiliar Dodge Dart.

  “We have a visitor.” But who? There was no one inside the car, and she saw no one loitering on the lawn. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  They emerged into the afternoon heat. Jorlan sniffed around, some of his tension easing. “I think you will be both pleased and displeased with the visitors’ identity.”

  He could tell by scent alone? And had he said “visitors,” as in more than one?

  Marveling, she dashed to the porch…where she found Frances, the owner of the café. A second woman—the redheaded Heather—stood at her side, looking as bored and contemptuous as ever.

  Katie grinned at Frances and pulled her i
n for a bear hug. She felt as if ages had passed since she’d last seen her…friend? “It’s wonderful to see you outside of the café.” Heather, she ignored. Why had Frances brought the girl? “Does this mean you’ve decided to work here?”

  Wringing her hands, France said, “Yes. I’d like to take you up on your offer. If you’re still interested in hiring me, that is.”

  Katie didn’t hesitate with her answer. “Absolutely.”

  Frances smiled so brightly, a youthful glow seemed to eradicate a decade of wrinkles. “I can’t thank you enough for this, Katie. I mean Ms. James. I owe you.”

  “Yeah, thanks bunches,” Heather said, her tone dripping with disdain. Then she focused on Jorlan and smiled. “Hey, handsome. I’ve missed you.”

  He nodded in acknowledgment, displaying none of his usual charm.

  Fury stormed through her, rousing a heat wave.

  Slapping a hand over the girl’s mouth, Frances said, “May I talk with you in private, Ms. James?”

  “Please, call me Katie.” Curiosity rising, she ushered Frances to a shadowed area at the side of the house. She only glanced back at Jorlan twice.

  If Heather made a move on him, Katie would—

  Nothing. Her shoulders wilted, rolling in. Thanks to her, they were not in a committed relationship. She had zero rights.

  “Heather is my daughter,” the café owner blurted.

  Shock reverberated through her, rendering her immobile. “Your daughter? Seriously?”

  “I’m afraid so,” came the sighed reply. “She means well, though, she really does.”

  Means well. Two words, each great on its own. When strung together, Katie despised them. Her brothers used to say something similar about her father, yet most people never actually cared about someone else’s well-being, only their own.

  He’s hard on you because he loves you, Kit Kat. Wrong! Tough love should absolutely be utilized when needed. Had a little girl who’d done everything in her power to make her father love, adore and accept her truly been deserving of it?

  He shouts at you because he wants the best for you. Wrong again. He’d shouted because she hadn’t fit his idea of right and wrong.

  “I was in the café almost every morning for three weeks and so was she,” Katie said, “but the two of you never spoke.”

  “She’s had a really tough life, and blames me.” Shame flushed Frances’s cheeks as she shifted from one foot to the other. “Her father, my ex, was a bad, bad man. He…did things. She tried to tell me, but I…I was such a fool. So blinded by what I thought was love. When she turned twelve, she ran away from home. I searched for clues about where she might have gone, and I found…I saw…she’d been telling the truth.” Her chin trembled. “I didn’t hear from her for years. We only reconnected a few months ago. She hates me, as she should, but she needs a place to stay, and my door is always open for her. We’re short on cash, and I—I thought,” she stammered, “I hoped if you needed another worker, she’d be a great hire. I swear on my ex’s grave, may he forever burn in Hell, that we’ll never be late, never call in sick, never miss a day for any reason. If you need us, we’ll work seven days a week, holidays, it doesn’t matter.”

  Most of Katie’s Heather-centered animosity evaporated in a blink. She ached for the frightened little girl who’d been forced to endure years of abuse. And yeah, okay, she kind of appreciated her dad a bit more. He’d been a tyrant, but he’d never hit or molested her.

  What a sad commentary on the state of the world. Just because a man didn’t punch or rape someone, he was a prize? Way to set the bar high.

  “Why does Heather dislike me?” Katie asked.

  Frances sucked in her lips, creating a thin line of pink. “She’s never spoken of it, but I can guess. You’ve got everything she’s ever wanted. Success. Security. A loving family and the adoration of a good man.”

  A pang cut through her, nearly rending her in two. Jorlan, adoring? Not at the moment.

  Frances patted her shoulder. “If you don’t want her around, I’ll understand. And I’d still like the job.”

  Katie would probably regret this, but still she said, “It’s yours, Frances. And Heather, too.”

  Another glorious smile lit the woman’s face. “Really? You mean it?”

  “Really. I’d have you start today, but Jorlan and I had a rough morning. You could start tomorrow, if you wanted?”

  “Oh, Katie, thank you! You won’t regret this. Heather’s real good with anything creative. She has a green thumb, and she’s strong. I’m a real fast learner. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do.”

  They discussed what time Frances and Heather should arrive, what sort of things they would be doing and how much money they would earn.

  “I mean it. I can never thank you enough, doll.” Frances shook with delight as they walked back to the porch.

  Katie missed a step, her attention laser focused on Jorlan and Heather. They stood far too close for comfort, chuckling about something Heather had said.

  I’m going to regret my decision to proceed full steam ahead, aren’t I?

  Well, so what? She wouldn’t base her decisions on what might happen later, only what was right. Heather had taken enough knocks in life; Katie wouldn’t add to them, no matter how much the girl’s attitude grated.

  Frances ran over and threw her arms around her daughter. “We got the job,” she sang happily, swinging them both around.

  Heather threw back her head and laughed. Until she remembered she hated her mother, Katie and life in general. Scowling, she jerked out of her mother’s embrace. “Whatever. I didn’t care one way or another.”

  Eyes wide, Frances flattened a hand over her chest. “I’m sorry, Katie. She didn’t mean it. She’s grateful.”

  Katie didn’t believe her, but forged ahead anyway. “I have ten rules. The first is never attempt to fix anything without checking with me first.”

  Frances nodded; Heather stared.

  Jorlan crossed his arms.

  “Two, you must make sure a room is properly ventilated before you paint. Three through ten, Jorlan is permanently off-limits.”

  “Jorlan?” Heather’s nose crinkled up. “What’s a jorlan?”

  “He is.” She pointed at her alien. “He isn’t Hunter Rains, self-help guru. His name is Jorlan en Sarr, and he’s mine.” For now.

  Jorlan did not react as she’d hoped. He didn’t react at all.

  Frances, on the other hand, shuddered with revulsion. “You don’t have to worry about me making a move on your man. I considered the opposite sex the equivalent of a Black Plague, so why would I want one?”

  Curling a lock of hair around her finger, Heather regarded Jorlan thoughtfully. “All right, then.” She brushed her hands together in a job well done. “We’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  Francis kissed Katie’s cheek but didn’t head for her car. “Before I go, I’ve got a joke for you. A husband told his wife that he was in the mood to try a new position later that night, something he’d never done before. The wife gave him a flirty eyelash flutter and told him a new position sounded wonderful, and she had the perfect one in mind. He would do the ironing and she would stretch out on the couch, drink beer and fart. Get it? The new position is a change in roles.”

  Everyone chuckled except for Jorlan, who whipped out one of his weapons and scanned the surrounding area. “I sense trouble.”

  Katie lost her smile. She scanned the area, too, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “Will you guys excuse us for a moment?” Their guests were busy looking between them, gazes darting back and forth.

  “Certainly,” Frances replied.

  With his palm cupping her elbow, Jorlan steered Katie to the side of the house. The second they were out of range, he said, “A sorcerer is here.”

  “Are you sure?” This morning, she’d felt a faint stirring of something, the fine hairs on her body standing at attention. Here, now, she felt nothing. But she had to ask. “Do you think it’s that Mon
Graig guy?”

  “Nay. ’Tis a different kind of magic.” Jorlan drew in a long, deep breath. “I will scour your property for the culprit.” He replaced the rolling pin with the spatula and circled the house.

  Katie returned to the porch.

  “Jorlan just walked by,” Frances said, her brows drawn together. “Is he carting around a spatula?”

  “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.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  PERCEN DE LOCKE GRINNED.

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

  He had found Jorlan! Of course, his brother had shed the stone casing, returning to flesh and blood.

  At first, Percen experienced a tsunami of fury. As he watched Jorlan interact with the mortal women, however, that fury had dulled. Jorlan was free, but only recently. The spell had not been broken completely, its shackles still wrapped tightly around the warrior.

  What a wondrous turn of events! With the deadline fast approaching, Jorlan must be desperate to win his savior’s love.

  Percen resisted the urge to dance upon the grassy plain. His good humor fled. He couldn’t dance, not without excruciating pain in his twisted legs. He couldn’t release a victory shout, not if he wished to keep his identity hidden. And he did. For the time being. Although, to his astonishment, Jorlan had already sensed him.

  The cursed warrior strode around the outside of the house, then marched along the two-acre perimeter, determined to discover who watched him and why. He even passed Percen once, twice, yet he never detected the truth—magic cloaked Percen in invisibility.

  Percen could not contain a small chuckle. You can’t catch me, he inwardly taunted, imitating the children he’d heard playing earlier that day. They’d been so carefree, he’d cast a spell of understanding simply to learn the words of their song. You can’t catch me, I’m the gingerbread man.

  Percen had not been allowed to play games as a child. To undignified for the son of a great lord. Plus, there’d always been a new spell to learn or an incantation to perform. Punishments to endure and sorcerers to entertain.