Prince of Stone (Imperia)

by Gena Showalter

  As he’d peered down at her, the truth had hit him, a culmination of victory and defeat, yet so undeniably true it had pounded nails in the coffin of his relationshipless state. He did. He loved her. He loved Katie James.

  Yet, she hadn’t returned the sentiment. She couldn’t, considering she’d gone from an exuberant aye to a gut-wrenching nay. Her refusal had cut deeper than the sharpest talon.

  Was he right? Did she not trust him with her heart?

  An ache lanced his chest. How could he prove himself?

  At the moment, she lay on the bed, sleeping fitfully. Pale locks spilled over the pillow, forming a halo above her head. When awake and aroused, she was anything but celestial. Nay, she was carnal, like the very devil, taunting and tempting him. Teasing him with a future he craved but had not yet obtained.

  After she’d turned him down, he hadn’t let himself wallow. He’d seduced her, hoping to prove just how much she needed him.

  He’d only proved how much he needed her.

  Winning Katie James was proving to be the greatest challenge of his life, and he knew not what to do next.

  For the first time, he knew not how to win.

  * * *

  A SORCERER KNOWN only as Mon Graig had just arrived on this world. Percen sensed him the moment he used magic to teleport.

  With a little magic of his own, Percen discerned the male planned to find Jorlan and escort him home.

  That, I cannot allow.

  Percen needed more time with Heather, who’d seemed to emotionally withdraw from him. She claimed she disagreed with his treatment of Jorlan, but Percen knew better. She’d seen his face and latched on to any excuse to part with him. But he would win her back. He would!

  Just need more time, he thought again. Another day. Maybe two—twelve.

  He followed Mon Graig’s magical trail, quickly finding his dwelling. No sign of Mon Graig—yet. Very well. Percen hid in the shadows to wait.

  By the new dawning, Mon Graig would be trapped inside a stone casing of his own.

  * * *

  “HEATHER ISN’T FEELING any better.”

  Katie lowered her paint roller, careful to keep the thick mauve liquid from dripping onto the plastic floor covering. She gazed over at Frances, who stood at the Victorian’s threshold. Midday sunlight streamed around her, giving her a golden aura. “Is she okay? She’s been so sick.”

  “I hope so.” Concern darkened Frances’s features. “I can’t help but worry about her. She lies in bed all day and night and doesn’t want to eat or sleep, just stares up at the ceiling. A few times, I’ve caught her talking to herself.”

  “If there’s anything I can do,” Katie said, “just let me know, okay?”

  “I will. And thank you for understanding.” With a shaky smile, Frances left to continue her work outside in the gardens.

  Katie checked the clock on her phone and jolted. Wow. Half of the day had passed already. Frowning, she dropped her roller into the proper tin. The muscles in her arms ached from hours of painting.

  How did Jorlan fare upstairs? Had he finished painting the bedroom?

  At the dawn of each new day, he’d been more restless than the day before, and far more reserved. He no longer smiled or teased her. He almost seemed…sad.

  Pang. Every day he told her he loved her, and every day he asked her if she loved him back. She had yet to reply. How could she love a man who might leave her the second she said those three little words? Who might be tricking her just to get what he wanted?

  Although, part of her did believe he loved her. It was the other part of her; that part couldn’t shake her fears and suspicions.

  Time was running out, though, and she knew she wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t allow him to return to stone. Never had she felt so torn in two. Like the rope in a game of tug-of-war.

  What was she going to do?

  All she knew right now? She needed to see him and assure herself that he was still here, that he was still the flesh-and-blood warrior who held her each night.

  She marched up the stairs, her tennis shoes squeaking with every step. Mental note: wedge a few nails between the plank seams and end the infernal squeaking at last.

  As soon as she entered the bedroom, she spotted Jorlan. Hello, gorgeous. Natural light flooded through the unadorned window and caressed his bare upper body. His sun-kissed golden skin seemed to glow.

  Her nerve endings hummed to life as he stroked a paint roller up and down. He knew she was here, yet he refused to acknowledge her.

  Steps clipped, she closed the remaining distance, jerked the tool from his grasp—and pressed it against his face. Ha! Ignore that, Jordie.

  At first, he remained completely still.

  He said nothing. Instead of punishing her, he wiped his eyes clean and picked up an unused paintbrush at their feet and got back to work. He dipped the bristles into the paint tin and smeared the pale yellow liquid onto the walls. Up. Down. Up. His muscles strained and flexed.

  Even while ignoring her, the man struck her as passion incarnate. Since his physique came from years spent on the battlefield, she should have envisioned blood and gore every time she looked at him. Here, now, she only thought of silk sheets and sweaty bodies.

  He’d trained her body to want him, and want him, it did. No matter how many protests her mind issued!

  “I need more paint,” he said, without glancing her way.

  “Why?” She worked her brows up and down, up and down. “Do you hope to paint me?”

  The sides of his jaw tensed. “To finish painting the wall.”

  Wait. What? She snapped out of her lustful haze. “I gave you enough to paint the world.”

  “And yet my tin is empty.”

  Not sure what to expect, Katie studied the walls before her. They looked perfectly fine, nothing amiss. Then she rotated to survey the wall behind her. Her gasp echoed. “You opened and used every can of paint in the house, the attic and my truck?”

  “Aye. I thought we needed more color. Thought to complete everything in record time, so we could spend the day together. I used my magic and…you see the results,” he reluctantly admitted.

  “But, but…” The wall looked horrible, though. Absolutely hideous. Different colors of paint dripped from the ceiling, trickling down the wall in thick clumps. As the shades mixed, they created a supershade: puke. She stifled a groan. “You have to follow my instructions,” she squeaked.

  “Do not paint the floor, you said. Do not paint the side trim, you said. Do not use circular motions, you said. Well, I did none of those things.”

  “You’re right.” He was right, and she couldn’t chastise him for her own mistake. How was she going to fix this? “You’re, uh, doing fine.”

  “I will hear your thanks, then,” he said, his expression mutinous. And comical, thanks to the streaks of yellow paint that ran down his cheeks.

  Uh, he would hear her thanks? Her thanks? A red cloud descended over Katie’s eyes. He had ignored her all day, had ruined her wall, and now he would hear her thanks? “Why should I thank you when you missed a spot?” With a sweet smile, she dragged the roller down his nose.

  He paused for a brief moment—then he returned the favor.

  She gasped as the cold liquid coated her skin. “Do not do that again,” she mock growled. Even as she said the words, she reached out to smear him with another fresh coat.

  He grabbed her wrist, stopping her, looking like the playful, teasing lover she’d come to lo—like and know. “Think you can paint me at your leisure?”

  She chuckled. “Yes, actually, I do.”

  “Then let us see who wields the mightier brush.” In a heartbeat of time, he had her pinned to the floor, her hands shackled behind her back. Slowly, very slowly, he painted her hair, her collarbone and her legs, and she laughed too hard to rebuke him.

  After he tossed his brush aside, he stared down at her with a serious glint in his pale blue eyes. His breathing quickened. Hers, too. Their amusemen
t died.

  The next thing she knew, he leaned down to kiss her. A languid kiss that went on and on, making her wet with arousal. Just as she began to squirm for more, he pulled away. Without a word, he swiped up his brush and went back to painting the wall.

  Okay, she deserved this, she really did. But would she stand for it? No, thanks. She stood, grabbed the paint can and dumped the remaining liquid over his head.

  He stood stunned as yellow rivulets soaked his hair and dripped onto his face. The look he gave her…probably the same look a hunter gave a deer just before pulling the trigger. “You will pay for that, katya.”

  “You have to catch me first,” she taunted, darting away.

  “Oh, I will catch you. Doubt it not.”

  Smothering her laughter with her hand so she wouldn’t give away her location, Katie slipped into the next room. A plank cracked beneath her feet.

  She froze, her heart racing. Had Jorlan heard?

  Footsteps sounded. Crap! He most certainly had.

  She swallowed a laugh and darted behind the door. Only, the foundation at her feet gave way and she fell past the floor. Wrong. There was no floor, not anymore; the floorboards had snapped.

  She tumbled down, screaming as she anticipated impact.

  When she hit, she hit hard. Searing agony overtook her. Blood filled her mouth, coating her tongue. She grasped for a breath she couldn’t catch.

  From a distance, she heard Jorlan shout her name, the sound anguished and desperate.

  Though she used every ounce of her remaining strength to shout for him, no sound emerged. Then darkness swallowed her whole.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  JORLAN RUSHED DOWN the steps, taking three at a time as the horrifying scene replayed in his mind on repeat. Only seconds ago he had watched Katie tumble through the floor. He could not get to her in time. Now he stood closer to where she’d been, peering through a hole in the upstairs floor. Her body had twisted on impact. She lay still and broken, trickles of blood flowing from her mouth, pieces of wood protruding from different parts of her body.

  Time ceased to exist for Jorlan, yet an eternity seemed to pass before he reached her. He skidded to a halt, bent down and gently folded her into his arms. She didn’t make a sound, didn’t move. Didn’t flutter her eyes.

  “Katie. Sweet katya. Please open your eyes.”

  No response.

  Jorlan fought a roar of despair. He knew this was no accident, knew that the wood had not splintered from natural causes. Magic coated the air.

  His magic? Because he’d attempted to paint the wall with his powers, only to cause the thick, gooey liquid to explode? Had he weakened the house’s flooring?

  By Elliea, his woman was hurt, in danger of dying, and every protective, primitive instinct he possessed surfaced, fueled by fear, anger and impotence.

  First his limbs went cold, then the rest of him. He needed this woman too desperately to lose her. Saving her wasn’t an obligation, or even an effort to save his freedom; it was necessary for his sanity.

  Desperation clawed and gnawed at him. He needed to use magic. She would not heal without it; that, he knew beyond a doubt. As many injuries as he’d seen on the battlefield, he’d learned to recognize fatal versus nonfatal. Individually, Katie had multiple fatal wounds. Altogether?

  He cut off a roar. If he used his magic to help her, he might cause her more harm than good.

  There was a chance he would help her. A chance was better than nothing.

  Please work. Please. I will do anything to save her.

  Closing his stinging eyes, he harnessed every ounce of power he possessed. He’d never attempted anything like this, shouldn’t be attempting it now, yet he could not sit idle, helpless. He had to try.

  “Help me, my Druinn ancestors,” he muttered. “Please. I beg you. Help me, and I will help you in some way.” He’d heard Percen speak to the Druinn like this. Had heard his mother, too. Jorlan had tried a couple times, before stopping. He’d felt foolish, and he’d never gotten a response. “Please,” he repeated.

  A door opened and slammed shut. Footsteps resounded. A woman gasped.

  “What happened?” Frances demanded.

  He did not expend any energy speaking to her or even facing her. He simply kept his eyes closed, concentrating on Katie, on his magic. Soon, a burn spread through his hands. He thought he felt…nay, surely not. But maybe? He thought he felt someone else’s power mingling with his own. But whose?

  Did it matter? The power built and built and built inside him.

  When he reached optimum levels, he opened his eyes, gently returned Katie to the floor, and ran each of his palms down her body, from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. Magic seeped from his hands and absorbed into her skin.

  He had control. He actually had control. Mayhap ’twas his desperation responsible. Mayhap ’twas his love for Katie. Or mayhap ’twas whomever helped him. Whatever the reason, Katie had to survive.

  Very distantly, as if she stood in a tunnel, he heard Frances shrilly demand, “What are you doing?”

  Still, he ignored her.

  “Your hands are glowing,” Frances continued, her shock unparalleled. “Now Katie is glowing.”

  A loud thump sounded next. A sound he now knew all too well. She’d just passed out.

  Jorlan continued to run his hands over Katie, feeding her more and more magic. His power was waning however, his strength dwindling.

  His head began to swim. His lungs burned, as if he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. He shook. Ultimately, he collapsed, barely able to breathe. Had he saved her?

  With much effort, he pried open his eyes. The first thing he noticed—Katie was unmoving and completely oblivious to the world around her. Next he spotted Frances a few feet away, her body also sprawled on the floor.

  One heartbeat passed, then another. Katie moaned, her eyelids fluttering open. “Jorlan?” Her voice lacked substance, but still he rejoiced.

  She was alive. She was well. Nothing else mattered.

  Gathering what little strength he’d managed to retain, he forced himself into an upright position and said, “Aye, katya.”

  She found him with her gaze and grimaced. “What happened? You’re so…splotchy. I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look terrible.”

  He gave a weak chuckle. He’d almost lost her. That she was healthy and whole did little to dissuade his horror. He wasn’t sure when the curse had ceased to matter, or when Katie had become the most important part of his life, but it had, and she had; he only knew that his freedom meant nothing without her…and he might not be able to keep her.

  A wave of dizziness assaulted him, and he closed his eyes once again.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, the words trembling with concern. “Do you need a doctor?”

  “I am fine.” Was he, though? He’d never felt so weak or irreparable, as if he would never again regain his strength.

  Gingerly she sat up. “Ouch. One part of my anatomy hurts more than the rest.”

  “Which part?” Had he missed a wound?

  “My butt.”

  Only bruised, then. He hadn’t touched that particular area because it had not appeared injured, and he’d wanted the magic to go where the magic was needed most. “When I regain my energy, I will massage away the soreness.”

  “Sweet! Sign me up for an appointment with Dr. Jordie at energy o’clock. But, uh, what happened to you?” Concern dripped from her voice, and she glanced to her right. “What happened to Frances?”

  “She fainted. I collapsed.”

  “But why?” Her eyes widened. “Was there a gas leak or something?”

  So, she didn’t remember falling through the floor? He managed a shrug.

  Frances moaned and shifted, slowly coming to consciousness. “Wh-what happened?” She must have remembered a second later because she jerked upright, and stared at Jorlan with morbid fascination, and then Katie, then Jorlan again. “He, he—” Her gaze con
tinued to flicker between them as she pushed with her heels and scooted backward, widening the distance between them. She looked so frightened, so shocked, and she began babbling about lights.

  Jorlan lost the ability to speak, his jaw frozen. He could not reassure or comfort her. Not that she would have believed anything he said.

  “Frances?” Katie’s brows furrowed with confusion. “What’s going on?” Grimacing, she eased to her feet. Bloodstained wood chips formed chaotic piles around her. As she picked up a shard, her grimace became a frown. She focused on the other woman.

  With a shriek, Frances sprinted out the door.

  A cacophony of noises erupted. Thumping footsteps. Squeaking hinges. Crunching gravel. The roar of an engine. Squealing tires.

  The scent of burning rubber wafted through the home. In her haste to exit, Frances must have forgotten to shut the front door, allowing outside scents to travel through the chambers. A seemingly unimportant observation, yet deep down he suspected it meant something bad.

  Kate threw Jorlan a wide-eyed glance over her shoulder. “I’m on the verge of a major freak-out. Stop being secretive and tell me what’s going on.”

  He fought to speak, fought harder to stay awake as darkness threatened to overtake him. What if Katie had a relapse and required his magic?

  In the end, however, the darkness won. He closed his eyes and drifted off…

  * * *

  BREATHING DEEPLY OF sweetly perfumed air, Percen hobbled across Heather’s bedchamber. His feet sank into the threadbare carpet. Well, one of his feet. The twisted one dragged behind him, the muscles painfully knotted.

  He’d overworked his limbs this day and now paid the price. He’d overused his magic, too, all to render his first strike against Jorlan and Katie.

  And what had he received for his efforts? Failure.

  He should have gone somewhere solitary to lick his wounds and plan his next move, but he’d wanted, needed Heather. She was his only source of peace.

  “Percen? What happened? What’s wrong?” She sat at the edge of her bed, a thick blanket draped her shoulders.

  He longed to sink to his knees, press his cheek against her stomach and tell her all of his troubles. She would listen. She would understand. Mayhap. If she had not booted him from her life after their argument. Of course, if she did listen and understand, she would only reiterate how badly he needed to forget the past and forgive his brother.