The Stone Prince

by Gena Showalter

  Frances took a deep breath and continued. "The wife whipped off her panties and flipped them to her husband. 'Try these on,' she said. Knowing he needed to pacify her if he hoped to get lucky, the husband did as she demanded. He tried the panties on and found that he could only get the lacy material up as far as his kneecap. He said, 'Hell, I can't get into your panties.' And the wife said, 'That's right, and that's the way it's gonna be until you change your damn attitude.'"

  Katie choked on her water.

  Jorlan frowned.

  When her air passage cleared, Katie smiled up at Frances. "I'll have to tell that one to my brothers."

  "I thought you'd like it."

  "If you ever need a break from the cafe," Katie said, still grinning, "come talk to me. I'm restoring the old house on Gossamer Lane and could use the help. And the entertainment."

  "Really? Seriously?"

  "Absolutely." Katie usually hired outside help for renovation and restoration when she purchased a new house. For some reason, she'd been reluctant to hire anyone for the Victorian, wanting instead to do the work herself. But the sheer elation in Frances's eyes convinced her to stick with her usual method. "You could start anytime."

  "I might take you up on that." Frances beamed. Then, with another meaningful glance to Jorlan, she sauntered away, leaving behind the echo of her happy whistle.

  Jorlan's features darkened with ire. "That woman needs a keeper."

  "You think every woman needs a keeper," Katie replied dryly. Her gaze flicked to him, observant and narrowed. "Did you ever consider the possibility that your men-are-superior views are stupid?"

  "Nay." He answered with absolutely no hesitation.

  "Figures." She had anticipated such an answer, yet had hoped he would surprise her. "Look, some men are not honorable and often mentally and physically abuse a woman in an attempt to break her will. Is that the kind of keeper you would have for Frances?" Caught up in her speech, Katie leaned into him, even pointed a finger in his chest. "Just because a woman has spirit, does not mean she needs a man to guide her."

  "Aye, it does." Jorlan, too, leaned forward. Their noses touched, sending a jolt of awareness through her system. He grabbed her finger and held the appendage captive in the warmth of his hand. "If a woman pushes a man beyond his control, she risks physical injury."

  "And a guardian would keep her safe?"

  "Aye."

  Katie let out her breath sharply. "Even from himself?"

  "Aye. Even from himself." The blue of his eyes clouded with silver and gray. "A warrior trained in the art of battle will save a woman from the very danger she herself creates."

  The noise of the cafe faded from her ears as she concentrated on the man before her. "But, Jorlan, with your logic, a woman wouldn't need a keeper if a warrior simply controlled himself."

  Jorlan paused, considering her words. When their meal was delivered, Katie's voice still echoed in his mind. A woman wouldn't need a keeper if a warrior simply controlled himself. There was truth to what she'd said, though such ideology contradicted the entire Imperian way of life, a way of life that suggested men were men and women were weak.

  He had much to think on.

  A wondrous aroma drifted into his nostrils. Frances, the aging servant, tossed numerous plates in his direction. Several pieces of food flopped to the table. His stomach rumbled. Ravenous, he made short work of every bite, nibble and crumb, relishing the taste, texture and color. The light-brown squares filled with dark-blue spheres were his favorite. Katie, he noticed, ate only a plain omelet and drank a mug of light green, clumpy liquid. With each gulp, she closed her eyes and uttered a wordless exclamation of ecstasy. He considered dousing his body in the murky-looking concoction.

  "Now that one need is satisfied, I need only a nice, leisurely pummeling to feel complete," he said. "Mayhap the girl would be interested."

  Katie scowled.

  He almost laughed. 'Twas the action of a possessive woman, and one that filled him with hope. Soon...oh, aye, soon Katie's love would belong to him.

  "Keep in mind," Katie bit out, "that you have no money. Women do not sleep with poor men."

  "Then I shall acquire riches."

  "As if it's that easy! First of all, no one but me will hire you. Second, any money you make belongs to me to reimburse me for your food and shelter. I'm not a woman who will support a man while he does nothing except watch TV, lay on the couch and drink beer."

  "So you wish to hire me?"

  "Yes," she said after a moment's hesitation.

  "Do you, by chance, wish me to labor in the bedchamber?"

  She threw her hands into the air. "No! The work I'm offering you has nothing to do with being naked, getting naked, or getting each other naked."

  Her dictate left many wonderful possibilities, for at times, clothing offered just as much, if not more, stimulation than 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. Not ever making her naked, but slowly revealing the succulent skin of her calves, her thighs, and then her--

  "You can get that perverted gleam out of your eyes," she ground out, slapping her hand onto the table with a thump. Glasses clanged together. "You'll paint, put up siding, lay tile, shingle or whatever I happen to need done. To the house," she added, "not to me. And I don't want to hear any complaints."

  Complain? About physical labor? When his body already hummed with excitement, vibrated with too much energy? "Exercising my muscles holds great appeal, katya. I will do whatever needs to be done, no matter that you are impudent in the asking of it."

  For a long while, she said nothing. Then she sighed, a long drawn-out sigh. "Look, I don't mean to be so snappy, Jorlan. I really don't. I just don't know what to do about you." She tossed green paper onto the table surface. "Come on. We've got a lot of work to do today." She slid across the seat and stood.

  He pushed easily 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 grabbed his forearm. He spun, clutching the weapon at his waist without actually removing it.

  The redhead smiled up at him.

  He relaxed his warrior stance.

  "Hey," she said, her voice throaty and seductive. "I'm Heather."

  'Twas the type of reception he was used to receiving. He returned her smile. "'Tis my pleasure to meet you, Heather. I am called--"

  "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 Australia. I'd be glad to show you around Dallas. I'm--"

  Katie had spun around at Heather's first words and now stood directly beside Jorlan. Her eyes went molten, then icy. "He's not available."

  Heather never even glanced Katie's way; she just blinked up at Jorlan. "Are you? Unavailable, I mean?"

  He didn't answer right away. Too much did he enjoy Katie's jealousy.

  "I'll be waiting in the truck," Katie snapped. She swirled on her heel and strode outside.

  Jorlan faced the little redhead again. Here was a woman like those of his world. Willing to please. More than likely, she would do whatever he asked if he showed the slightest bit of interest. Yet he felt nothing, not even a faint stirring of lust.

  "Though I may come to regret these words," he said when his body failed to respond to the girl's nearness, "I am indeed unavailable."

  "But the woman you're with is so...tall and plain."

  "Plain?" He chuckled. "Her beauty is endless."

  Heather gave a disappointed shrug of her shoulders. "It was worth a try, I guess."

  With nothing left to say, he followed the path Katie had taken. As she'd said, she was waiting for him inside the belly of her transportation. Her limbs were stiff,
her expression cold.

  He slowly grinned. The day was indeed ripe with promise.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Imperia

  PERCEN DE LOCKE HOBBLED across the ancient sands of Druinn, a haven situated in the heart of Imperia and invisible to mortal trespassers. Moonlight spilled upon the crystal grains, creating an illuminating sphere of mystique. The fragrance of gartina and elsment ghosted a cool, moist breeze upon his cheeks and neck, ruffled the dark locks of his hair, then swirled away. 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, impotence 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. Fists clenched at his sides, he closed his eyelids. Using his mind's eye, 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 then that she had sent Jorlan away, effectively saving the cursed warrior from Percen's wrath. The knowledge smoldered inside of him, blistering like a fire raging out of control.

  "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.

  "Nay." Her expression was 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 so upset."

  "Do not act as if you care what I feel. I know where your affections lie."

  Her eyes, pale-blue just like his own, darkened with sadness. "I am your mother. Why do you think I can care for one of my sons but not the other? Aye, I left you here, but I have always had the same devotion for you that I have for Jorlan. Always."

  "Liar!" He closed the distance between them there in the quiet of the white sands. His rage grew hungry, and without 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 are a liar." He spoke slowly, softly. Harshly.

  Silence weighted down like an oppressive shadow, and he watched his mother's cheek redden and swell. He had put that mark there, and the knowledge cut deeply, shamefully. He held his breath until his chest burned in agony, for the gentle fragrance of her perfume taunted his nostrils. He waited for her next words, the words that would at last confess her hatred of him.

  They didn't come.

  Tears pooled in her eyes; her chin wobbled. "Please believe me when I say that I am devoted to you. Not because you are my son, but because I love you."

  These words were somehow more offensive than if she'd slapped him in retaliation. For how long had he waited to hear such a wondrous declaration? Forever, it seemed. Yet it meant nothing to him now. Nothing! "Your actions belie your words, Mother."

  "'Tis not true."

  "You claimed to love me spans ago, and yet you left me, deserted me as if I were garbage when you life-joined with the mortal king."

  "I left you with the Druinn because I loved you. How can you not see that? I could not take you from them, knowing you were destined to become 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."

  "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice broken and disjointed like the winds of the third season. "So sorry. I didn't know, didn't think--"

  "No." He cut her off, scowling. "You didn't think of me. You have never thought of me."

  "Percen, please stop this. I love you. I truly do."

  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?"

  "Whatever you wish, 'tis yours," she said hopefully, though she still did not face him.

  He knew exactly what he wanted. "Bring the statue back to me."

  "Nay. Not that." She gave a firm shake of her head. "Never that."

  "Curse you, why did you take him from me? Why? A loving--" he sneered the word "--mother would have left me to my vengeance."

  At last her eyes met his. He pierced her with the full fury of his gaze. She did not look away from him this time, and in fact, held his stare with a proud tilt of her chin. "Jorlan is my son, just as you are, and I would not see him suffer for my sins."

  Hearing her words of devotion for his most hated enemy cut deeper than a sharp-edged talon. "By sending him to another world, you punished me. Does it please you to see me suffer?"

  "Your happiness means as much to me as his does, but I could not allow you to sentence your brother to a life of imprisonment." Like a dark angel amid the white sands, she sank to her knees and scooped a handful of the tiny crystals, letting the grains sift between her fingers. One lone tear dripped into her palm, blending and thickening the sand. "Had I the power to break your curse, I would have done so instead of simply sending him away."

  Percen's nostrils flared. All of his childhood he had always prayed for this woman's love, had craved it with every fiber of his being, yet he had found only emptiness. Always emptiness. He supposed he shouldn't have blamed Alana for leaving him. What mother could adore a son so hideous to gaze upon? He knew his scarred, haggard exterior was, at times, too much to bear.

  'Twas one of the reasons he hated Jorlan so passionately. Jorlan possessed the beauty of ancient legends and the strength of a warrior. With brawn unlike any other, the handsome giant felled his enemies with a deadly determination few possessed. Praise met his every action, unlike the dismal recognition Percen received when his own mystical powers were required. His magic should have been praised, his skills exalted.

  "He is your brother, Percen," she said softly. "Set him free."

  "He is my greatest foe, Mother. I will see him die first."

  Her lips parted on another sigh, and she once again reached to touch him. He backed away. He would not accept comfort from her now.

  "You need a woman." Absently, she scooped another handful of sand. "Someone to heal the hurts within you."

  "What woman would have me?" He laughed, the sound harsh and bitter in his ears. "What woman would have a man whose skin is marred with so many scars? Whose body is twisted and bent?"

  She answered without hesitation. "The woman for you is the woman who can look beyond appearance and see the wonderful man inside."

  "This from the woman who not only abandoned her first son, but also destroyed her second--"

  Her chin jerked up, and she spoke over his last words. "Do not say it. Do not say those words
aloud."

  "What? Do not speak your sins aloud for all of the Druinn to hear? I know what you did to the--"

  "Percen," she once again cut him off, desperate this time. She stood to her full height. "That is enough."

  He paused, considered her plea. "You are right. Your sins against the mortals matter little to me. In fact, I welcomed your deed." His head fell back and he gazed up at the heavens. Twin moons glowed, creating shafts of violet light. Why could life not be simple? A man was supposed to live and love and die. Instead, he lived, he suffered, and he continued suffering. "To what world did you send Jorlan?"

  Her eyelids fluttered to a close, but not before he caught a glimpse of her relief. "I sent him far away where a loving maiden will one day set him free. He deserves a life of happiness."

  "And I do not?" Percen slammed his fist against his palm.

  "I did not say that," she gently assured him. "But your happiness does not lie in Jorlan's suffering."

  Aye, it did. Or mayhap...mayhap his redemption lay with another's suffering. "I hardened Jorlan as surely as your neglect hardened my heart," he said, more to himself than to her. "But mayhap I should have hardened you instead."

  Once the words were spoken, he realized just how much he meant them. If she were stone, she could not say things that hurt him. Could not leave him alone and destitute. Could not choose Jorlan over him once again.

  She must have read his intent in his eyes, because she said, "Percen, do not do this," and backed away. She even clasped her amulet to send herself to another plane.

  His powers were much stronger than hers; the Druinn had seen to that. By Elliea, she had seen to that. With a curl of his fingers, he froze her feet in place, making it impossible for her to move, physically or mystically.

  "It is past time you thought upon your actions and your choices. Were even Jorlan here, he could not save you from my spell. We both know he has not my magical abilities, yet you have always chosen the weaker of your sons. Think on that."

  "Percen--"

  A grin curled at the edges of his lips. "Just remember, 'tis I, and I alone, who can free you from this spell. One of life's ironies, I suppose, is that the same person who hurts you is the very one who can save you." Not allowing himself to consider his own actions, he unsheathed his scepter and raised his arms high in the air. The jeweled hilt glistened in the moonlight, creating shafts of colored light that speared onto the sand.