He flashed his straight, white teeth as he scowled. “Alone? You are back to rebuffing me, even though you kissed me with such passion?”
“Really? Passion?” Delight shimmered through her, overshadowing the embarrassment. “You’re not just saying that?”
He worked his jaw left and right, and he didn’t stop until the bone popped from exertion. “You did not think you kissed me with passion?”
Not a denial, but not an agreement, either. “Forget it,” she grumbled. “Just go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” Her chin tilted stubbornly to the side. “Just to be clear, this—” she motioned in a circle with her hand “—is your room. That—” she pointed down the hall “—is mine.”
“You are sure?”
* * *
FOR A MAN who caters to the desires of women, Tristan sure needs constant instruction. Julia’s exasperation must have inadvertently strengthened her, because she managed to say, “I’m sure,” and only trembled like one or twenty times.
“Julia,” he muttered softly, all traces of ire melting from him as swiftly as ice cubes in a desert. His lashes swept low over his eyes and his lips parted. “You are wet for me, are you not?”
Her tongue thickened, gluing itself to the roof of her mouth. She tried to speak but failed. Opting for the coward’s way out, she turned and raced down the hall to her bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her.
She sank onto the bed. What had she gotten herself into?
Isn’t it obvious? You’ve gotten yourself into a whole lot of trouble.
CHAPTER FIVE
You Have Only Two Words To Offer Any
Conversation. “Yes” and “Mistress”
TRISTAN PACED THE narrow hallway for a long while. With every step, he cursed women everywhere for their fickleness. He cursed himself, as well. He hadn’t remained detached. He’d wanted Julia, had tried to convince her to see his way, something he’d never done with another.
A day of firsts.
He’d been rejected by a woman, then accepted, then rejected again; she’d made his body burn for completion only to turn him away once she’d gotten her claws buried in his backside.
This would not have happened on Imperia, where women had flocked to his side.
Imperia. Just thinking the name caused a wave of loneliness and loss to crash over him. A pang cut so deeply it nearly cleaved him in two. Never again would he see his home, the billowing white grass, the multihued sky. The soaring dragons. Never would he watch the four suns rise separately or the moons rise together. Never would he know if Roake had taken a wife and had children.
Never would Tristan know the life—and death—his dearest friends and family had experienced. They were dead now, mortals who’d lived over a thousand years ago, during his other life. The people and places that had been so important to him were nothing but mist in his mind—sometimes thick and tangible, at others so sheer he wouldn’t know they were there if not for a lingering, ever-present fragrance.
Still he ached at their loss. Never again would he know true friendship or have a home of his own. No, he would be forced to endure the selfish whims and ever-changing desires of his guan rens.
Bitterness roared to life, an emotion he usually battled with extreme determination. Here, now? He didn’t want to fight. He let the bitterness surge, wrapping him in cold blanket of despair. With a virulent groan, he gazed at the empty space surrounding him—an emptiness he found mirrored within himself. He’d lost his future. His loved ones.
Mayhap even his soul. Besides Julia’s kiss, he could not name one good thing that had happened to him since he’d bedded Zirra.
Hopelessness joined the bitterness, the two waging a desperate war against his resolve, leaving him raw and wounded inside. Only his pride kept him defiant and prevented him from crying out to the heavens to beg the sorceress to free him. Not that she would hear him.
Aye, only pride stopped him. Pride he had no right to harbor.
Do not walk to me, Tristan. Crawl.
I like her necklace. Take it from her.
Kill him. His every breath offends me.
As he continued to pace, his steps became agitated. He was used to being with a mistress or alone in the box, a sentient mist aware of the world around him, but unable to respond. Very rarely had he been free and solitary. Now, his very bones burned with the torment of emotions raining inside him. Not just the hopelessness and bitterness, but humiliation, helplessness and rage. He needed a distraction. He needed…Julia.
He could lose himself in her. Sex wasn’t particularly enjoyable for him anymore, but it certainly wiped the acrid knowledge of his past—and his future—from his mind, if only for a moment. He would control the pleasure, so he would control the woman.
But Julia had claimed she didn’t want him. After nearly eating off his face during their kiss.
At his sides, his hands curled into fists of their own accord. He didn’t like the way they’d left things. He’d accused her of being wet, and she’d run to her room. They needed to talk some more. Yes, yes. Talk. Another conversation might prove more distracting than sex, anyway. Never had a mistress made him smile the way Julia had done.
Eager, he stalked to her door, only to pause. Without her permission, he could not enter her room. That thought irritated him even further. By Elliea, he loathed being told what to do. He always had. He had been a soldier, leader of the Elite, and all of these years of enslavement had not destroyed his warrior instincts.
A warrior gave orders, he did not take them.
Body tight with frustration, he tested the handle. The silver metal turned easily. “May I enter, Julia?” The words left his mouth quickly, for he despised the taste of them.
“Why?” came the muffled reply. “I’ve already told you that we’re not…we aren’t…”
He snapped, “I did not come to beg for your favors, if that is what you desire.” But he would be
