“Nothing has changed,” he said. With a touch as gentle as his tone, he ran a fingertip down her cheek. “Nor will it ever. You are Druinn, and I am mortal. Permanent ties are forbidden between our kind. I am sorry.”
Once again, rage blazed through her, hot and hungry. No one treated her this way. No one. “I will give you one more chance to bind yourself to me.”
He pushed to his feet, uttering a husky chuckle that usually made her shiver with delight. Now the sound merely fueled her anger. “Or you will what, nixa? Boil my eyeballs in water to create a potion? Render my manhood flaccid for all time?”
He dared mock her? “Oh, no, my fine warrior. I will do much, much worse.”
Not the least affected by her ominous warning, he lifted his bloodstained sword from its inclined position against the wall and hooked it to a metal link pressed between his shoulder blades. He bent down and placed a quick kiss upon her cheek. “I had fun with you, nixa.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and strode to the door.
The rage got the better of her, propelling her to her feet. “You desire women above all things, Tristan,” she called, and he paused, his back to her. “Now I will make you a slave to them. I will make you a slave to me.”
Discard a priestess and suffer.
Scowling, she snatched up the jeweled trinket box he’d given her. One of many gifts he’d used to manipulate her emotions. With a screech, she hurled it at him. It sailed past his ear when he leaned to the side—he leaned without turning to watch the box’s progress. It crashed to the floor, unharmed.
Tristan spun and faced her, his expression incredulous. And just a little fearful? “What are you doing, Zirra?”
No longer “nixa,” then? “No one refuses me,” she told him, her body remaining taut in all its naked glory, fury and indignation an invisible cloth. “And you, my handsome mortal, shall pay for doing so.”
“Attempt to harm me, and you will destroy the truce between our people. War will erupt.”
Oh, she knew all about the truce. Mortals never attempted to destroy her people’s Kyi-en-Tra Crystal. The source of their magic. In return, the Druinn did not use those powers against the mortals.
She laughed, yet the sound lacked humor. “You think I fear war? I welcome the chance to enslave your people. Besides, your Great Lord will never discover what I have done to you, because you will not be able to tell him.”
“Zirra—”
“Unless you beg me to become your life-mate. Then I will swear never to harm you.”
Lavender fire instantly blazed in his eyes. “I will never beg you, or anyone, for anything.”
“Then you have brought this on yourself, Tristan ar Malik.” She arched her brows in mocking salute and raised her hands in the air, palms up.
Growling low in his throat, Tristan advanced, his intent to immobilize her evident with his every step. A simple wave of her hand froze his feet in place.
Surprise flashed across his features a split second before he glared at her with such hostility she shivered. She refused to allow a mortal to frighten her. She closed her eyes, splayed her fingers wide and chanted, “From now until love finds you true, a woman’s slave I shall make of you. Trapped inside the trinket box you’ll be. Only when summoned will you be free.”
Wind howled as it thrashed and clawed its way through the spacious chamber, whipping the white gossamer cloth over the windows and rattling the very foundation of her home. Energy erupted and glowed all around, striking like bolts and spears. Her ears rang.
She raised her arms higher and finished the spell. “When summoned, your will matters none. The whims of your mistress must be done. This I bind, this I speak, so let this new reality manifest.”
One moment Tristan stood before her a strong, virile man. The next he was gone. The small jewel-encrusted box she’d thrown at him now rested on the floor in his place.
With a grin, she bent down and clasped the box in her hands. A wave of giddiness swept through her. Tristan now belonged to her—only to her. And over the next thousand years or so, she would enjoy letting him make up for his behavior today. He would learn well his mistake in seducing and abandoning a priestess of the Druinn.
CHAPTER ONE
Santa Fe, New Mexico
Ways Of The Pleasure Slave
The Slightest Whim Of Your Mistress
Is Your Highest Law
THE BLARE OF A HORN SOUNDED. Again.
Gripping the wheel of her sedan until her knuckles bleached white, Julia Anderson glanced down at her speedometer. Six miles per hour over the speed limit. The driver behind her found this completely unacceptable and honked for the millionth time, a demand that she get out of the way or hit the gas.
The morning sun had yet to make an appearance, but the waning moon and towering streetlights revealed two open, easily accessible lanes. There was no reason to ride her tail like this.
Even still, the honking persisted for another mile.
By then, Julia’s nerves felt frazzled beyond repair. Her foot shook on the gas pedal. She rolled her shoulders and drew in a deep breath, but neither action managed to relax her. She cranked up the volume on her favorite opera, La Bohème.
That didn’t help, either.
I’m a calm, rational woman. I will not become unnerved by a little honking. Well, not any more unnerved.
Honk. Honk. Hoooonk.
She gnashed her molars together. She didn’t have a temper; she really didn’t. Not usually anyway. But right now she wanted to slam on her brakes and give that driver a crash-test-dummy demonstration. Instead, she allowed her car to gradually slow.
“What do you think of moseying along, Speedy?” she mumbled.
Apparently, he didn’t like it. As hoped, he whipped his little Mustang into another lane
