Julia’s mouth went dry. This isn’t happening. She wasn’t ready to lose Tristan. Not now, perhaps not ever, and the fact that she could lose him terrified her. “Who was the guy?”
“The son of the Druinn High Priest. His magic surpasses Zirra’s.”
Information overload. “Let’s go inside before my brain explodes,” she said. She didn’t want to stand out in the open, didn’t want to be any more of a target than she needed to be. She wanted him within the walls of her house, the doors locked. But when she tried to move forward, he stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder.
“Did you not turn out the lights before we left?” he asked, frowning.
“Yes. Now hurry.” She curled her fingers around his and tugged him toward the door.
He planted his heels firmly in the ground, preventing her from moving another inch. “I believe someone has invaded your home.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. Heart thudding, she studied the house. Light seeped from beneath the closed curtains of her front window. “Oh, my goodness. I think you’re right.”
Morphing into superhero mode, he demanded, “Get behind the bushes.” Or antihero. His face was an angry mask of determination, his gaze cold and hard.
“What are you going to do?” While Tristan was unbelievably strong, he was not impenetrable to bullet or knife wounds.
He didn’t repeat himself, and he didn’t reply. Instead, using gentle force, he pushed her behind the bushes. “Remain there until I return.”
* * *
TRISTAN UNSHEATHED his daggers, one from the waist of his drocs, the other from the sheath he tied to his boot; with a stealth born of years on the battlefield, he moved into the house. Broken glass and leaves littered the floor. The talking cube was shattered, lying in tiny pieces across the floor. In the center of the room loomed a tall, thick tree, its branches sprouting in every direction.
Zirra. He bared his teeth. Must be part of her spell. He didn’t understand why she would wanted a tree in Julia’s home, but there it was, leaving destruction in its wake. Broken floorboards, holes in the walls, plaster everywhere.
Fists clenched, he silently and methodically searched every chamber in the house, ascertaining the damage. As he ducked under limbs, he clasped the hilts of his daggers so tightly his knuckles drained of color. Furniture and knickknacks had been destroyed in the sorceress’s magical rage. Julia’s cherished possessions.
If the sorceress were capable of this, what else could the sorceress do?
Fear grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. Zirra hoped to win him back and hurt Julia in the process. And she had almost succeeded. Seeing her, knowing she could reach him anywhere, anytime, brought all of his old resentments to the surface. He’d been so happy at first, to stand inside the Druinn castle, to see his homeland. Yet all of his happiness had faded the second he’d spied Zirra.
Many females had attempted to steal his box from one of his guan rens. Some had succeeded; some had not. Those times of success, he had found himself sucked back inside his prison, an endless void he despised more than his curse, awaiting a summons from his new mistress, whoever she happened to be. He’d never minded, for one guan ren was the same as any other. With Julia, however… He would not allow himself to be taken. Not by Zirra. Not by anyone.
His arms trembled as he returned his weapons to their pouches and lifted a broken portrait of a young Julia standing next to an equally young Faith, this photo slightly different from the other he’d viewed. Julia’s bright eyes smiled up at him with such innocence and trust.
“Oh, my goodness.”
The soft, feminine voice had him whipping around, shoving branches out of his way. Julia stood in the doorway, her jaw slack, her eyes wide with shock and fear. “You were told to wait outside, woman.”
“I was worried about you.”
The words knifed through him, leaving a trail of guilt in their wake. Women had lusted for him, but none had ever worried for him. And yet, the one woman who did care, he had failed to protect. He’d allowed her to be transported against her will, and her belongings to be destroyed. His hands shook as he set the portrait back onto the leafy floor. How did one man, one warrior, battle against a magic he could not see or touch?
“I am fine, Julia,” he said. “Completely unharmed. Come and see for yourself.” Never removing his eyes from her, he opened his arms and simply waited.
With a broken moan, she raced to him and threw herself against him. Her fragrance, still so sweet and all her own, was now laced with fear—for him. “Why would Zirra do this?”
“I think you were supposed to swing from one of the branches,” he croaked. “But fear now. She will not get to you again. All will be well, draga.”
“But my house,” she whispered raggedly. “My things. That tree!”
He continued to cradle her against him. It had been centuries since he had willingly comforted a woman, and it tore him up inside to do so now. He hated to see Julia so upset. He hated to see her tears, and he used his fingertip to gently wipe them away.
“Should I notify my insurance?” A humorless sound escaped her, and the sound tinkled like jagged bells. “What would I even say?”
He gently led her to the couch.
“Sit,” he told her, taking her hands in his. Her fingers were ice-cold, too cold. “Rest for a moment.”
“I don’t want to sit,” she said, her voice hoarse. Wide-eyed, she looked around, as if trying to take in everything at once. Her beautiful paintings were in tatters from the branches. Her lovely emerald-and-sapphire chaise was a broken shell. Trembling, she said, “I know the box is here, but I need to see it, to hold it in my hands.”
He sighed, hating that she would not accept his comfort yet,
