Just in front of her, air began to swirl, as if someone had opened a door allowing a turbulent wind inside. That swirling air thickened and liquefied. Next, a silver mist rose from the floor, curling all the way to the ceiling.
Withdrawing his daggers, Tristan pushed to his feet. That wind…that mist…
Magic.
He stiffened. Where there was magic, there was Zirra.
* * *
HEART POUNDING against Julia’s ribs, she jumped back. She blinked. What am I even seeing?
The mist spread and billowed throughout the entire kitchen. When it thinned, her jaw went slack. Zirra stood next to the same very large, very angry-looking man who’d been with her before.
Julia focused on Zirra. The woman who had cursed Tristan, attempting to break his pride and his spirit, ensuring he suffered for all of eternity.
Not interested in considering the repercussions of what she planned, Julia jolted forward, fist clenched, and punched the sorceress in the mouth with every ounce of her strength. Zirra’s head whipped to the side. Before she could recover, Julia punched her again.
“You deserve a lifetime of suffering,” Julia ground out. “And I’m ready to give it to you.”
Tristan latched onto Julia’s arm and yanked her behind him. His body shook with the force of his…fear for their safety? Anticipation of violence?
“Do not hurt her, Zirra,” he commanded. “’Tis me you want.”
Fear, then. How she hated the terror this big, strong man had to face.
“You are right.” Zirra narrowed her eyes and wiped the blood from her lip with the back of her hand. “I do want you, Tristan, but your bitch is going to suffer first.”
The man at Zirra’s side flicked his tongue over an incisor.
When the sorceress raised her arms, Tristan launched at her. Too late. By the time he reached her, she’d already uttered a spell, her volume too low to make out her words.
An eerie heaviness settled over Julia’s eyelids, lethargy coursing through her veins. “Tristan,” she said, weaker by the second. Her knees buckled. Thankfully, he rushed back to her side, catching her before she hit the ground.
* * *
“WHAT DID YOU DO to her?” Tristan demanded of Zirra.
She merely smiled, as smug as always.
“Julia. Draga,” he whispered, cupping her cheek. “What is wrong?”
No response.
“What did you do to her?” he roared again.
“Romulis helped me regain my powers,” Zirra said, gloating. “I used them to cast a spell of sickness over the girl.”
“Break it. Now,” Tristan commanded. Fear raced through him, more potent than any other emotion he’d ever endured, because he knew Zirra would not heed him. She was evil incarnate. If she could cast him to an eternity of hell when she professed to love him, what would she do to Julia, a woman who stood in the way of her possession?
Julia’s skin quickly bleached of color, the blue trace of her veins visible beneath it. She was silent, lifeless. “Save her,” he said, nearly choking on his tongue. His eyes blurred as he addressed Romulis. “Save her now.”
“I cannot.” The warrior directed a darker scowl to Zirra. “The Druinn cannot break each other’s spells, and well Zirra knows it. I did not bring her here for this. Did not know her powers had returned in full force.”
Tristan clenched his fists around Julia’s clothing. He needed her, needed her more than he needed to take his next breath. He needed to spend an eternity with her. Needed to hear her laugh and see her smile every—single—day.
To him, she represented everything that was good and right. She did not deserve the fate Zirra had planned for her, a torturous punishment that only an unstable mind could mete out. He could not let this happen. He could not let Zirra hurt Julia.
He had once refused to beg this sorceress for his own life. But he would beg for Julia’s. And he would do so with pleasure.
Without another thought, he gently laid Julia atop her table, tenderly caressed her cheek, then faced Zirra. She was scowling. Head high, he dropped to one knee.
“What are you doing?” she sputtered. “Get up!”
Kneeling, he pressed his hands together, creating a steeple.
“Tristan.”
“Please, Zirra. Let me have the life I have built for myself. Let me have Julia healthy and whole and in peace. Please… I am begging you. Leave us to our life. Then I will return to you willingly.”
A seething Romulis strode to him and tried to jerk him to his feet. “Do not beg her for anything,” he said.
Tristan held fast, remaining on his knee.
Zirra stumbled back a step, gasping, “You dare beg me now? And for her? She is nothing, I tell you. Nothing!”
“Nay, she is everything.”
She gave a violent shake of her head. “I will not let you do this. Where is your box? Tell me, and I’ll let the whore live.”
He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Please, Zirra. Please. I swore never to beg again, yet here I am.”
Zirra screeched, “Where is your box?”
Romulis released Tristan and grabbed her shoulders to shake her. “Do you see what he is willing to do for this woman? Do you see how much he wants her? How much he does not want you?”
Tension crackled between them.
“You know not of what you speak,” she snapped.
He rattled her again. “How can you not realize you are meant to be my life-mate?”
She tried to slap away his arms without success, grating, “I do not realize it because it is not true.”
Tristan listened to the exchange, vacillating between hope and dread.
“Liar.” A pause, then Romulis narrowed his eyes. “I am calling in my favor. You will leave Tristan and his woman alone.”
“No!” Panic washed over Zirra’s features. Then she paused and smiled slowly. “I-I am afraid I’ve already granted your favor, Romulis. You told me to come here and here I am.”
A muscle ticked beneath his eye, until finally he
