Lionslayer's Woman

by Nhys Glover

  ‘You have just arrived in Delos?’ The priestess asked, although by her gentle tone it was clear she already knew this.

  ‘Yes, and we wished to make offerings and pray to Artemis before we leave in the morning. My friend and I both worship her by other names and are on an important quest for which we need her support,’ Cyra spoke up. She was pleased that Leonis didn’t feel the need to play spokesman for them in this female stronghold.

  ‘The Goddess is known by many names, but she always welcomes those who are loyal to her. Please enter and spend a few moments in this sacred space. We can await you a little longer as the Goddess requires.’

  Cyra wasn’t sure why they were being given this privilege but she was glad of it. It made it special to have the place to themselves.

  They dropped coins into the offering bowl at the entrance to the temple and took up small tablets of incense that sat nearby, placing them in shallow bowls that were filled with sand. Lighting them by the sacred flame, they then carried the burning frankincense deeper into the temple until they stood before the huge statue of the magnificent huntress. Here they placed their burning incense offerings at the foot of the Goddess. The sweet scent of the resin joined older fragrances in the heavy air of dusk, causing Cyra to feel slightly lightheaded and woozy.

  ‘She is very beautiful,’ Cyra said softly in awe, despite herself.

  ‘She is. Very like her servant who is named for her moon.’

  Cyra turned to look at him, unsure if he was being serious or just making fun of her; the look on his face told her he was very serious. It warmed her heart to think that he saw her as beautiful, for all her ravaged chest. Maybe he would feel differently once he saw her naked, but for this moment, she would allow herself to bathe in his adoration. It felt good.

  ‘Goddess, hear my plea. Help us find Gali and bring her safely back to her sister. And guard Galeria on her quest to find her mother. We are women, weak and defenceless against the will of men. Only with your protection and guidance will we succeed.’

  In the quiet that followed the completion of her prayer, she thought she felt something – a rush of air, a gentle stroke against her cheek, a sigh. Then it was gone and she was left wondering if it had only been her imagination. Maybe she wanted to believe so much that she’d conjured the presence with her mind.

  However, when she looked at Leonis she saw that his eyes were wide and he was looking into the dark corners of the sanctuary cautiously. ‘Did you feel that?’ he said.

  ‘Yes, this time I felt something. It might just have been the wind… but maybe it was more. Have you a prayer?’

  ‘I’ve said mine silently. Let’s go back to the inn. I find I’m suddenly starving.’

  ‘You’re always starving.’

  He laughed softly, not wanting to disturb the sanctuary. Then he wrapped his hand around hers and led her out into the night.

  The next hours had a dreamlike quality to them. They ate silently, each lost in their own thoughts, and then returned to their room. This one was much larger than the last and had a wooden beam they could use to bar the door.

  As soon as they had dropped their bags on the floor, Leonis drew her into his arms; again, she was aware of his height and strength. If she wanted to fight this man she would have little chance, but she didn’t want to fight him. What had been growing between them since the first night they’d stood watching the moon outside the Donicus’ villa was suddenly blossoming into an intimacy that couldn’t be denied. She wanted this man, and for whatever reason he seemed to want her, too.

  When his mouth came down to cover hers, she sighed. Without conscious thought, her arms lifted to wrap themselves around his neck, drawing him closer.

  ‘It feels like a lifetime that I’ve wanted you…’ he said against her lips.

  ‘Don’t speak too soon. You have yet to see me…’

  He smiled as he deepened the kiss, and his hands came up to release her hair from the tail that fell down her back. Combing his fingers through her loose hair, he groaned.

  ‘Use this to cover yourself if it worries you so.’ Leonis drew the thick waves over each shoulder so that it fell down over her chest.

  ‘It’s not me…’

  ‘Yes, it is… I won’t find you ugly. I won’t be disgusted. Trust me, Cyra.’ His voice was gravelled with emotion and when she looked into his hooded eyes, she saw a passionate intensity that gave credence to his words. Could he mean it? Only time would tell.

  His kisses were arousing her and she felt her heartbeat speed up as her breathing became more laboured. The feelings he aroused in her were as potent as any she’d ever known. They terrified her, and yet she wanted more.

  With nervous, clumsy fingers, she reached for the pins that held her gown together at her shoulders. After several frustrated moments, it was clear that she couldn’t manage it while kissing him. She drew back, and seeing what she was trying to do, Leonis reached up to help her. First one side of the tunic was released and then the other fell away. Only the ribbon tied above her waist kept the fabric from dropping to the floor.

  Leonis asked her permission with his eyes to undo the ribbon. She nodded wordlessly. If he’d wanted her to speak in that moment, she couldn’t have.

  When the gown fell away, she stood naked except for the loincloth and her hair. Cyra had never felt so vulnerable in her life. Not even standing naked on a slave block left her feeling this exposed, because those gawking buyers had not mattered to her. What they thought of her didn’t matter, but what this man thought did. He mattered. And if he turned away, she didn’t know if she would survive it.

  His gentle fingers released the loincloth and it, too, fell away. Cyra gasped and reached to cover herself with her hands, but before she could do so, Leonis took her hands and placed them on the thick leather belt at his waist.

  ‘I want you to see me,’ he said gently, his words no more than a breath.

  Undoing the belt gave her something to focus on, rather than thinking about where his eyes were roaming and where his hands were touching. Those hands were so warm and gentle, even though the surface was rough and rasped her skin. They were the hands of a warrior, calloused from welding a sword and carrying a shield. But his touch was not that of a warrior. His touch was that of a bard or a priest. His hands adored and worshiped her, and that was more unsettling than anything else was.

  The belt was finally gone and for several seconds Leonis left off stroking her sides and thighs so he could pull his tunic over his head. Then he made fast work of his own loincloth.

  She’d seen him before, had even touched him before, but this time it was different. This time it felt like she was truly seeing him for the first time. The lion slayer exposed… his warrior’s body as naked and vulnerable as her own.

  He had scars. They were warrior’s scars, and though they marred the beauty and symmetry of his form, they only added to his power. She let her fingers slide over one nasty gash along his hip and she marvelled at the quick intake of breath such a simple contact could elicit. She sought out other scars, touching each, stroking away the pain that must once have been experienced there. With each touch, he made a guttural sound in the back of his throat but he didn’t stop her exploration.

  ‘Do they disgust you?’ he rasped out.

  She shook her head, mesmerised by what her fingers did and what his hands were doing to her body as they continued to sooth and lightly stroke her sides.

  ‘Why not? They spoil my body… make it less perfect.’

  ‘They… they make you real. They tell your story. They add to you, not detract… These gouges in your thighs, are they from the lion?’ She had left touching them until the last. They were still angry and red and the muscle beneath was torn, like a straight fissure caused by a quake. She let one finger stroke down each of the three gashes on either leg.

  ‘Yes… it was agony. I thought he rent the flesh from the bone, but my broken leg was worse. I’m only now able to walk on it properly. It t
ook a long time to repair. I was lucky my mistress employed the best surgeon.’

  ‘So much pain…’ she said softly, stroking over the claw marks again.

  ‘Pain is part of life. Is it my turn?’

  Her hands came to an abrupt halt and she jerked her head up to check his meaning in his indigo eyes. He wanted to touch her scars. That was what he was asking.

  ‘Not… not yet. After… after we… You might not want me later…’

  ‘Cyra, trust me as I’ve trusted you. Your scars are no worse than mine; let me touch you…’

  A war as bloody as any in history waged inside her then. If she let him move her hair away, if he saw that she wasn’t a woman anymore… he wouldn’t want her. If she couldn’t have him in this moment, she thought she would die of wanting. Her blood pounded for him, her skin cried out for his touch. Her core was laid bare and empty for him to fill. If he stopped now…

  But how much worse if she gave herself fully to this man and then he rejected her. Better to have it over with now before she lost even more of herself to him. She’d warned Galeria against giving her heart to the Nubian, but here she was teetering on the edge of giving hers to the Dacian. It was dangerous; it was insanity; and yet… it felt right.

  Slowly she lifted her head to meet his gaze, saw the request there and gave her permission with a brief nod. Before she had a chance to change her mind, his hands came up and very gently pushed the hair apart like a curtain, revealing her scarred and ugly chest.

  She watched his face, hypersensitive to even the slightest rejection written there. All she saw was pain, so much pain. His eyes blinked back tears that glossed them.

  Tears? Why would he cry at the sight of her chest? Was he feeling pity for her now? She didn’t want his pity! She tried to step back away from his gaze, tried to turn, but his hands gripped her arms like a vice.

  ‘Don’t. I haven’t finished.’ His voice was like broken glass underfoot and it crunched against her sensitised nerves, hurting her.

  But she knew struggling against his grip was useless. He would hold her there until he’d looked his fill. Her shame was beyond bearing and she turned her face away, letting the thick veil of hair fall over her chest again.

  He released one arm and threw the hair back over her shoulder angrily. ‘Stop it, Cyra. Don’t insult me like this.’

  ‘Insult you?’ she got out in furious shock. ‘I’m the one being insulted by your pity! I don’t want your pity. I survived what that bastard did to me. I’m no victim to be pitied!’

  He grabbed the back of her neck and jerked her close so that their noses were almost touching. ‘Do I pity a warrior his scars? No! I feel his pain and applaud his strength. That’s what I’m doing, Cyra. I’m feeling your pain and wondering at the courage it took to challenge that bastard and for you to survive…. this… butchery.’ He almost choked on the last word.

  Tears glistened in his angry eyes.

  Suddenly a dam broke within Cyra and a torrent of need poured out of her. She reached up, grabbed the sides of his face and pulled him down to her so she could devour his mouth. Her tongue invaded him, seeking his, wanting to own him, be him, feel him in every particle of her being. The need slammed through her until she gasped under the onslaught.

  Then he was there with her, as desperate for her as she was for him. Wanting her as intensely, if not more intensely, than she wanted him. For several long minutes, they fought each other to get more, to have more, to be more. Breaths mingled, gasping, teeth clashed, tongues duelled. Hands…. Hands were everywhere at once. Greedy to feel every inch of flesh, desperate to be felt… to experience the sheer delirious desire of being touched.

  When he tore his mouth from hers and began to take hungry mouthfuls of her skin as he worked his way down her neck she arched into him, letting him have what he needed. She groaned and raked at his shoulders with her short nails, clawing him, driving him into a frenzy of desire.

  When his mouth began covering her chest with fevered kisses, she remembered what his mouth sought, what was no longer there and she froze, devastated by the loss. To not be able to feel his mouth suckling her nipple, sending arrows of sensation down to her core; to not be able to feel him weighing her breasts in his hands, glorying in their shape and softness; never again!

  She let out a despairing cry and tried to pull away, but his hands held her still and he continued to kiss her feverishly, licking along the scars although she could barely feel it. When he’d tasted his fill, he threw her down onto the straw pallet and covered her body with his own. He was crazed with desire, driven by something primal and beyond rational thought. And now that he no longer focused on her chest, she was once more caught up in it, too.

  She dragged his head back up to her by his golden hair and took his mouth again. Gasping for breath, she used her own hand to feel between their bodies until she could wrap her hand around his girth. This was what she wanted. This!

  Leonis let her guide him to her entrance, and then, with one mighty thrust, he buried himself deep inside her. She nearly fainted from the feel of him filling her completely. She moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist so that she could get all of him – every last inch.

  He pressed his forehead into her neck, panting, frozen in place, but she didn’t want him still. She wanted him moving. She needed him thrusting into her over and over.

  ‘Please… Leonis… please…’

  He lifted his shaggy head from her neck and found her mouth with his again. This time, his tongue invaded her mouth, and with each thrust of his tongue so his hips thrust against hers until it felt like he was everywhere at once. Inside her, part of her… driving her higher, harder and closer to the summit. Until with a scream, something between pain and ecstasy, she flew off the summit and shattered around him.

  And from somewhere she heard him moan her name and liquid heat filled her, shattering her again and again until she couldn’t think or feel or be anything but him. And they fell together into a strange, dark oblivion.

  When Leonis came back to himself, it was to realise that all of his heavy weight was pressed down on her battered chest. Guiltily, he lifted off her and tried to shift to the side, but her thin, yet surprisingly strong, arms held him in place.

  ‘Don’t… not yet… I don’t want you to leave me yet…’

  ‘I’m too heavy…’

  ‘No… not too heavy. I don’t need to breath, really…’ she chuckled against his shoulder, and it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. He used his elbows to keep the worst of his weight off her without breaking their connection, but already he could feel himself shrinking and it was as if he were losing her again.

  How could sex be so earth shattering? He’d known his share of powerful releases, but nothing like what he’d just shared with this woman. He’d been beyond thought, beyond sensation. He’d raged and wept and bled for this little woman, and she’d taken him higher than he thought possible. He’d become Icarus flying to the sun, and when his wings melted he’d plummeted with her into the most blissful nothing he’d ever known. No experience had ever come close to it.

  Now it was over, and he was losing her.

  ‘Did I give you pleasure?’ he found himself asking, as if that were all they’d shared. Why did he have to demean the experience like that? Was he afraid that she might guess just how total her power over him was now? He didn’t know, but he wished he could take the words back as soon as they were said.

  ‘You are an arrogant male, aren’t you? Why do you want me to tell you what you already know?’ Her voice was weary and yet held a note of humour. He relaxed again.

  ‘A man likes to know he’s serviced his woman well,’ he said, nuzzling at the side of her neck, tasting the sweat and the unique flavour that was wholly Cyra’s. Her scent invaded his senses, too, and even though he had lost her body in one way, he still claimed it in others. He tightened his arms in so they pressed against her shoulders, as he licked her neck and blew in her damp, fragrant
hair.

  ‘His woman? Who said I was your woman? Claiming my body doesn’t make me yours.’ Yet she arched her neck to allow him better access and her groan denied her impudent words.

  ‘You’re mine and I’m yours for as long as we care to enjoy each other…’ It wasn’t the truth, but it was all the truth she was willing to hear right now. Or, was it that it was all the truth he was willing to give her? Trusting her with his vulnerable heart still felt too dangerous.

  He didn’t know.

  ‘Well, unless you’re going to enjoy me again right now, I think we should sleep. Tomorrow is another day closer to Gali…’

  He wished she hadn’t reminded them both of their quest. He felt her lost heart as soon as she voiced the thought. He kissed her cheek tenderly and then slid off to the side, drawing her with him so she was resting her head on his shoulder.

  ‘Sleep then, little wildcat. I’ve exhausted you. Only to be expected.’

  He heard her grunt and then chuckle at his arrogance. It was just what he was after. Smiling contentedly, he let himself drift into sleep, his woman where she belonged pressed to his side.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  12 June 82 CE, Pyramos River, CILICIA

  Galeria stared sightlessly out at the coastline as Reshep, their small merchant vessel, edged closer to the docks at the entrance to the river. It had been seven of the longest days of her life, and she knew that they were not over yet by any means. Her body was exhausted and aching and her soul was empty of hope. It felt like they were going through the motions on a quest that was too impossible to see through.

  With each passing day she was sure they were falling farther and farther behind their quarry. Their craft didn’t navigate the coastline at night, as the Praetorians must be doing. They anchored in inlets or at small docks along the coast every evening, and while she and Nexus tried to sleep on a series of rough pallets, some of them lice-infested, the Praetorians sailed on, closer to their destination; closer to the edge of the empire; the end of the world.