Brutus strove to drive her to distraction.
Her nipples hardened as he played, yet did not play, with them. Her body cried out to rise up to him and force his touch, but she willed herself still. Instead she savored every moment he teased her. Every moment he promised to touch, then withdrew in the last moment.
As Brutus played coy, this night was nothing like that first time. It had been hot and fast, neither of them knowing the world of ultimate pleasure lay in the waiting.
But then there was waiting, and then there was sweet agony. She was so moist it dampened the rug beneath her. Her breath caught in her throat, not sure whether to rush out or be held in.
“Take me,” she moaned.
Brutus positioned himself over her. “Do not worry, Syra. I shall.”
* * *
The fire was dying out as the moon dipped beneath the tree line. Creatures stirred in the brush, heralding the coming of dawn, yet Brutus did not try to sleep.
Their lovemaking had lasted long into the night until they both collapsed back onto the rug, exhausted yet exhilarated. Not long after, Syra had fallen asleep in the crook of his arm.
He studied her tranquil face. The lines of worry that normally etched it were smoothed out as her breath came at a slow, steady pace. Brutus wanted to remember every contour into his mind. No matter that every life brought a new color of skin or texture of hair, a light shown from her that transcended race. He would know her in any form she wore.
How many times had he nearly balked, wanting to wake her and beg her to memorize each passing moment, for each was their last? But he knew her mood would sour and that she would fight him with verve, derailing his plan.
Brutus knew that he must die. The Fates had made sure of that. But Syra? She could live on. No, she must live on.
He worried for their strange Awakening in this life. So late that they nearly missed the Crux. Had they grown lax? Did they not cherish their love and the gift that brought them together anew?
This was why he had created this precious night. To bring them so close together that the march of time could not tear them asunder.
* * *
Syra gritted her teeth in frustration as she swung the broadsword over her head. She never should have let Brutus distract her with soft words and a ring of fire. She should have pressed for a more aggressive attack.
Across the battlefield, Antony’s troops were buoyed by their larger number and fought hard to push their advantage. The brash Roman had already called in his reserves, pressing for a quick victory. She took another swipe at a centurion who bore down upon her.
Where were their reinforcements? They could not allow Antony to gain too strong an upper hand. Risking a glance back, Syra tried to determine why the troops they had held back were not engaged in battle. But to the south, not only were the fresh soldiers not rallying to their defense, they were not there at all. Only a lone figure stood upon the knoll.
Horat.
Concern crossed her face. Had the man somehow betrayed them?
Spinning around and cutting a Roman off at the knees, Syra looked at Brutus, who fought a few paces behind her. Their eyes met, and she realized it was not Horat who betrayed them, but Brutus himself. Realization made her stumble forward, nearly succumbing to a blow from the side.
Quickly dispatching the aggressor, Syra’s gaze sought out Brutus again. Why had he done such a thing? Her question earlier of his desire to lose the battle had been rhetorical. Never had she imagined it to be his true goal.
The night before. That had not been a simple anniversary. It had been a parting gift.
Brutus smiled—a very strange thing to do upon the heated battleground. Then he spread his arms wide, leaving himself open to attack.
“No!” Syra screamed as she rushed up the hill.
He took a wound to the belly, but refused to raise his own sword. Brutus took another body blow by the time Syra could rise to his defense. She nearly cut the unfortunate soldier in half to get to her Fated. He slumped to the ground, his tunic already saturated in blood. Not caring about the risk to herself, she sank to her knees, trying to stanch the flow.
“Why?” she begged as she tore off a strip of his toga for a tourniquet.
“We must talk, Syra.”
“We shall, once we are off this cursed island.” She refused to give into his flawed scheme. The man had no sense when it came to his own life.
Brutus pushed her hands away from his flailed stomach. “Too many have died to keep me alive. Let it end.”
Syra’s throat felt constricted beyond words as she pushed his weak hands away and worked on the wound. “Then let it end! We shall leave—”
Brutus’ words were laced with pain—his breath now came at a price. “Brutus will be known as many things, Syra. A coward is not one of them.”
“What do you care what they call Brutus?” Syra spat out the Roman name as if it were a spoiled piece of meat.
His hand found hers even though his eyes were now glazed, staring out blankly into the noonday sun. “You are unburdened now. Take this life. Go to the Cave—”
Brutus’ sentence was cut short as a ragged cough seized his body.
“Never. Horat knows the all. I can take—”
“North, then. Go home, Syra.”
She could feel his hand go slack in hers. Desperate to stop the bleeding, she dropped his palm and put more pressure on his stomach.
“You will come with me, Brutus.”
His words were slurred. “Promise me.”
“Only if you come with me.”
Brutus’ head fell back, and his lips moved as if they had molasses on them. “Promise me you will live, or I will not go peacefully.”
Syra could see the pain that swept across his face with each inhalation. He was clinging to a life that was clearly over. Her own belly ached in response. Damn him. Why must he always be the noble one?
“I promise.”
Somehow he found the strength to grip her hand again. “Swear it.”
Syra leaned over her dying lover and whispered in his ear, “I swear it.”
Another cough shook his body. Syra could feel the agony in her own bones. Tears ran down her face and splashed upon his skin, but she cared not. Now his breath came in interrupted pained gasps. His lips moved, but hardly any air escaped. It did not need to, for she knew the words he spoke.
“I love you more than the sun loves the day.”
She answered, “I love you more than the moon loves the night.”
Brutus’ last words were loud enough for her to hear.
“For eternity.”
“For eternity,” Syra said as she kissed his lips, but they were already motionless.
A torrent of emotion welled from deep inside as she wailed over his body.
“No!” She shouted to the sky. To the Fates. To any god who would listen. “No!”
Syra pushed herself up to her feet and spun toward the battle. The fighting was too far to be any good to her. Damn her promise. How could he expect her live with such pain? What would be the point? She would only rise each morning and curse herself.
They had stayed to the south of a stand of trees to protect them from the volley of Antony’s archers. She needed no such protection now. Eyes swimming with moisture, she charged around the trees. At the least, Antony’s archers were well trained. The first arrow found her in the gut.
Pain arched through her, but she held her ground. She needed to be certain that this was the end. She would rejoin Brutus as soon as the second arrow struck true into the chest.
Before she could stumble back, another hit her arm. Using her left hand, she brought the arrows off at the skin and lurched back to Brutus’ body. Her head swam with anguish, but she kept her feet moving.
Falling, Syra landed next to her love. Crawling with her one good arm, she curled up against his still chest, as she had the night before. Her ragged breaths spilled blood across his skin, but she cared not. The sooner s
he died, the sooner they could be reunited.
With her last breath, Syra called to him, “For eternity.”
* * *
Horat forced himself to watch Syra fall against Brutus’ body.
Like Guardians for ages past, Horat made himself witness the sordid scene until it played out. How he wished to rush across the battlefield and scoop both of their bodies into his arms. How he wished Brutus had never given him the order to disperse the reserve troops.
For generations yet to come, he had done as requested, but it ate at his heart. He had loved Brutus as the child he had never been blessed with.
Closing his eyes as Antony’s army swarmed the bodies, Horat could stand no more and turned away. There was nothing left now but to return to the Cave and share all that he had gathered.
Released from his Guardianship, Horat was now free to find a woman and bear his own children. A son, grandson, or even a great-grandson, must be ready to assist the Fated. The Order’s task was never done.
Horat mouthed the words he had seen Syra utter.
For eternity.
###
Afterword
I love to look at the “bad guys” of history and see if maybe they weren’t so “bad” after all. If you don’t believe me, you can check out my super-controversial historical thriller 30 Pieces of Silver, where I take an extremely controversial look at Judas’ role in the crucifixion.
For Fated though I was immediately drawn to Brutus. He has been so maligned throughout history as Caesar’s assassin—a man who betrayed his leader and good friend.
As I began to spin the tale of lovers destined to find one another through the great stretches of history, I could not get Brutus out of my head. And then once I began the months of research into ancient Rome, I became more and more certain that Brutus was the story I wanted to tell.
Many people ask me about my inspiration for Syra. I knew that I wanted a stark counterpoint to Brutus. Red-haired and fair-skinned, she was the perfect yin to Brutus’ yang. Fiery and impulsive, I knew she could bring out the qualities I wanted in my imagining of Brutus.
I am also asked why I ended the book the way that I did.
To me, there was no question of the end scene. The lives of the Fated are not milk and honey. They live by the sword, and they die by the sword. Theirs are lives that can only be described as bittersweet.
To understand the series moving forward (there is a cycle of three novels set in a variety of ancient times, then another cycle of three books in modern times) you have to feel the pathos and swim in it if you are to really “get” the next books and their growth throughout.
Again, I hope you enjoyed Fated, because I can hardly wait to continue their tale!
The sequel to Fated, titled Bound, will be out in the summer of 2012. But do not despair! I have several other books out that might tide you over until then.
The first is HeartsBlood, a paranormal romance thriller. While the story is set in the present day, the hero is steeped in medieval flavor.
And just like Fated, all is not what it appears to be.
A woman of science.
A man of magic.
Hunted for their HeartsBlood.
HeartsBlood has enough romance to propel it into the Kindle Best-selling lists for Paranormal Romance and enough kick-butt action to secure a spot as a Best Seller in Urban Fantasy as well.
Some reviews for HeartsBlood…
“Um... I just finished reading this book less than 2 minutes ago, and I can honestly say that it has been a very long time since a book has affected me as deeply as HeartsBlood did. Not very often does a book come along that makes you feel so intensely that the tears actually stream down your face.
This one did. In fact, I’m still tearing as I write this…
THIS BOOK IS PHENOMENAL.”
Theresa Cole
Reviewer
“Book Loving Bitches”
“I have been sitting here trying to find to words to express just how much I loved this book, and I am not sure what I will say will do it justice. This book was amazing…
Would I recommend? A big resounding YES! Do not walk—run and get this book. Warning: This book will cause a sleepless night. Meanwhile, I am impatiently waiting for the next book in this series, DeadBlood.”
Donna Newman
“Right out of the gate, I knew that this book would challenge me to believe in the possibility of magic and the impossible. Is it possible to alter reality simply by using the mantra of mind over matter? My heart raced just knowing there was a paranormal terror on a rampage through San Francisco. Terror, intrigue, and magic became par for the course in this thriller. HeartsBlood is a unique, fast-paced paranormal tale, with an original storyline and a shocking twist of an ending that will leave you breathless.”
Book Reviewer
Kyra Dawson
The Brighter Scribe
To sample or purchase HeartsBlood, click here.
* * * * *
If you are in the mood for a pure contemporary romance, you might want to check out Indian Moon. While it has no paranormal elements to it, the story resonates with many readers because of its sincerity and emotional honesty.
Despite tragedy and heartbreak, under an Indian Moon,
anything seems possible... even love.
While set in the lush and misty Pacific Northwest, Indian Moon doesn’t contain any vampires or teenyboppers.
Just real romance... for the rest of us.
“Haunting, yet uplifting.”
Teresa McCaffrey
“I picked this book up on whim, not knowing the author. In truth, I let it sit on my Kindle for a few days. What a mistake! Once I started reading, I simply couldn’t stop. It had everything I wanted and more. Complex, textured characters. True emotional conflict... and let’s admit it, crackling sexual tension. If you are looking for a thoughtful, yet hot, read, this book will not disappoint.”
Michelle Brooks
“Beautiful. Evocative. Steamy.
Take this book. Draw a hot bath. Enjoy. You can thank me later...”
Rachel Thompson
@RachelintheOC
A Walk in the Snark
“I am not normally a fan of romances, but this one took me by surprise. It reminded me of The Bridges of Madison County in its lush storytelling and well-defined characters. A MUST read for anyone.
DeeDee Barton
@thedeeview
The Dee View
To sample or purchase Indian Moon, simply click here.
* * * * *
But if you were really craving a truly historical paranormal romance, may I take this opportunity to introduce you to another amazing author, Amber Scott, and her bestselling Historical Romance, Irish Moon.
A deathbed vow he cannot forget....
Murder for magick. If she can master her powers before they master her....
A fierce—undeniable—passion that threatens to unravel it all under an Irish Moon.
Some Reviews for Irish Moon…
“A headstrong Druid priestess. A broken warrior. Add in a betrayal most dark and you’ve got yourself one powerhouse of a historical paranormal romance novel. Brava, Amber! Can we ask... sequel?”
ParaYourNormal
Review Site
5/5 Stars
“If you are hot for Highlanders, Irish Moon is the book for you!!”
YourNeedToRead
Review Site
5/5 Stars
“I am in love!”
Ann Charles
Nearly Departed in Deadwood
2010 Daphne Winner
To sample or purchase Irish Moon, simply click here.
* * * * *
And, lastly, if you are a high fantasy fan, be on the lookout for 7 Folds of Winter, a warm fantasy for a cold winter’s night.
Told in the fashion of the fantasy masters Robert Jordan and George R.R. Martin, 7 Folds of Winter has been described as “a fresh breeze into the high fantasy annals�
� and “a beautiful balance between action and sweetness, the clash of steel and the tenderness of the heart.”
Praise for 7 Folds of Winter…
“I normally don't read fantasy books, but when I read 7 Folds of Winter, I couldn't help but get attached to the characters and their struggles. The author did an amazing job of expressing each individual character’s voice and role in the story. I know teens that have a taste for action, adventure, and romance all in one will love to read this book, and I hope to read more by Carolyn McCray.”
lilskittles12
Teen Reviewer
“7 Folds of Winter is a Young Adult Fantasy novel, and if you are looking for fantasy and an out-of-this world story to read, this is it… From the inventive names of the characters down to the imaginative plot, Ms. McCray’s creativity goes above and beyond the norm for a young adult fantasy…
Fated: Torn Apart by History, Bound for Eternity Page 30