by Monica Burns
Confused, she looked down at her hands and saw they were that of a man. Quickly looking herself over, she recognized a familiar Roman military uniform, right down to the personalized bracers on her arms. Maximus. She looked up again only to see the woman slowly fade away into a fine mist.
“Goddamn it, Phaedra, wake up now.”
The sharp command was a dull roar in her ears as strong fingers bit into her arms and shook her like a rag doll. Suddenly, her lungs were able to draw in air again, and she gasped loudly. Still choking, she clawed at her throat only to have a strong hand stop her.
“Easy, carissima. It’ll pass.”
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized she was reclined in Lysander’s arms. Deus, her head hurt. She touched her temple and winced before her eyes fluttered open to meet Lysander’s gaze. There was a stark look of desperation on his face. It twisted the scarred side of his face into a horrifying mask that made her fear he might be in pain from the way the skin stretched so tightly over his facial muscles.
Her head still throbbing, she pushed herself away from him and sat upright on the couch. As she stared at him, an image flitted its way through the back of her mind like a hummingbird. She reached for it, but it was an elusive thought determined to avoid capture.
“Are you all right?” With a frown, she leaned forward to examine his arm. She ignored the woozy sensation the movement caused, while still rubbing her forehead. “What happened?”
“What happened?” he rasped harshly. “Christus, you were supposed to heal me, dolce cuore, not try to take a ride across the Styx.”
The endearment was the only thing in his reply that sank into her brain. It warmed her as she felt her body continuing to heal from the injuries she’d pulled out of his body and into hers. Her throat still ached, but she could tell it wouldn’t be long before the pain was gone completely. Exhausted and disoriented, she rested her head on the back of the couch and closed her eyes.
Christus, she hadn’t felt this out of it since her first healing. She frowned. What in Jupiter’s name had she done to make her feel this bad? One second she’d been healing Lysander’s throat and then the next she’d been transported to ancient Rome where she’d found herself in Maximus’s body. She drew in a sharp breath.
Deus, she was an idiot. She’d passed out from the lack of oxygen. She’d failed to break the Curavi. Even a novice knew how to recognize when it was time to break the connection between patient and healer. The connection between them should have been broken the moment her air started to disappear.
It had been a grievous error on her part not to realize she needed to pull back from the healing. She could have died. Perhaps she had. Why else would she have experienced being in Maximus’s body and seen herself running toward her. Him. She’d been running toward Maximus, only she’d been Maximus.
Hell, the whole damn thing was so confusing. The memory of her Roman general made her draw in a sharp breath. Had it been her dream? Either her dreams had somehow found their way into the healing process or what she’d seen were images from Lysander. But why would the scene she’d witnessed during the Curavi be so similar to hers?
Unless he’d—care Deus, he’d been dying. That’s what had connected the images to the
healing. Someone had almost killed him until something had happened to bring him back from the brink. Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered how it had felt to be on the edge of death. His near death. They weren’t her dreams she’d seen. The images had to have come from his mind not hers. She shot upright, only to have the room spin dizzily around her. Nauseated, she flopped backward.
“Damn it, Phaedra, lie still.” The concern in his voice softened the harsh command.
She turned her head toward him. He looked as tired as she felt. Without thinking, she reached out and brushed her fingers over the side of his scarred face. He immediately jerked away from the touch.
“How long have you been dreaming about the Sicari Lord and his wife?”
Her question hovered between them as an impassive expression settled over his features. Even though his face was devoid of emotion, she knew he was calculating how much she might have seen during the Curavi. His hesitation made her think he’d been dreaming about the ancient Roman couple for a long time. Perhaps even longer than her.
“Does it matter?” he asked.
“It does when I’ve been dreaming about them, too.” Her words didn’t even make him flinch. Instead, he stood up with a growl rumbling deep in his chest.
“You’re not in any condition to go back to your room right now, and to be honest, I’m too damn tired to carry you there. So you’ll have to sleep here on the couch. I’ll get you a blanket.”
Her mouth fell open in amazement as he calmly changed the subject and walked away from her. The minute he disappeared into the bedroom, she regained her wits and struggled to her feet. If he thought she was going to let him just walk away from her and this discussion, he’d better think twice. There was a reason for her dreams and his. Because she was certain he was having similar visions. They had to be connected. But how and why? The dizziness forced her back down onto the cushions of the sofa.
“Hell,” she exclaimed fiercely. Determined to go after him, she braced herself on the arm of the couch and got to her feet one more time.
“Goddamn it, you little fool.” His voice was harsh with fury. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to follow you.”
“Of all the pig-headed women,” he growled.
He dropped what he was carrying onto the coffee table in front of the couch then gently
shoved her back onto the sofa. He knelt beside her to swing her legs up onto the cushions and adjusted the pillow he’d brought under head. With her settled on the couch, he reached for the damp cloth on the table behind him then turned to stare down at the blood-soaked sleeve on her arm. The expression on his face illustrated his indecision as to how to go about cleaning her arm without her having to take her shirt off. He growled softly and thrust the washcloth toward her.
“Here,” he rasped as he sprang to his feet.
His movements fast and jerky, he snapped open the blanket he’d gotten from the bedroom. The soft coverlet fell over her legs up to her waist, warming her almost immediately. She grabbed his hand as he started to retreat.
“Lysander, please. We need to talk about this.”
“No—we don’t.” He glared down at her.
“Give me one good reason why not.”
“It means nothing.” The sharpness of his voice made her flinch and she shook her head.
“You’re wrong. Your dreams and mine do mean something. I just don’t know what yet.”
“Go to sleep, Phaedra.”
With a weary shake of his head, he headed toward his bedroom. Frustrated that she didn’t have the strength to follow him, she hit the couch with her fist. And he called her stubborn. Using all her strength, she pushed herself up to look at him over the back of the couch.
“You’re a stubborn jackass, you know that.”
Her shout bounced off the bedroom door as he closed it behind him. With a fierce noise of disgust, she tugged her shirt off. The effort made her dizzy again, forcing her to fall back onto the pillow he’d brought with the blanket. The man could try the patience of a saint.
Quickly cleaning the dried blood off her arm, she tossed the damp cloth onto the table then pulled the blanket up to her chin. She inhaled a deep breath before releasing it completely, and stared up at the ceiling. He’d almost died. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. The idea that something that horrible had almost happened to him was enough to send chills through her.
Could he have fought the rogue Sicari? Had he gone after that creep? He’d said he’d find the man. No, he couldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t have known where to find him. She winced as her headache seemed to intensify. She needed to rest. When she woke up, she’d
; drill him on where he’d been, and she’d make damn sure that he’d answer her.
The one thing she knew for certain, he’d been crazy to go out on his own. He’d broken the Order’s rule that Sicari were not to walk the streets of Rome at night without a partner. Normally, it was a punishable offense, but it was doubtful Atia would do anything about it. The message Lysander had given the Prima Consul had left the woman so shaken she probably wouldn’t even remember to admonish him.
Deus, she was tired. When she woke up, she was going to have it out with Lysander. All of it. She no longer believed what he’d told her in the hospital. The man cared about her. She was ninety-nine percent sure of it. She grimaced. It was that one percent that had her worried. She closed her eyes as a yawn tugged her mouth open. She’d deal with all… she yawned again… of it when she woke up. She’d find a way … to get him to open up to her. Her brain was too… fuzzy… to think about it now. It was her last coherent thought.
THE shouts and screams out in the street reverberated off the walls of the atrium, and she shivered. Four days. The crowd had been massed outside the door for four days, shouting for her to come out and repent her heresy as a follower of Vesta, Jupiter, and Juno. She almost spat on the floor at the notion. The baby kicked, and her hand touched her stomach with a sinking heart.
Dulcis Jupiter, she should have tried to flee the city for her aunt’s home in Civitavecchia the moment the shouts outside the house had begun four days ago. Somehow she was certain Octavian was behind the unruly crowd outside her door. But leaving the house would have been a sign of cowardice, and she was not a coward. Even if she’d tried to run, the babe would have slowed her down, and that meant putting Demetri’s life in danger.
Soft laughter caught her ear, and she turned to see Demetri peeping out at her from behind one of the columns supporting the roof, a flower floating in the air in front of him. The sight made her shiver. If Octavian were to see Demetri now—she refused to consider that possibility. Why hadn’t she listened to Sevilia? Her friend had left Rome more than a week ago. She should have sent Demetri with her to the country. But then she’d never thought that Maximus would be anything less than victorious. Never believed that Constantine would have a vision that would rally his men to an unexpected victory. She moved past the impluvium to grab the flower and swept her son up in her arms.
“What have I told you about using your ability where others might see, mea delicia .” She kissed his cheek and pressed her face into his neck. She was terrified for him.
“I heard the men shouting. Why are they calling for Papa?” The innocent question made her raise her head to look down at him. Praise Jupiter that the child didn’t understand they weren’t calling for Maximus. No, the cry was for her, Maximus’s whore. The heretic.
“They’re angry, dulcis cor . I think they’ll go away soon.”
Adela suddenly appeared from the back of the house. “Forgive me, Domina . I turned my back—”
“It’s all right, Adela. I know how good he is at escaping.” She handed her son to the woman and tickled Demetri in his side. “Aren’t you, mea delicia ?”
“Shall I put him to bed, Domina ?”
“No, let him play for now, but in the garden. Not here in the atrium.” She leaned forward to kiss her son’s brow. His pudgy hands caught her face, and he looked up at her with a serious expression.
“When the people go away, will you be happy again, Mother?”
“Yes, mea cor ,” she said as she suddenly realized she no longer had a choice where Demetri’s safety was concerned. She looked over his head at Adela. “Send Posca to me.”
Adela bobbed her head as she led Demetri away. Cassiopeia watched them leave, her son looking back over his shoulder to grin at her. She smiled and blew him a kiss, but it did little to ease the terrible ache in her heart. It was possible she might never see her son again after today.
The shouts from the street had dimmed somewhat, but they continued to fray on her nerves, and she paced the tiled floor in an effort to ease her anxiety. In a restless gesture, she nibbled at the tip of her thumb as she considered all the options open to her. If she tried to leave the house with Demetri, whoever was watching the back of the house would alert the mob. But if Posca carried Demetri out in secret, the two of them might easily go unnoticed.
Perhaps in the dead of night Posca could take her and Demetri out of the city. Even then, discovery was likely, and what would happen when Maximus came for her? The mob would either kill or sell the slaves, leaving him with no way to find them. No. The wife of General Maximus Caecilius Atellus wouldn’t show fear in the face of this mob or its instigator. She wouldn’t flee. She would make her husband proud of her. She’d wait here for Maximus, while Posca took Demetri to her aunt’s house in Civitavecchia.
Maximus would come for her. She only hoped it would be soon. Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned to see Posca running toward her. Short of Adela and Tevy, Maximus’s tribune, Posca was the only other person she trusted without question. Maximus had rescued the man from certain death in the Colosseum and had earned a trusted servant for life. The sheer bulk of the man had made Maximus choose him as a bodyguard for her and Demetri. As the man came to a halt, he bowed slightly then stood at attention in front of her.
“Yes, Domina ?”
“It will be dark soon. Can you get Demetri out of the house without anyone seeing you?”
“It will be difficult, but I will see you and the boy reach safety outside the city walls.”
“You will only have Demetri to worry about.” She waved her hand in an abrupt fashion as the cries outside swelled to an almost fevered pitch. A knot lodged in her throat at the sound.
“But, Domina, I cannot protect you, and the boy, if you don’t come with me,” the tall man protested fiercely.
“We both know you will not escape detection if you leave with the two of us. You yourself said you’ve seen Octavian’s men near the rear of the house.” She shook her head vehemently. “No. You must see to Demetri’s safety first. By the time you have given him into the care of my aunt, Maximus will have come for me. We will join you in Civitavecchia.”
She knew it was unlikely Maximus would reach her before the mob breached the front door. Posca knew it as well. She could see it in his face.
“I must insist, Domina . I gave my word to the general that I would protect you and the boy at all cost. I will find a way to get both you and the child to safety.” Posca’s voice was harsh with frustration as he tried to change her mind. She raised her hand to stop the man’s objections.
“Maximus will know you had no other choice but to leave me behind. I want to ensure Demetri is safely away from all this madness.”
“But, Domina —” The bodyguard glowered at her as she interrupted him.
“I’m with child,” she exclaimed with a catch in her voice. “I would only slow you down.”
The man’s face paled at her words. He muttered something violent under his breath before he shook his head.
“If you do not come with me, it is not only you, but the babe as well, that you put into jeopardy.”
“And you know what they will do to Demetri if we’re caught,” she said with a sharp hiss of anger. “I will not have my son sold into slavery.”
“Then let me find a safe place in the city for the boy. I’ll return for you, then the three of us will go to Civitavecchia.”
“I can’t risk someone I don’t know protecting my son, Posca. He will go with you. I will be well enough until Maximus comes for me. And he will come.” Her hand trembled as
she waved the man away. “Now go. Quickly.”
With a final grunt of frustration, the man bowed and hurried away to do as ordered. Left alone to her thoughts, the shouts outside the house were like razors biting across her skin. Maybe she should let Posca take her away with Demetri. No, they’d be watching the house, and it would be easier for the bodyguard to sneak Demetri out past the spies than if sh
e were to go with them as well. And she would slow them down. The stress of the journey could easily cause her to lose this child as well. She’d miscarried their last child, and she would do nothing to risk the life of this baby.