by Monica Burns
The baby kicked her again, and she smiled as she touched her gently rounded belly. She’d not yet told Maximus about the child, but already she knew it was a boy. He’d be pleased. A loud boom echoed past the main entryway into the atrium. The cries outside
intensified, and slaves came racing into the atrium from all directions.
The sound came again, and her heart slammed into her chest. They were trying to break the door down. Demetri. She raced toward his bedroom only to meet Posca carrying a large sack on his back with Demetri inside. Her son grinned at her, and tears blurred her vision as she pressed her mouth to the boy’s forehead.
“You’re about to have a wonderful adventure, mea delicia , and I want you to do exactly as Posca says, do you understand?” She waited for him to nod his head, but instead he put his finger against his mouth to indicate silence. With a smile, she touched his cheek. “That’s right, mea cor , you must be very quiet.”
A mischievous smile on his face, he ducked back underneath the flap of the sack. The pounding on the front door increased, and she grabbed Posca’s arm.
“Go. Go now,” she said fiercely.
“Come with me, Domina .”
“No, it’s Demetri you must save now. I shall wait here for Maximus or your return.” The instant she spoke, she knew she’d never see either Posca or her son again. Her heart splintered into a thousand tiny shards, and she clasped her hands together in a tight grip not to pull Demetri from the sack over Posca’s shoulder. “Go.”
“I will protect the boy with my life.”
His expression grim, the servant bowed his head in her direction then moved with great speed toward the back of the house. As the front door to the house cracked behind her, she watched Posca disappear carrying Demetri over his shoulder. When they were out of sight, she turned and moved to stand in front of the impluvium. It wouldn’t be long now.
More slaves came from different areas of the house, clearly frightened. She quietly reassured them and ordered them to go about their tasks. Adela remained with her, and she knew better than to tell her to go. The freedwoman wouldn’t listen. She was loyal to a fault. The booming noise increased, and with each loud crash, the door groaned its protest.
Minutes later a violent crack split the air around her, and the door gave way to a mad rush of people. The house slaves who had disobeyed her orders scurried for safety the moment the door crashed inward. Alone in the middle of the atrium, except for Adela, she faced the angry horde that stormed into the house. Determined not to show any sign of fear, she managed to maintain her composure as the mob entered her home. The shouts and cries slowly died away as she faced them in silence.
Dulcis Jupiter give her the strength not to yield to the terror spreading through her limbs. She wanted to run, but she wouldn’t. She was the daughter of Gaius Quinctilia Atellus and the wife of Maximus Caecilius Atellus, one of Rome’s greatest generals. She wasn’t about to let these filthy fanatics know that inside she was shaking like a lamb knowing it was about to be slaughtered.
Suddenly, the crowd parted, and her heart slammed into her chest. Octavian. The man wore a cruel smile, his demeanor one of supreme confidence. The tribune helmet he carried was quickly handed off to the young officer with him before he bowed in front of her.
“As beautiful as ever, Cassiopeia.”
“To what do I owe this … pleasure?” She paused for just long enough for him to know she was insulting him.
“Your husband has failed Maxentius. Their armies have been defeated. Constantine is on his way into Rome as we speak.”
“Maximus.” Swaying on her feet in shock, she barely breathed the word, but it was enough for Octavian to chuckle.
“He’s not been found yet, but when he is, his life will be forfeit.”
His words made her draw in a breath of relief. He wasn’t lying to her. If Maximus were dead, Octavian would have gloated. She stiffened her spine and met the Praetorian’s gaze with disdain.
“Maximus will kill you if you do anything to harm me or our son.”
“I’m grieved to hear you think I would harm you, mea dulcis . You know I’ve always cared for you, Cassiopeia,” he said softly. For a brief moment, she thought she heard a note of sincerity in his voice. It was gone before she could be sure.
“Then why are you here?” A second later, his hand gripped her waist, his fingers digging
deep into her side. The painful grasp tugged an unwilling gasp from her.
“But for your protection, of course, mea karus . In fact, you need not worry your pretty little head about anything. Despite the fact that you’re a heretic in the eyes of the Church, I’ve no doubt you will find it easy to repent your heresy to save your son.”
The thought of Posca having just left made her flinch. Octavian saw her expression, and his gaze narrowed with assessment. Without hesitating, she threw up a mental barrier around her thoughts. It was something Maximus had taught her in the event a moment such as this came. Neither of them had ever believed it would happen. Deliberately, she filled her thoughts with images of Maximus destroying Octavian to help her forget her son’s departure.
Octavian’s grip on her arm tightened as he realized she was hiding something. With a jerk, she pulled free of his grasp to stand rigid in front of him. She refused to show any sign of weakness in front of this bastardo . And she needed to keep her wits about her to ensure the man didn’t suspect that Demetri was no longer in the house. All Posca needed was a short time to get far enough away from the house to escape Octavian’s men.
“Do not threaten me, traitor.” She stiffened as he cupped her breast, his thumb running across her nipple in an insolent gesture. Revulsion shuddered through her at the vile touch.
“You have only to sleep in my bed, and I’ll let you live.”
“Pig.” She didn’t think twice as she spit in his face. Her punishment was a brutal slap that dropped her to her knees.
“You just signed your death warrant, mea karus . You know far too much about the Tyet of Isis , and clearly you cannot be trusted,” Octavian snarled. “Take her.”
Someone dragged her to her feet and pushed her roughly toward the door. Behind her, Adela released a scream of grief, which was cut short a moment later. Cassiopeia didn’t have to look back to know the woman who’d been her confidante and protector for years was dead.
Maximus.
She knew he was dead, otherwise he would have been here before Octavian. He would have come for her if he could. What she didn’t understand was why she still felt him. It was as if she could feel his warmth, his touch. Hope whispered through her, and she raised her head to search the crowd lining the street. Was he here? Was it part of a plan to rescue her?
The sensation slowly ebbed from her, and her heart grew numb. He was dead and so was her heart. Inside, the baby kicked her, and a tear rolled down her cheek. She fought to keep the tears at bay. She and the babe would meet Maximus in the Elysium Fields. Then, when it was time, their son would join them. But for now, Demetri would be safe from the likes of Octavian and his fanatical followers of the new church.
A sharp jab from behind forced her to walk faster, and this time she couldn’t hold back the tears. Everything she’d ever loved had been ripped from her simply because of a small box with a secret inside. It would destroy the Praetorian Guard. Once Octavian had the Tyet of Isis , he would control who lived and died. The balance of power had been broken as Maximus feared and their lives lost because of one man’s craving for power.
THE sound of a car blaring its horn jerked Phaedra out of the dream as late-morning traffic echoed in the street outside the room. Fear flooded her senses, and she clutched at the blanket as she came to grips with the fact that she wasn’t in ancient Rome. Relief slid through her as she recognized Lysander’s suite in the Rome safe house.
She closed her eyes again and drew in a deep breath as the emotions the dream had aroused in her swept through her again. Deus, to have to say good-bye to one�
��s child like Cassiopeia had was inconceivable. And to be pregnant, knowing she was going to die. She shuddered. The Sicari Lord’s wife had more courage than she could ever have. The memory of Octavian made her frown.
Nowhere in the stories she’d heard had there been any mention of the man. Maybe Lysander was right. Maybe these dreams were little more than her imagination running wild. Maybe Octavian was nothing more than an outlet for that dark image she’d seen while healing Lysander last night. She went rigid with shock.
There had been something so familiar about the darkness at the time she’d been healing Lysander. But it wasn’t until just now that she recognized the venomous presence. Her fists hit the sofa cushions. The rogue Sicari. The fighter who’d tried to kill Lysander had been the rogue Sicari. She was certain of it. She shivered.
It was the same malevolent presence she’d experienced at the Temple of Hadrian, and it explained Octavian’s role in her dream. The same darkness had possessed him as well. Octavian had to be a representation of the man who’d tried to kill Lysander last night.
Last night she’d been convinced that Lysander couldn’t have found the rogue Sicari, but every instinct in her body said that somehow he’d done just that. But how? With a grimace, she threw off the blanket and jumped up from the couch. Lysander had kept his word. He’d gone after the man because of her. Her heart skipped a beat. He’d gone after that son of a bitch because of her, not just because the man was a threat to the Order.
Lysander had gone out to defend her honor. The act of a man who cared. She drew in a sharp breath of hope before the reality of what had happened hit her. Deus, he’d gone after that bastardo without backup. In the process of defending her honor, he’d almost gotten himself killed last night, the dumb bacciagalupe. The man needed someone to rip
him a new one, and at the moment, Cleo wasn’t here, but she was more than happy to fill in for her friend.
Angry that he’d succumbed to the ridiculous notion of chivalry, she stalked across the room and charged into his bedroom.
“You went—”
At almost the same second she burst into the room, Lysander bolted out of the bathroom in nothing more than a towel. He didn’t need any more than that as she went flying backward to hit the wall. She hung there for a brief instant before she slid downward and landed in a heap on the floor. Stunned, she gave her head a sharp shake as if doing so would help her make her less groggy.
“Goddamn it, Phaedra, what the hell’s the matter with you, busting in here like that. I could have killed you,” he rasped.
One knee resting on the hardwood floor, he knelt down to help her sit up and lean back against the wall. His mental blow still had her feeling wobbly, and she closed her eyes for a moment. The minute she pulled in a deep breath, his scent washed over her. Fresh, raw, wholesome male. Whatever soap he used, it had a spicy smell that made her want to lean forward, press her nose into his skin, and just breathe. Deus, he smelled wonderful.
“Phaedra, open your eyes,” he snapped. “Look at me.”
“Stop yelling.” She glared at him as she rubbed her head with her hand. “I’m not deaf.”
“Christus, you made me think … don’t do that again. Understood?” Whatever he’d really wanted to say, he managed to hold it back. She nodded her obedience.
It was about all she could do at the moment, since her body was slowly coming alive as her senses were attuned to his frequency at every level. She drank in another breath of him, and her heart skidded along at a fast pace. Slowly, she allowed herself the pleasure of letting her gaze drift downward across strong, muscular shoulders to toned, wellsculpted arms. Deus, he was gorgeous.
His chest rose and fell at a quick pace that indicated his heightened state of emotion. She tentatively reached out with her senses, and her heart skipped a beat at the wild mixture of emotions churning inside him. They rolled off him at a dizzy pace. There was the concern for her safety and a primal need to protect. That primal urge sent a thrill through her. Then there were the soft tendrils of an emotion she was almost too frightened to identify. A sudden rush of delicious heat streaked through her veins, and in the blink of an eye, she knew the truth.
He did care.
For whatever reason, he was hiding it, but he cared about her. Afraid to look at him just on the off chance her senses were misfiring, she dropped her gaze lower to the sight of a bent leg where the skimpy towel he was wearing parted and draped the sides of his thigh. His leg was a thing of beauty. Taut, sinewy muscles bulged slightly against the skin. There was a long scar that ran diagonally across the lower part of his thigh.
One more reminder that he’d suffered by refusing the Curavi. Tentatively, she reached out and ran one finger along the fine, white line. The harsh breath he sucked in pulled her gaze back to his face. The naked desire she saw there made her shudder, and her hand moved from his leg to his mouth. It had always been the most beautiful thing about him, and she was so glad that Praetorian monster hadn’t destroyed it.
Suddenly, a strong hand gripped her wrist, and in less than a second, he’d pulled her to her feet. Stark need tightened his features, but he released her and turned away. A wave of fury crashed over her, and she drew in a sharp hiss of air. The son of a bitch didn’t have the courage to love her, even though she knew he wanted to.
Every fiber in the man’s body was drawn to her, and he didn’t have the guts to admit it. A growl rumbled out of him as he slowly turned to face her. Her gaze flitted from the horrible disfigurement of his demonic side to his angelic profile, which was drawn up hard with anger. She glared at him.
“What?” she said angrily.
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he stepped back into her, his fingers slipping between her breasts to the fragile strip of material holding her bra cups together. The touch made her gasp, and she was suddenly aware of the cool air on her shoulders. She’d been so determined to chew him out that she’d forgotten she wasn’t wearing a shirt.
The heat of his fingers pressed against her skin, and with a sharp tug, his fingers broke the bra, the cups sliding off her breasts to expose her completely. Her immediate reaction was to cover herself. She’d been expecting him to pull her toward him, not undress her.
At least not yet.
She reached out with her senses and caught the faintest whisper of something dark. It was a part of him, and yet she could tell he fought it constantly. Surprised by it, she retreated from him until her back was against the wall. A savage look tightened his ravaged profile, and his unmarred side reflected an emotion she couldn’t describe.
Invisible hands caught her wrists and pulled them up over her head to pin them to the wall. She drew in a quick breath of surprise but didn’t take her eyes off his face. The terrible emotion he was struggling with wouldn’t win, she was certain of it. He would never hurt her. His features darkened, and he moved forward to brush his mouth over her shoulder. A primitive noise rumbled out of him.
“Is this what you want, Phaedra? A half man, half monster?”
With a turn of his head, he gave her a magnified view of his horribly scarred face. There was no eye patch to hide the eyelid sealed shut over the indentation where his eye had once been. From his scalp to his jaw, the twisted flesh was there for her to see in all its glory. His marred flesh broke her heart, not because of what he looked like, but because of the bleak note in his voice. His pain was deep. So far down, she wondered if her love was strong enough to help heal his spirit. Deus, she wanted to kill the Praetorian devil that had tried to destroy him.
“Do you really think I’d be here if I didn’t want to be?” She tried to break free of her invisible restraints but failed.
“I don’t know what the hell to believe.”
There was a quiet desperation in his voice that said he was standing on the edge of a great precipice. It made her long to hold him. Reassure him that if he fell, she’d fall with him because he was all she wanted. With renewed determination, she strained to free herse
lf from his mental grip.
“Kiss me and I’ll show you what to believe,” she said in a voice that challenged him to listen to his heart and nothing else.