by Monica Burns
She turned toward the man next to her at the same time Emma turned around in her seat. The fact that her sister-in-law had escaped their encounter with the Praetorians without a scrape was a small miracle. But it wouldn’t stop Ares from giving them hell for quite some time to come.
“Are you all right, Luciano?” Emma’s voice held a breathless note that indicated her heightened state of adrenaline as a result of the battle they’d all survived. It was Emma’s first, and if Ares had any say in the matter, Phaedra was sure her sister-in-law wouldn’t be seeing action any time in the near future.
“I’ll be fine,” Luciano said through clenched teeth. “Just a slight twinge over that last bump.”
“Let me see,” Phaedra said in a calm voice.
She scooted across the middle of the seat, ignoring the pain in her leg. The Praetorian bastardo she’d taken out had managed to leave a long, nasty cut from her hip to midthigh. It would be at least another hour before it healed properly. Unlike those she healed, it took her body a lot longer to recuperate from any injuries. And if she healed anyone while she was injured, it took even longer for her own wounds to heal.
When she was close enough to examine Luciano’s wound, she pulled her penlight out of her pocket and illuminated his thigh. She bit back a gasp. The cut was almost to the bone. He was lucky. Any closer and the blade would have severed a main artery, causing him to bleed out on the field. He was fortunate in more ways than one, because she’d never healed anyone bleeding from a primary arterial vein, and she wasn’t sure whether she could. Still this cut was almost as bad, and it needed healing now. Without hesitating, she extended her hands to him.
“With your permission, I must touch you to heal you.”
In the front seat, Ares released a harsh curse. “Damn it, Phaedra, wait until we get to the safe house. I’ve already called to have a doctor meet us at the house.”
“Whether I do it here or at the safe house is a moot point. Violetta doesn’t have the ability to heal a wound like this. I don’t even know if she’ll be able to heal your cuts. And then there’s Cleo and …”
She didn’t dare say Lysander’s name. Not yet, the pain of his betrayal was still too raw. With every beat of her heart, the physical sensation of his lie sent a throbbing pain into every part of her. It was an ache she didn’t think she would ever recover from. She forced herself to focus on Luciano and repeated the traditional saying of the Curavi.
“I can wait, carissima.”
“Christus, will you just accept the damn Curavi,” she exclaimed.
Luciano studied her carefully for a moment then gave her an abrupt nod as he placed his hands in hers. She immediately closed her eyes and as always the familiar warmth of healing rushed through her body into her hands. The pain when it came was agonizing. She shuddered as she felt the deep cut on Luciano’s leg form on her own leg. She was grateful his wound wasn’t on the same leg as her own injury. It would have hurt far worse.
For several long minutes, she clung to Luciano’s hands, accepting the pain he’d endured as penance for loving a Praetorian. The enemy. The bastardi responsible for the death of her parents and countless others. The pain in her leg slowly eased, and she released her grip on Luciano’s hands before she leaned back against the car seat. Drained, she kept her eyes closed, wanting to do nothing but curl up in her bed and go to sleep. The sleep of the dead where she didn’t have to feel anything.
She must have dozed off, because the sound of a car door opening made her jerk upright. Still groggy as a result of healing Luciano, she clung to the car door as she got out of the vehicle. The second Land Rover wheeled into the parking space beside them, and she averted her gaze as Lysander and Cleo got out of the vehicle.
Her hand pressed into the side of the car, she shuffled forward. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lysander stepping into plain view, while Cleo joined him. How could her friend have anything to do with him? He’d betrayed Cleo, too. Unable to stop herself, she turned her head toward Lysander. His face was like a marble statue, pale and without expression.
A sudden urge to go to him swept through her. She wanted answers. Wanted to understand why he hadn’t told her. She swayed slightly as she braced herself on the car’s tailgate. She saw Lysander take a step forward as a strong pair of arms lifted her up off her feet. Startled, she looked up at Luciano’s grim profile and immediately found herself longing for Lysander. Her gaze drifted back to Lysander, and she saw his stoic expression dissolve into one of fury as Luciano sent him a cold glare.
Cleo grasped Lysander’s arm and held him back as Luciano carried her into the house. Drained of energy and emotion, all Phaedra wanted was to crawl into her bed and sleep. In sleep, she could forget everything. The moment they were inside, there was a flurry of activity. The Vigilavi who worked in the house were already prepared to tend to the wounded who couldn’t receive the Curavi. As Luciano carried her through the hall toward the main stairs, Atia met them coming down the steps. Clearly surprised, a flash of fear swept across her features.
“Lysander?”
“The Praetorian is with Cleo,” Luciano said with outraged disgust.
“Deus. How many know?” Atia’s question made Phaedra stiffen in Luciano’s arms as she stared at the woman in horror.
“You knew?”
“I’ve known since he was a baby that he’s half-Praetorian. Lysander didn’t find out until Nicostratus tortured him. He’s struggled with the knowledge ever since.”
Atia’s words made her sick. Lysander hadn’t just talked with the Prima Consul about his torture session. He’d shared who he was with Atia. Not her. She moaned softly. How could he possibly love her if he didn’t trust her to tell her the truth? Closing her eyes, she sagged against Luciano’s shoulder.
“I want to go to my room. Now.” At her command, Luciano moved up the staircase, and in less than a minute, they were at the door of her small suite. “I can make it from here.”
“Are you sure?” he asked as he set her on her feet.
“Yes, thank you.” She opened the door of her apartment and paused as Luciano touched her shoulder.
“If you need anything, carissima, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
She pushed the door open, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement. Turning her head, her heart crashed into her chest at the sight of Lysander coming down the hall. She had no stomach for a confrontation with him now or later. Quickly entering her suite, she slammed the door closed. Her fingers brushed over the lock without
flipping the bolt.
If he really wanted in, all he had to do was pick the lock with his thoughts. Still feeling sluggish, she made her way into her bedroom and tumbled onto the mattress. Curled up on top of the sheets, she dragged a pillow into her chest and clung to it as if it were a lifeline. One by one, the tears came. They soaked the pillow as she sobbed herself to sleep.
“MAXIMUS.”
She shot upright off the bed in the room where Octavian’s slaves had imprisoned her. It was just a dream. She lay down again and stared up at the ceiling. This morning when Octavian had stormed into the house, she’d never imagined that the man would take her prisoner. When Maximus returned home, he wouldn’t know where to find her. The sound of the bedroom door opening made her sit up.
The manner in which Octavian entered the room, as if he had the right to, angered her. She was the daughter of Gaius Quinctilia Atellus, not some whore he could walk in on when it suited him. The glare she sent in his direction didn’t seem to faze him, or if it did, he ignored it. In fact, he arched his eyebrows as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. As she’d done earlier, she shielded her thoughts as Maximus had taught her. She’d become quite good at it, and Maximus had been convinced he’d transferred some of his ability to her as the result of their blood bond. Her stomach lurched as Octavian sat down on the edge of the bed.
“Beautiful,” he murmured as his han
d stretched out to brush across her cheek. She shrank away from him, and the feral smile on his handsome features sent a shiver down her spine. “I have news.”
Fear coated her skin in ice, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d made her think the worst. Instead, she arched her eyebrow at him in contempt. His mouth thinned with anger.
“Your husband is dead.” Octavian’s words hit her like a thunderbolt. She shook her head in denial.
“Liar. If Maximus were dead, it would please you to show me his head.” The thought of such a thing horrified her, but she knew it was true.
“My dear Cassiopeia, I am not a cruel man. I would never force you to endure such a thing.” Octavian’s words were smooth and oily. “You’ll see him soon enough when you’re found guilty of heresy.”
“Not even you would dare to execute the daughter of Gaius Quinctilia Atellus. Constantine would ban you from his court.”
“Ahh, but I have no intention of executing you, mea dulcis . I will simply explain that I was too late to prevent the mob from extracting their misguided justice.” His words made her cheeks grow cold as the blood drained from her face, and he chuckled.
She turned her head away as a wave of hopelessness washed over her. If Maximus were alive—no, he was alive. She could feel it. And when he learned where she was, he’d risk his life to rescue her. The knowledge made her heart skip a beat. If he tried to do that, he’d certainly die. No, she had to find a way to escape and reach him first.
“You’re far too quiet, mea mellis . What are you planning in that pretty head of yours?”
“Nothing,” she said as a whisper of a thought not her own brushed through her head. She met his gaze with a surreal sense of calm.
“If you’re thinking you can escape, Cassiopeia, don’t. The Praetorians guarding the house are loyal to me, and the household slaves know the harsh consequences of betrayal.”
“Would you be any less suspicious if I were to calmly accept you as my jailor?”
“No.” He smiled. It frightened her because his gaze remained flat as a reptile’s gaze. “At least you’ve not lost your spirit. It’s one of the things that always excited me about you.”
“And you disgust me.” She met his gaze with a look of scorn. Her reward for her defiance was the anger that flashed across his face before he leaned toward her.
“At least you understand it’s impossible to elude the hand of justice.” Octavian’s mouth was so close she couldn’t help but turn her head away from him. His fingers captured her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You’re a heretic, Cassiopeia. And you will be punished, just like your husband and the boy.”
Her heart stopped at his words. Care Deus , if he found Demetri—no, she refused to believe that Posca would fail her and Maximus. He would keep Demetri safe. A flutter of movement inside her belly heightened her fear. The baby. If Octavian discovered she was pregnant with Maximus’s child—he would kill her immediately. He wouldn’t risk her escaping and bearing a child that might one day be his downfall. Again, the whisper echoed in her head. This time it was stronger, deeper. It convinced her that Octavian was attempting to read her mind. She immediately forced herself to block off her thoughts with images of Maximus finding her. They gave her courage. She would find a way to escape.
A look of fascination on his face, Octavian’s thumb brushed over her mouth. “What was it you saw in Maximus that you never saw in me? I could have given you everything he gave you and more.”
“I didn’t love you.”
“Instead you loved a traitor.”
“Maximus isn’t a traitor. You’re the one who’s betrayed the oath of the Praetorian Guard. You’re the one who wants the Tyet of Isis to further your own ambitions, not to protect it.”
“And I was not so weak that I shared all of its secrets with a woman.”
“Maximus has never been weak.”
“No? You bent him to your will.” Octavian’s hand caressed the side of her neck, and she shivered at the vile touch. “He betrayed his oath to the Guard by telling you about the Tyet of Isis .”
“That’s not true. I learned of the box when I blood bonded with Maximus,” she exclaimed.
The moment she spoke, Octavian stiffened and slowly pulled away from her. The look on his face said she’d made a mistake. Many in the Guard frowned upon the blood bond. It meant the woman might acquire a special power, and in Rome, a woman with power was a threat. Especially if she acquired all the powers of the man she blood bonded with. Octavian grabbed her hands and turned them palms up. She winced at the way his fingers bit into her hands as he stared at the long scar on her left palm.
“The secret of the Tyet of Isis is sacred to the Guard. He knows that. It’s why we don’t share a blood bond with a woman.” His disgust evident, he narrowed his gaze at her. “What ability did your traitorous husband give you when he bonded with you?”
“Nothing. I have never been able to move objects or read minds.” If she’d received any ability from Maximus, it was her talent for shielding her thoughts. She’d had no need of it with Maximus, but she was grateful for his instruction now.
“And the box? Where is it?”
“I don’t know,” she lied.
“It will go easier for you if you simply cooperate.” The whisper in her head became a harsh probe as he glared at her.
“Maximus didn’t tell me where he hid it.”
“You lie badly, mea mellis.” She gasped as his words slithered through her head, while his hand glided down to her breasts. Fear struck at her core as he shared a glimpse of what he intended to do to her before he killed her. Frantically, she tried to strengthen the wall of inane thoughts she’d placed around her secrets. His mocking laughter filled her
head. “Mea care, Cassiopeia. My abilities are far more powerful than those of Maximus. “
His mind probed deeper, and she struggled to push his thoughts out of her head. The minute invisible fingers pulled the hem of her gown upward, her control slipped. Maximus had incredible powers but he’d never used his abilities to force her to do anything. Frantically, she tried to push the garment back down while keeping Octavian from probing deeper. She failed, and a moment later a strong force shoved her backward onto the bed.
“I’m not your traitorous husband, mea dulcis. And it’s important you understand you can hide nothing from me. Not even the Tyet—ahh, so it’s in the Temple of Vesta. Thank you, mea mellis.”
“Get out of my head, you bastardo .”
Anger roared through her blood as she pushed back against his mental probe. A moment later, she knew he was no longer in her head. Whether it was because he’d withdrawn on his own or she’d managed to push him out, she didn’t know. As she stared up at his face, rage darkened his features. The sudden knock on the door followed by the entry of a Praetorian Guardsman shot a bolt of relief through her.
“General Maximus and his troops arrived outside the city gates less than an hour ago. He accepted the emperor’s terms of surrender.” The guard’s words made her heart leap with joy. Maximus had come for her as she knew he would.
“Where is he now?” Octavian snapped.
“He entered the city shortly after surrendering what was left of his legions.”
“Cak. ” The single word of fury echoed through the chamber, and the Guardsman reached for his throat as an invisible force slowly squeezed the air from his lungs. A second later, the soldier was free of the unseen grasp. Octavian glared at the man dragging in deep breaths of air. “He’ll search for his bitch first. Send a small contingent of men to Maximus’s house to arrest him if he’s there. I’ll take several of the men to the Temple of Vesta in the event he goes there first.”
The Praetorian nodded his head as he stood upright, and his fist hit his chest before his arm flew outward in a salute. As the Guard headed toward the door, Octavian quickly ordered him to halt and rubbed his chin in contemplation.