by Nadia Aidan
Silence stretched between them when she halted before him, her blood rushing through her veins.
His eyes narrowed upon her, accusatory, so when he finally spoke she was not surprised by his words and the vehemence of his voice.
“Who are you, and why did you come here?”
All she could do was lift a brow. How he’d arrived at that particular question, she did not know, and it did not matter. Whether or not he would try to stop her was the only matter of importance.
“How do you mean for me to answer that?”
“With the truth.”
“You know the truth,” she said quietly. The truth was whatever he believed, no matter if it was reality or fantasy.
“Do I?” He cast the wooden blade aside, his hand dragging through his hair. “I saw your face, the look you gave Cornelia. I know you had nothing to do with that plot because you were as surprised as I was when we witnessed her giving that vial to Balbus. But later, when you saw that I was going to stop Claudius from drinking, and then the lie you told of what you saw.” His eyes pierced her, then probed deep. “It is as if you want him dead just as much as Cornelia and Balbus.”
Aurora did not know if that was true. Her reasons were of duty. Theirs were personal. Cornelia and Balbus seemed to want Claudius dead more than she.
A storm raged in Cyrus’ gaze, his blue eyes flashing gray with thunder clouds. She ached to touch him, to ease the lines upon his face. She wished she could seduce him, to distract him from his purpose. She could not do the former, because he would not welcome her touch in that moment, and she would not do the latter, because he would know the purpose of her seduction and her actions would only dishonor the genuine emotions she felt for him, what he felt for her.
“Did you reveal Cornelia to her husband?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it is as you said at the Senator’s home when you tried to stop me. I would only make myself a target. Despite the unusual nature of their relationship, Claudius trusts her implicitly. I cannot say he would believe my claims of her guilt. And I do not wish to risk it, for if he did not believe me, somehow Cornelia would convince him that I was the threat.”
“You could still become her target, because you are a threat to her. She probably still plots against Claudius.”
He shrugged. “I have instructed him to remain vigilant at all times, but especially when it comes to his food and what he drinks.”
“So, she will find another way.”
“Is that what you would do?”
His question was spoken so directly it took her a moment to gather herself. “Why do you think I am here?” she asked him, her eyes little more than slits now. “That is what you want to know isn’t it? Who do you think I am, Cyrus? And why do you think I have come here?”
“I do not know.” That very statement seemed to torture him, as the words came out forced and uneven. She felt compassion for him, in his confusion at being torn between his desires and his duty. She felt empathy for him because she knew the conflicting emotions tearing at him. Aurora had never known such a feeling—until now.
“I think you do,” she said finally.
His touch was so unexpected that when he cupped her cheek, she nearly jerked in surprise. His eyes softened, and she noticed they were filled with a mixture of longing, tinged with sadness. “You will die if you plot against Claudius.”
Aurora did not know why that made her so angry. Maybe it was because he doubted her, underestimated her. Or maybe it was because she understood what his words meant for them both. He would give his life to protect his dominus, and he would not hesitate in taking hers if she sought to harm Claudius. She drew away from him, missing the warmth of his hand immediately as she stared at it longingly when it curled at his side.
“Tell me truly, why did you not reveal Cornelia?”
Her question startled him. “I already told you why, and it was the truth—”
Aurora believed him. “And yet you protect a woman who would have you killed as quickly as she could blink her eye.”
But you swear you could kill me.
The very thought sliced her open as if she’d swallowed nails, but the knowledge that Cyrus would protect Cornelia with his silence, and then raise his blade to her renewed her resolve.
That Aurora cared for Cyrus, there was no doubt. That he was unlike any other man she’d known, she was certain. Yet when she hardened her gaze, she stared at him, seeing him for who he was. Her enemy.
“I did not keep my silence to protect Cornelia. I did it to protect myself.”
Her eyes sharpened on him. “Well, no matter your reasons, I suggest you reflect upon your actions because if you cannot even out Cornelia, you had better be certain you can take my life because you may very well have to.”
Aurora tried to brush past him, but Cyrus stilled her with his words.
“Or what? You would take mine?”
She looked up at him as if she did not understand the language he spoke. She could pretend ignorance, but he knew she gathered his meaning. She stood so close that his palm itched to touch her. Aurora did not desire his hands upon her, but he cupped her face once again. When she moved to struggle, he seized her hip with his other hand, and pulled her flush against him.
Her breath whooshed out of her, blasting across his face, warming his stubbled jaw. His fingers bunched in her tunica, clenching her body tighter. She threatened to drive him mad. This woman threatened his life, she threatened everything he’d built for himself there.
Yes, he knew the truth. She’d hurled the words at him, and he understood them well.
He knew.
Aurora was a trained gladiator, but she possessed skills far beyond the arena. She’d also come to Claudius’ home around the time of the rumors. Not any of that was enough to raise his suspicions. It was the look he’d glimpsed within her eyes, the look exchanged between her and Cornelia.
Aurora was dangerous, she could very well be deadly. To what end, he was determined to find out.
“Would you take my life, Aurora? Would you kill me to do what you were sent here to do?”
“I was not sent here by anyone to do anything,” she protested. “I suggest you keep your eye focused upon Cornelia. She is the one who wishes Claudius dead, and now that she knows you are on to her, she may have added you to that list.”
He would worry about Cornelia later. Right now, he wanted but one response from the woman he still held imprisoned within his embrace.
“You did not answer my question,” he said softly. “Would you take my life, Aurora, if I somehow stood in the way of whatever purpose you are here for?”
The look upon her face he would remember forever. Her eyes shimmered with pain, and the words she spoke, he imagined they tortured her as much as they tortured him because when she said them, they came out on a ragged sob, as if they’d been wrenched from her soul.
“I hope it does not come to that, but yes, Cyrus, I would.”
He released her as if her skin scalded him, and when she turned to leave, he swore he would let her go, but he didn’t let her leave, and he reasoned it was because he wished to torment himself.
“Whoever you are loyal to—such loyalty shall not keep you warm at night.”
Cyrus did not know how she did it—how her eyes could reveal such raw anguish in one instance and then sparkle with laughter the next.
“I did not hear you offering to share my bed.” A grin curled her full lips which he felt twist his belly into knots. “And what of you? You are loyal to a man who would keep you in chains. What does that say of you?
“That I am a fool.”
Her grin lifted higher at the statement he’d made in jest, but that was no less true.
“You are not a fool. In the end all we have is our loyalty.”
Since Aurora had joined the ludus, he’d struggled to determine what it was that drew him to her that made him desire her so fiercely. He’d kno
wn female gladiators before, he’d known beautiful women. Neither qualities should have distinguished her. But when she gazed upon him, he finally understood. In her eyes he saw himself as she saw him—a man of strength, with unwavering honor, unswerving loyalty. When she looked at him, in her eyes he saw himself as the man he was, but also the man he wished to be, and it humbled him, it made him feel stirrings inside himself he’d never known before. For so long Cyrus’ only thoughts had been of gaining his freedom, he’d thought of nothing else—until Aurora.
He closed the distance between them, but this time he did not touch her. He simply stared down at her, revealing to her all that he knew her to be.
She was not a woman who could kill indiscriminately. Who could hold a man with such passion in one instance, and then watch his life drain from him in the next. She was a woman of honor, of loyalty, but more than that, she was a woman who possessed the ability to love. She did not believe she could, she’d long believed she could not feel such strong emotions for another, but Cyrus knew otherwise.
When her eyes rounded, and she stumbled back, he reasoned she’d glimpsed the truth upon his face, and it shocked her, scared her even.
“All we have is our loyalty, Aurora?” He shook his head, his voice low—soft—coaxing. “That is not all we have.”
Chapter Six
Cyrus thought she was scared, but Aurora was not.
She was terrified. Terrified of what she’d glimpsed in his eyes, the answering heat in her belly.
He did not set out to touch her but when she stumbled backwards, his arm snaked around her waist catching her before she could fall.
The moment her hands flattened against his chest, Aurora yielded—to the demands roaring within her body, the passion she’d long denied.
Whatever was brewing between them, it did not bode well for either of them. It promised to destroy them both.
Cyrus was on to her.
And she knew where he stood—against her.
That the ending promised to be painful, bitter, deadly even…none of it seemed to matter.
She’d been a slave to satisfy the perversions of men, a gladiator to appease their bloodlusts, even as a Keeper, she used her training in the arena and in the bedchambers to serve yet another master, The Order. As she slipped her arms around Cyrus’ neck, a tortured sigh lodged itself within her throat. She was weary. So tired of blood and death, serving the desires of others. She’d long ago abandoned the notion of having a family, of knowing love and being loved in return, but in the deepest regions of her soul, she’d still hoped. Cyrus made her hope for things she shouldn’t, things she’d convinced herself she didn’t want.
When he leaned in to kiss her, she nearly sobbed at the gentle touch of his lips to hers. If he stood in her way, her duty demanded she destroy this man who offered her tenderness, passion. But how would she do such a thing without destroying herself?
She did not wish to think of such things when he deepened the pressure of his kiss, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth to taste her. Her hands plunged into his hair, pulling him closer, holding him locked against her until their bodies were entwined, until there was not even a hairsbreadth of space between them.
She could feel him hardening against her, the swelling of his cock, hot and throbbing against her belly. Aurora lost herself to the warmth of his body embracing her, surrounding her, the heat of him filling every space within her that ached for him, that longed for him.
His hands slipped beneath her tunica, his callused fingertips dragging across her skin, teasing her. The touch of his hands against her bare flesh ignited a steady, throbbing flame of desire within her core. His kiss turned needy, stealing her breath, and his fingers dug deeper within the flesh along her thighs, as he clung to her. Aurora gasped into his mouth, warmth pooling between her thighs and a fresh urgency plowed through her.
She was trembling when he pulled away and she stared up at him with wide eyes glazed with lust.
“I will not make love to you in a filthy ludus that reeks of blood and sweat,” he said in response to the puzzled expression upon her face.
“Then where…” Her voice trailed off when he grasped her hand and led her in the direction of the bluffs.
Despite the measure of freedom Claudius had bestowed upon the both of them and the arena being empty of soldiers, guards still stood outside their chambers. They could not return there. If they were caught…Claudius may favor them presently, but that did not mean he would turn a blind eye to such insolence. Although it happened frequently, slaves were forbidden from such unions without the permission of their dominus.
Aurora did not think Claudius a petty man. Besides, he was greedy and business-minded. He would not kill those who filled his chests with denarii for having an affair, but she did not think for one moment he would not see them punished for such an offense.
Cyrus understood this as well because he looked cautiously about, his gaze darting around as he led them to the very edge of the cliff.
“What are you doing?” she asked when he lowered himself as if he was about to climb down the side of the bluff.
He winked at her. “Follow me and you shall see.”
The challenge in his eyes brought a smile to her lips as she trailed after him, lowering herself carefully down the rocks.
She’d prepared herself for the long, arduous journey to the bottom so she yelped in surprise when Cyrus gripped her by the waist and settled her feet upon a jutting rock that served as a sort of shelf along the cliffs.
He gestured for her to remain quiet, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight. She looked around at where they stood. A small ledge had been carved out of the side of the cliff by unmerciful waves. It was wide enough to hold them both, but small enough that it could not be seen from above.
Cyrus nodded for her to continue after him and soon the shelf disappeared into a cave that greeted them with pitch-black darkness. Cyrus grasped her hand again, guiding her along so that she did not stumble over the rocks.
The sound of waves rolling, then breaking apart grew louder with each step she took. She could smell the crisp rush of water, the balmy moisture clinging to her skin.
Moments later, light pierced the darkness, a trail of moonlight streaming across the sand and rocks. Cyrus came to a halt and Aurora could see the water several footsteps away, drifting inland then retreating.
“It is not a cave at all,” she said, finally regaining her bearings. “It is a tunnel.” She looked at him with shrewd eyes. “This is how you know that soldiers guard the beach just beyond here. You’ve used this tunnel.” Her eyebrow peaked. “To escape?”
The expression on Cyrus’ face did not hint at his inner emotions, and his words were just as vague. “The beach is constantly guarded in either direction. One may be able to reach this tunnel, but such a person would never get far, not without a weapon or a vessel.”
“A vessel?”
“That is the rumor which still survives of the only person to escape. He built a vessel and sailed away before the guards could reach him, and their arrows did not strike him. But look around Aurora, do you see any wood for a vessel? Any weapon to match a blade of iron?”
Aurora glanced around the tunnel. She peered out into the darkness. She saw neither wood, nor the tools for a weapon, but she was not deterred.
That was the mistake of others—to believe the only way to escape was to stand against the posted guards. Aurora considered…what if she did not have to? What would her chances be then?
“That look in your eyes gives me pause.”
“What look?” she questioned, though she already knew.
“The look which suggests you are plotting once again.”
“Once again?” When had she ever stopped? Cyrus mistook the meaning of her question, however.
“You are right. It is Cornelia who plots. You have only been guilty of my suspicion.”
He brushed a lock of hair from her face that the wind had caught. “I trust
you,” Cyrus said quietly into the night.
She looked away, staring out over the water rushing by, even as she cupped his hand with hers, and held it to her face. She wanted to tell him not to trust her, that she’d not earned it, that she did not deserve it. She wanted to tell him not to trust her because she could not be trusted.
Imogene had trusted her, a slave girl she’d befriended on her last assignment, so similar to this one. Her duty had been to assassinate a Roman magistrate, and Aurora had succeeded, but her success had come at great cost to another. A girl of just twelve years had been tortured for what Aurora had done, though Imogene had only been guilty of giving Aurora her friendship. Just as Cyrus now promised, only he offered her more, and he would lose more in turn.
Aurora closed her eyes, inhaled deeply and opened them again. “The water is beautiful at night,” she replied, deftly changing the topic of their discussion because of what it did to her, the knots that twisted her insides.
Cyrus pulled her into his arms, his chin resting atop her head, his words muffled against her hair. She heard each one clearly, felt the meaning of them deep within her soul. “Just because you do not want my trust, does not mean you do not have it.”
How was it that he could discern her innermost thoughts so effortlessly? His faith in her, his loyalty—to have such things from him tortured her. She closed her eyes, her breath scratching through her lungs as she listened to the steady pounding of Cyrus’ heart beneath her ear.
“I wish you would not say such things,” she whispered against his chest, her fingers absently tracing circles along his back.
He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through her. She lifted her head, meeting his gaze as he buried his hand within the riotous mane of her hair. “Just because you do not wish to hear such things, does not make the words any less true.”
She called his name on a desperate plea, trying one last time to convince him against doing what he seemed determined to do and that was trust her, care for her, feel for her.