by Nadia Aidan
“To be honest, I do not want you, at least not as you are now, but I see potential beneath all of your masculine ways.”
“So, if I were to wed you, you would expect me to wear a chiton, and then pretend I didn’t know how to use weapons. I certainly would not be allowed to make them—”
“Lamia—” he tried to cut her off, realising the fire he’d set off inside her, but it was already too late. Mythos had revealed his true self, his true intentions, and she wasn’t impressed.
“You know what, Mythos? I am not so desperate to wed that I would change my entire self for a man.” She thought of the girls she’d known as a child, and how they’d grown apart as they’d reached womanhood because she did not recognise them anymore. They’d disappeared into their husbands, serving only their needs, until they were little more than mindless slaves. She’d vowed long ago never to become that type of woman, even if it meant she would remain alone for the rest of her dawns.
“I believe a husband should respect his wife, and wed her for who she is, not who he wishes her to be. I am flattered by the honour you do me, and I know you will make some woman a fine husband, but that woman is not me.” That was mostly a lie, but she was trying to be gracious. Yet Mythos was far too intelligent not to know when he was being patronised.
His laughter was harsh to her ears, full of bitterness and the promise of cruelty, and she hated the sound. “You live in the realm of the gods, full of dreams and enchantment, if you think you’ll find a man who wants you for you.” He emphasised his words by slowly raking his gaze over her dishevelled chlamys and wild hair.
“Good dawn, Mythos,” she said tightly, her sandalled heels digging a shallow hole into the soft earth as she spun away from him. The sound of his mocking laughter trailed after her, and she fought not to run, to flee from him, for she had far too much pride to let him see that he’d succeeded in his desire to wound her. But the words he shouted at her back she would never forget—not one dawn would pass that she did not recount them, until she came to believe them.
“No man will ever want you, Lamia. No man who wants a real woman.”
She didn’t stop as she walked away from him, her back rigid and her head held high, even as she blinked back tears that she would shed into her bed mat later. She’d been a fool to let Mythos into her life—giving him the power to wound her—but never again.
No man would ever have such power to wound her as Mythos had done, for she was determined to forever guard her heart, her body, her very soul.
* * * *
“How are you faring this sun rising?”
Lamia glanced over at Thanos, trying her best to meet his concerned gaze even as embarrassment stole over her, warming her cheeks. He’d taken her two more times before they’d risen that dawn and she knew what he was truly asking. She finished securing the goat-hide sack, which held a few figs and one pomegranate, to her horse before she spoke. “I’m faring well.”
He scrutinised her for several long moments before he seemed to accept her answer, which she knew to be somewhat of a lie. She was pleasantly sore, but sore nonetheless. More heat crawled along her skin all the way to her face when an image of Thanos ploughing inside her with gentle strokes flashed into her head. He’d bestowed upon her unimaginable, indescribable pleasure that even now left her tingling all over, and afterwards he’d been gentle and tender as he’d bathed her, trying to ease the ache between her thighs.
“We will ride until we reach the town of Sellasie. I sent most of our food with my men so we will need to stop and replenish our supply before we continue on.”
She nodded as he mounted Zeus and she moved to follow suit, but stopped when her body protested and she winced in pain.
“What is it?” he demanded, his face darkening with alarm as he jumped down from his horse to stand by her side.
She braced herself against her mount with her hands, curling her lips into a weak smile. “I am still a bit sore, after all.”
She grimaced at the sharp curse he expelled. “I asked you if you were sore and you said that you were fine.” He reached down to hoist her into his arms.
“No. You asked how I fared and— What are you doing?” she demanded when Thanos hoisted her up on to Zeus with her body sideways so that her knees touched.
“You will not make it a single metre in your condition if you sit astride.” Lifting himself on to Zeus, Thanos grasped the reins so that his body trapped her in the small crook at the back of the horse’s neck.
She opened her mouth to object but just as quickly she snapped it shut because he was right. She would be in pain within moments if she tried to ride.
“Wrap your arms around me and rest your head against my chest. It will make it easier for me to ride with you,” he added, apparently glimpsing the question in her eyes.
She nodded as she curled her arms around him and laid her head against his broad chest, listening to the even rhythm of his heart beating beneath her ear.
He flicked the reins once and eased into a slow trot, the echo of steady hoof beats in the distance revealing that the other horse followed behind Zeus.
She closed her eyes and inhaled the rich, masculine scent that was unique to Thanos as the muscles in his torso flexed within the rough curiass beneath her cheek. Her mind easily drifted to the eve before and she found herself balling her fists at his back just to keep from running her fingertips along the hard planes of his chest. She wished he hadn’t donned his battle armour because she ached to feel the rough skin of his torso beneath her palms—
“What are you thinking?”
The deep rumble of his voice vibrated beneath her cheek, jolting her back to the present. She lifted her head to meet his open gaze.
“Why do you ask?” She danced around the question with a coy retort, refusing to admit the truth—that she’d been thinking of him.
“You sighed a moment ago. It was a pleasant sound and you seemed happy. Made me wonder what you were thinking.”
Had she sighed? Lamia blinked furiously, now at a loss for words. “I-I—” she stammered.
“You do not have to share your thoughts if revealing them to me makes you uncomfortable. It was the first time you’ve seemed happy since I met you, so I just wondered what thoughts could have the power to bring you such joy.”
She swallowed the lump that gathered in her throat at his softly spoken words.
“Why do you care what brings me joy?” she asked wearily, the rough edge to her voice sharper than necessary but she hated the warmth flooding her belly because it was thoughts of him that had brought her joy. She felt as if she was being pulled in two different directions as a battle raged within her, where one Lamia wanted to open herself fully to him, while the other wanted to maintain the distance that separated them.
Thanos brought Zeus to an abrupt stop and dropped the reins. He then lifted one hand to cup the back of her head. Tangling his hand in her hair, he nudged her head, forcing her eyes to meet his.
“I care because I would simply like to know what it is that makes you happy. Is it so wrong for a man to know what pleases his lover?”
She struggled to ignore the wild thumping of her heart beneath her breasts, but it was no use. “Why, Thanos? Most men care not for the happiness of the women who warm their beds.”
“You should know by now that I am not most men.” He untangled his hand from her hair to trail a finger along her cheek as he spoke softly. “I care about your happiness, Lamia, just as I hope that you will come to care about mine.”
* * * *
They rode into the small town of Sellasie at high noon, but Lamia barely saw the cluttered shops that lined the streets as the agora bustled with merchants peddling their goods. Her mind was at a distance as she once again repeated Thanos’ words in her head. He cared about her happiness. With the exception of Darius, no man had ever cared about her happiness, nor she theirs. She’d grown up in Carthage, surrounded by men who feared her and her mannish ways. No man was
impressed by a woman who could wield a sword as well as him or possibly best him in a fight. Her suitors had been non-existent, so she’d accepted many annos ago that she would never wed. But here was Thanos, offering not only to wed her but also the promise that she could become his wife in the truest sense—not simply a body to bear children, but one with whom he could share true affection.
What if she agreed to his foolish plan and actually wed him? Could she truly make him happy? Her? The woman who everyone said no man would ever want. Could she learn to give him what he needed just as he promised to give her what she needed in return? Or would she only disappoint him?
She frowned at the thought. With any other man she would not have cared what he thought of her, wanted of her, but here she was again thinking of a future with a man who up until a few dawns ago she hadn’t even known. What was it about Thanos that made her forget herself…made her forget her promise to Darius’ ghost?
The absence of Thanos’ warmth beneath her cheek tugged her out of her trance and she glanced over her shoulder to see him slide down from his horse and tether the reins of both mounts to a post beside a watering hole.
“I will purchase food and return shortly. Remain here until I return.”
She glowered down at him, irritated by his arrogant command, but she didn’t argue. She was too tired. Besides, with her stiff legs and aching muscles she had no intention of going anywhere at all.
Yet he hesitated as he peered up at her, and she realised he was waiting for her to respond.
“I will not run,” she said dryly. “I would not get very far even if I did.”
He arched a single brow and studied her more intently as if trying to ascertain from her expression the truth of her response. Seemingly satisfied with what he read upon her face, he visibly relaxed.
“I shall return shortly,” he said again before he strode purposefully towards the agora.
Her eyes never left him as she followed every move of his powerful body, his muscles rippling beneath the harsh rays of the sun. He walked with the confidence of a man who was always in charge, so he easily drew the attention of curious onlookers. She scowled when she noticed she wasn’t alone in her admiration. Several women turned their heads, ogling him as he passed by.
He strolled through the agora until he stopped at a pretty young woman’s cart who looked to be no more than eighteen annos.
“Barely a woman.” She snorted when the young merchant flipped her dark, glossy hair over her shoulder and fluttered her eyelashes. She was flirting with him. Lamia narrowed her eyes when Thanos smiled down at the girl as he gathered several figs, loaves of bread and a large chunk of goat cheese and placed them into his sack. When he was done he handed her several coins. The woman beamed as she closed her hand around them and said something that caused him to chuckle. Lamia frowned as his eyes sparkled with laughter before he waved farewell to the little temptress and strolled back to where he’d left her with the horses.
As he drew near, she forced herself to school her features into a blank mask, hoping that her irritation didn’t show on her face. But she needn’t have bothered because he busied himself with packing the food and checking on the condition of both horses, barely sparing her a glance.
Once he was done, he once again lifted himself atop his mount, but this time she did not wrap her arms around his waist. Instead she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and rested the side of her body against his chest. She knew she was being childish, but she could not help it.
He’d flirted with that girl although he’d known she was watching. Despite all of his flowery words and his displays of tenderness, he was still a man no different from any other. For just a moment, she’d allowed herself to believe his words, that she could be the woman he desired, that she wanted to be the woman he desired. But Thanos was a virile man, and far too handsome to ever be satisfied with just one woman. And, if his flirting was any evidence, she certainly wasn’t the woman who could satisfy him if she couldn’t even hold his attention for more than a single sun rising.
* * * *
After leaving Sellasie, Thanos followed the main trail that ran along the northern edge of the Laconian plain until it was almost dusk. He knew he was pushing the pace a little hard, but he was trying to make up for the time he’d lost by going after Lamia and then stopping for food.
By the time he found a suitable area to make camp, they were both exhausted. Tossing several more small branches of wood onto the fire so that it would burn through the eve, he looked up when Lamia returned from relieving herself. She didn’t meet his gaze as she sulked all the way to their bed mat and lay down with her back to him.
He frowned at her rigid back. She had been sullen and distant from the moment they’d ridden out of Sellasie. At the time he hadn’t questioned her, thinking that she was simply weary from their journey, but now he knew it to be more than that.
He stood to remove his curiass and crossed the short distance to where she lay pretending to be asleep. He slipped beneath the heavy woollen blanket and snaked his arm out to wrap around her waist, pulling her soft body flush against his. At the first touch of his hand she stiffened and she remained tense as he held her to him.
Thanos released a long, weary sigh. He was exhausted and had no desire to fight with her, but he could no longer ignore her surly disposition.
“Would you care to tell me what is wrong?”
Her breathing was measured, but not even, so he knew she was not asleep even though she remained silent. He sighed again, the gesture more exaggerated this time.
“I know you are awake.”
Several moments passed until he became certain she would continue to ignore him when finally she said in a small voice, “What makes you think something is wrong?”
“You’ve been silent from the moment we left Sellasie. Did something happen while we were there?”
There was a pregnant pause, and Thanos held his breath, waiting.
“Actually, something did happen while we were there and I am surprised you do not remember.”
He wrinkled his forehead as he searched his memories, recounting the brief trip to the city. He hadn’t spoken to anyone except the Thespian girl at the market. He drew up short when he recalled his hurried exchange with the merchant. She could not possibly be upset over that?
A small smile tugged at the edges of his mouth at the notion that Lamia was angry because he’d shared a joke with a girl who was young enough to be his daughter.
Lamia? Jealous? His smile hitched higher.
“If you’re referring to the time when I bought food from the girl in the market, then yes, I remember.” He pressed his open palm firmly against her abdomen and drew her deeper into his embrace when she stiffened and tried to pull away. “I remember because she was the only person I spoke to while there, so I am assuming she must be the source of your anger.”
“She is not the source of my anger. And I am not angry. Just—just—”
She stumbled over her words and he knew she was either having trouble voicing her feelings or she didn’t yet realise what it was she was feeling, so he finished for her.
“Jealous?”
She shook her head, launching into a litany of protests.
“I am not jealous. That is ridiculous. You flirted with the girl right before me and it was simply rude—”
She stopped in mid-tirade when, without warning, he rolled her over onto her back and covered her with his frame. Holding himself still above her, he settled his weight on one side of his body and used his free hand to cup her cheek, dragging her gaze to his face.
“I did not flirt with that girl. I admit that I joked with her but I was simply being polite. If you saw it as flirting then I apologise. It was not my intention to upset you.”
She nibbled on her bottom lip, her expression full of scepticism.
“I did not flirt with that girl,” he repeated, his voice firmer. He hadn’t flirted with the girl. The young merchant had been
pretty enough, but he was a man of single-minded focus. He’d focused all of his attention on one woman and that woman was Lamia, and only her.
“I believe you,” she whispered after a long silence.
He quirked his lips into a grin. “I’m flattered to discover that you are jealous—”
“I am not jealous.”
“Yes, you are,” he remarked quietly before dipping his head to capture her sputtering mouth with his lips. He slowly ran the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips, gently teasing her, before plunging inside.
The kiss was unexpected so she gasped softly when he slipped his tongue between her lips to taste her. He knew the moment her surprise gave way to her own desires, because she arched into him and lifted one hand to tangle in his hair, causing her breasts to jut out and press against his bare chest.
He groaned at the feel of her hardened nipples stabbing into his torso. Grasping the back of his head, she held him locked to her and he deepened the kiss as he intertwined his tongue with hers.
Thanos rocked his hips in a gentle rhythm, the evidence of his arousal pressing into her belly. Skimming his hands down the length of her body, he teased her honey-smooth skin with his fingertips as he pushed her chamlys upward until he’d released her breasts from the loose confines of the garment. Cupping the soft weight of her fullness in his hand, Thanos gently rolled her stiffened peaks between his fingers only to pluck at them when they were fully erect, eliciting a sharp gasp from her lips.
She writhed beneath him, her hands roaming over his back as she twisted her legs apart and he easily settled beneath her spread thighs.
“Thanos.” She rasped out his name on a hoarse sob when he rocked against her again, grinding the bulge in his pyterges into the moist heat of her feminine mound.
Wrenching his lips from hers, he trailed his tongue down the column of her throat until he reached the soft spot where her neck and shoulder met then nipped and sucked at the sensitive flesh, dragging another moan from her pretty lips.