One With the Darkness (18 page)

It had been so long. This was like the pleasure she had remembered, and yet not like.

All at once, he lifted her into his arms and sloshed out of the pool. “There is a lounge in the
tepidarium,”
she whispered, in case he did not remember. Not quite a bed, it would still be far more comfortable than the hard stone benches of the
calidarium.
And they had much left to do tonight. He swept her through the doorway—he had to duck his head—and laid her on the red upholstery in the cooler room. She scooted closer to the wall so he could join her. God, but he was an impressive specimen of a man. The water droplets on his body gleamed in the lamplight. He lay next to her.

She could not help but smile. “You know something of women,” she whispered.

He smiled in return. She had not seen him smile just so before. “Something.”

“I feel obligated to reciprocate with what I know of men.” She slid her hand along his cock and licked his nipple. It contracted under her tongue. She nibbled as she stroked him lightly. His breathing hissed in and out. His cock throbbed against her.

As she continued, he writhed under her touch, groaning, straining his hips against her. Abruptly he pulled back, gasping, then gently put her hand from his cock. “Have mercy, my lady. I will not last until you are ready again.”

“I’m ready now.”

His green eyes smiled at her. “Are you?” He dipped his head to her breast and suckled.

“Juno and Venus,” she muttered as his skillful tongue
drew sensation from her nipple she didn’t know it was capable of giving. When he turned to the other breast, she thrust up to make it available. His hands moved over her hips. She felt small in his embrace. She’d never had such a big man before, big all over. It was her turn to writhe under him. He raised his head and kissed her mouth again, deeply, as his fingers slid between her legs once more.

“Now
you are ready.”

She chuckled and spread her thighs as he rolled between them. He held himself over her, propped on his elbows. She lifted her hips to slide her wet channel along his cock. He was having a hard time breathing. When he could hold back no more, he pushed at the entrance to her. Most men closed their eyes to turn all their attention to the sensation building inside them, but he kept his burning green gaze fastened to her face, drinking her in. She smiled encouragement, and he eased inside her, slowly, so slowly. She was filled with him. She opened her hips even more. She had not quite gotten all of him in, for she didn’t feel his pelvis flat against her. He eased himself out, trying to breathe, and pushed in again. She sighed as she felt him press against the upper reaches of her womb. His breath hissed out. Now she had all of him. He began thrusting. She arched to meet him. Ahhhh, how long had it been?

They met in counterpoint, each of his strong thrusts met with her equal force. She made certain it was only equal. She only matched his strength, though hers was so much more. It would not take long for him to peak and she was rising fast as well, but that didn’t matter. She would raise him yet again tonight. And they had the long day together. The edge approached. She gasped and fought for breath. The friction of his pelvis grinding against her loins
sent frissons of sensation across her nub of pleasure. Inside her, his rod rubbed against that most secret of places in her womb, and the edge of the cliff rushed up. She was falling over, her insides contracting in spasms of pleasure. But he was contracting, too, and they were free-falling together into darkness, full, together, whole …

B
EWITCHED, INDEED
. H
E
had never met a woman so open to a man, so passionate. Her womb, contracting, had milked him of his seed until he was like to have lost his mind. He lowered himself to her side, so as not to crush her with his bulk. He was still full inside her. She rolled a little with him to keep them together. He had half-expected her eyes to go witch-red, but they hadn’t. It had been sexual congress like any other, and yet like no other in his busy past. None of the big-boned women of his homeland who gave themselves so lustily to a comely man could hold a candle to this little Roman witch. Gently he brushed his lips across the salty silk of her neck. That reminded him of what she had done to the slave prostitute earlier tonight. Or had that been weeks ago? She had said that sometimes her partners wanted her to take their blood. He couldn’t imagine it at the time, but now … Would it not be just another form of sharing? And giving her what she needed to survive. He felt an overwhelming urge to take care of her, as useless as that was.

He kissed her lips, softly. She smiled up at him, her lids heavy with satiation.

That part hurt, the part about how strong she was, how wise. Could a woman who was a witch, who was strong enough to kill four men, apparently with her bare hands—could a woman like that need a man the way other women
did? But she
did
need him. He had killed the other five. And then there had been the doubt in her eyes tonight, with the weight of a plot to free Rome from the snake that entwined it on her slender shoulders alone. He could soothe that doubt.

And he knew he had pleasured her tonight. No matter that she probably took pleasure almost every night. She had said she didn’t need a slave for sex because she could have any Roman citizen she liked. He did not doubt that. Who could resist her? Perhaps tonight was ordinary for her. … He almost couldn’t bear the thought.

He moved out of her. His cock was still full, if not erect. She curled in his arms like a cat. He held her, and stroked her wet hair. “We need another bath,” he said roughly, because he could not ask whether this had been an ordinary night.

She chuckled against his chest. “Not yet. It might be a waste, don’t you think?” Her hand moved over his hip. Brid’s breasts, but Livia could raise him with just a touch.

“Then let us wait,” he said. He was glad she wanted more of him.

She snuggled closer. “The sun is rising even now. We have all day.”

It was still raining. The sky outside was lighter, but there was no sign of sun. “How do you know the sun rises?”

“I always know the exact moment,” she murmured.

Because it burned her. Because she was a witch. He didn’t care. She had promised him a day of making love. “Will your servants not come to check on you?”

“Perhaps. They may bring us refreshments. It won’t matter.”

It wouldn’t matter because no one would dare question the mistress of the house. They would expect her to be using him. His owner. He must not forget that. With a start
he remembered that he had wanted this sexual act to be some kind of revenge on her for owning him. He had believed that if she wanted him, she was in some sense in thrall to him.

How differently it had worked out. He was now doubly in thrall to her.

10

B
Y NOON THEY
had bathed again. After making love, and dozing and making love again. Now Livia lay with her head on Jergan’s thighs, drowsing, with the doors closed against the gray day. Lamps flickered against the stone of the bathhouse, warm and sensual. He brushed her temple lightly with one calloused finger. How she had loved being cradled in Jergan’s big arms all morning. How complete she felt. She’d never thought herself lonely. But she was. And Jergan made her feel as though she would never be alone again. She wanted that, yearned for it with some part of her that had been growing stronger each day she had owned him.

Except he lived only a human life span.

And she did not. She would live on long after he was dead.

Sadness and that strange sense of urgency she’d had lately intermingled in her breast. She must do something about that. She sat up, restless, making him stare at her.

But what could she do? To make him vampire was an abomination—against the cardinal Rule of her kind. And he would abhor her for it. Unthinkable when she couldn’t even bring herself to tell him that the name of her kind was vampire, and that she lived forever. He didn’t want to stay with her anyway. He stayed only because of his vow
to his general. He made love to her because making love tied her to him and gave him more control of his situation. He was a slave. He could do nothing else.

The differences between them would always make it impossible for their relationship to be more than an interlude of sexual pleasure. She couldn’t do anything about that. But she could at least make certain he had a choice of whether to engage in such an interlude or not.

She had to free him. Today.

“What is it, my lady?” His brows had drawn together.

And when she did, he would return to Britannia. Centii was his home. Why would he not?

It was all so hopeless. She had an impulse to tell him about the eternal life. That was the important part of what she was, which he
must
understand. Why? What could that possibly do but drive him away faster?

What did it matter? He would go anyway. Because she was going to free him.

“There’s something I must do today.” She had control of her voice, if nothing else about her life, at the moment.

He looked taken aback. “In daylight?”

She nodded and rose, pulling a towel about her. “Lucius,” she called. He would be waiting outside with refreshments in case she called for them, guarding against intrusion.

Jergan’s expression registered shock as Lucius opened the door and poked his head in.

“Refreshments, my lady?” He did not look at Jergan, still naked on the chaise.

“I will go out today, Lucius.”

He looked surprised but nodded. “I have a blanket to cover you on your way into the house, and a clean loincloth and tunic for your slave. I will make ready.”

“Thank you, Lucius.”

Lucius left the two piles of clothes and walked away. He would hang her litter with the heavy draperies to keep out the sun. No matter what she did, this would be painful. But the registry of names was only open during daylight hours. The discomfort she must suffer each time she freed a slave was a penance somehow for Rome’s practice of enslaving. A third of the population of Rome were slaves. She turned to Jergan and handed him the tunic and loincloth. “Dress yourself,” she said. It sounded like a command, perhaps among the last she would give him. She shrugged her apology. “Today I make you a free man.”

T
HE LITTER STOPPED
before an imposing stone building. Columns supported a pediment carved with a frieze that showed some battle. Jergan stood beside the palanquin. The sun was bright after the rain. Or maybe it only seemed so bright and clear white because he had been sleeping through the days and had known only night. The steps up to the building were busy with people coming in and out. The marble gleamed in the sun.

Beside him, he heard the hangings being drawn aside and a little gasp. He turned and saw her jerk her hand back out of the sunlight. “Let me,” he growled. He pulled back the heavy woolen hangings. He should be happy. She had told him that when she listed his name in the registry, he would be a free man. “Cover yourself more carefully, my lady.”

She pulled the heavy woolen
palla
up over her head and forward to shade her face. She had bound her feet with cloth inside her sandals, and now she put her hands inside the folds of the loosely wrapped
palla.
He noticed that the hand that had pulled aside the hangings was red. Was she as sensitive to sunlight as that? He reached in and bundled her out into the light. She was breathing quickly.

He was not happy. Did she think the love they made was just a way for him to bribe her to free him? Did she think him that calculating? Did their lovemaking mean so little to her?

She darted up the broad marble stairs and he trotted after her. She stumbled and he took her arm, supporting her. She was trembling.

If he was free, he could go home. How often had he wished for that on the long and painful journey to Rome as the soldiers whipped him and the elements tore at his nearly naked body? That prospect, so near at hand, no longer filled him with undiluted joy.

They ducked in between the columns and through the open doors.

“Are you all right, my lady?” he whispered to her.

“Fine,” she said, a quaver in her voice. She cleared her throat. “Fine.” But she didn’t put back her
stola.
The great building was open to the day. Channels of light from the doors that had been opened all along both sides made the room as bright as the steps outside. “Come with me,” she managed, and started off among the many Roman men crisscrossing the wide hall.

He followed her as she made her way to a side room, its floor covered in a black-and-white mosaic of grape leaves and some figures of Roman gods he didn’t recognize. An old man in the traditional white wool toga sat behind a large wooden table on which lay a huge scroll. A line of perhaps twenty men and one other woman stood before him. Each citizen had a slave beside him. Was it as simple as writing a name on a scroll? Apparently.

Livia stood, trying to get her breath as the others in line noticed them and began to stare at her, all bundled up as she was. An open pediment sent a ray of light cutting in a channel through the room to illuminate the great scroll.

He could feel her holding herself in check as they got slowly nearer to the man who was murmuring to each citizen at the head of the line. At last it was their turn. Her head was bowed, to let the fold of
palla
over her head give her maximum protection from the light.

The wizened man looked up, his quill poised over the parchment lined with names. “Who have we here?” he queried. “Show yourself, woman, for only a citizen may free a slave.”

Would she do this just to free him? He heard her take a long breath. Then her hands came out from under her cloak and put back her
palla.
She squinted against the light. “Livia Quintus Lucellus,” she said, and this time there was no quaver in her voice. “I wish to free this slave.”