The Winged Serpent (The Order of the Oath) (15 page)

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.

He crushed his lips to hers, swallowing up any further protest, and Aurora let him.

Because she did not wish to argue with him.

Aurora had never been held by a man, kissed by one who desired her for who she was. She had never held a man, had never kissed one who she did not require something from in return.

No, she would not argue with him, because such a moment would never come again, and she wished to savor it.

She clung to Cyrus, the warmth of him seeping inside her, setting off a firestorm of desire within her. Her womanhood was slick with need, aching for him to fill her, claim her. He deepened the pressure of his mouth, his tongue probing her depths until their lips were fused together.

He left her mouth to trace a path along her neck, her collarbone, her ear. Everywhere he kissed her, she burned. His hands roamed in earnest now, slowly pushing up her
tunica
until it bunched at her hips, then at her waist. He drew away from her just long enough to tug it over her head.

She thought he would cast it aside, but he laid it down upon the sand, stretching it out.

When he pulled her into his arms again, his eyes were apologetic. And she quickly gathered the reason for his rueful expression, but before he could speak she touched her fingers against his lips and smiled.

“It is perfect,” she whispered.

She did not need a bed or even a pallet, none of those things were necessary. She’d been made love to upon some of the finest beds covered in rare silks, within the most opulent of villas by men who would not even know her name if their lives required them to furnish it. Every one of those experiences paled in comparison to this moment. Every one of those men paled in comparison to Cyrus.

“This is perfect,” she said again as he laid her gently upon the simple garment, and stretched out to cover her with his body. He’d removed his own garments and she gasped at the feel of his hair-roughened flesh dragging across her smooth skin. Her hands trailed along his back as he fit himself snugly within the vee of her thighs, the tip of his hardened shaft pressing against her opening.

She reclaimed his lips in a scorching kiss that singed them both. Aurora felt it to her core as heat coiled within her, urgent and needy. His kiss fueled the desire hovering inside her body, begging to be fulfilled.

With achingly slow movements, he wrenched his lips from hers, and held himself still above her. Their eyes met, and an emotion Aurora did not want to name, let alone acknowledge, passed between them, from his eyes to hers, then back again. An invisible thread furled out to attach them, and Aurora would swear even their hearts beat with the same rhythm.

The connection between them, it was humbling, it was terrifying, but Aurora could no more deny its existence than she could still her breath. As he pushed inside her, feeding her his thick, hard length, the fire within her veins blazed out of control.

Cyrus filled her, stretched her, and she moaned as her body began to quiver. The pleasure of him forging deep caused her back to arch against the ground, and she closed her eyes.

But he would not allow her to retreat. Cyrus’ hand tangled in her hair, forcing her eyes open, and she drowned in his gaze as he buried his cock within her until he could go no further.

They gasped in unison, when their bodies were fully joined, and when he moved inside her, their groans filled the empty space of the cavern, echoing against the rocks, only to be swallowed up by the water pounding against the sand.

Aurora moved against Cyrus, her hips lifting off the ground to take him deep inside her with every thrust. She clung to him, her nails raking his back. He clung to her, his fingers digging into the supple flesh of her hips.

Sweat dotted their skin, and they writhed against one another, the rich aroma of lust and desire perfuming the air, until their lungs were filled with the scent.

With every stroke, Cyrus brushed against that tiny nub at the juncture of her thighs. She trembled as passion roiled through her, building inside her until she was powerless against the onslaught of warmth claiming her, drenching his thrusting length.

She came on a splintered cry, taking Cyrus with her as she clenched around him. A lewd curse was wrenched from his lips, and he stiffened against her. His face twisted in pleasurable agony as he found release inside her, his seed blasting hot within her.

He collapsed against her, pulling her into his arms and rolling over so that she was draped across his body.

Their breaths came out in stilted pants, their hearts thundering in their chests, and it was a long while before either could speak.

“We should return soon,” he murmured beneath her, after a long, contented silence stretched between them.

She lifted her head from his torso, her unbound locks tickling across his bare chest. “Why? Will the guards find us here?”

“No. They are too far down, and they are instructed not to leave their posts.”

Aurora nodded, tucking that information away within the recesses of her memories. “Then we should stay, at least for awhile longer, before we must return to our locked and guarded quarters.”

Cyrus sighed, as he stroked her back with his hand. “But not much longer. Claudius has given us leave to move freely about, but he is not a fool. If we are both gone for too long, the guards will report this to him. If you wish to enjoy what freedom you have, it would be best not to incur his suspicion.”

Aurora agreed as she returned her head to Cyrus’ chest, closing her eyes.

She wondered then of Cyrus, a man who she’d not known long, but knew well. Aurora corrected herself. She knew of his inner workings, but not of the man he’d once been and in the stillness of that moment she found herself giving in to the curiosity she’d never entertained with any man on any mission before. She reasoned with an inward sigh, it was because Cyrus was different.

“You have told me you were once a soldier, but you never told me of how you came to be a gladiator within Claudius’ home.” The question was an innocent one, almost absent of thought.

Cyrus did not react as if the question was a benign one. He stiffened beneath her, his body now cold and hard, devoid of the warmth that had surrounded her only moments before.

Aurora’s head snapped up again, her eyes searching his face, but his expression was closed off to her.

“What is it?” she probed.

“It is nothing. I just do not wish to talk about what happened is all.”

“That would mean it is not nothing,” she countered.

“Aurora.” The warning in his voice stayed her.

She had not meant to anger him, but her question had, ruining the few stolen moments between them. She rolled off him and stood to her feet. It would probably be for the best if they both returned to their quarters before they quarreled.

Folding her arms across her chest, she tapped her foot until he climbed to his feet and she was able to retrieve her
tunica.

“Why are you upset?” he demanded as he pulled on his
braca.

“I am not upset.” But that was a lie. For some reason it
did
bother her that he would not reveal that part of himself to her, although, she acknowledged, she had done nothing to reveal her past to him either. But that was because of the shame her past caused her, the pain it dredged up, the humiliation of being brutalized, and then used.

“Yes, you are,” he said at her denial. As if reading her mind he continued. “You will not tell me of the demons that still haunt you, but you grow angry when I do not offer up my life as an open tablet.”

She stilled, thinking on why it was he did not wish to speak of his past, ignoring the accusation in his voice that pointed out her own hypocrisy.

“The difference between us is that in one breath you say I have your trust, and in the next you close yourself off to me.”

“You have never reveled yourself to me, Aurora, so what does that say of
you
? That I do not have your trust in return?”

“I did not say that.” Her gaze sharpened on him. She knew what he was doing. “And you have my trust.”

“Then tell me what demons drove you to beat Primus within a hairsbreadth of his life?”

She stilled. Maybe she did not know what he was doing after all, because she had not anticipated such a question.

Aurora shook her head, “No.” She turned from him and began moving toward the ledge to climb her way back to the training area.

“Where are you going?”

She stopped to glance at him from over her shoulder. “That much should be obvious.” She started out of the cave again, but his words halted her steps.

“I was betrayed.”

She whirled around.

“You wanted to know how I came to be a slave in Claudius’ home—I was betrayed.”

“By whom?”

“Someone who I believed loved me. I was poisoned into unconsciousness. When I awoke, I found myself sold and bound in chains. It did not matter that I protested, that I fought back.
Denarii
had been exchanged for me, and such a substantial sum, that if I wished for freedom, I would have to pay every bit of it back.”

The pain shadowing his face compelled her to close the distance between them until she stood before him, her palm lightly cupping his jaw.

“You know who did this.” Her statement did not beg a response.

“Do you know why?” she asked.

“I have an idea.” But that would remain his secret. She sensed there were many more secrets he still guarded of the life he’d once lived, before he’d become a slave. The look upon his face told her not to probe further.

She let her hand fall back to her side and turned to leave.

“We had better return.”

“Aurora.”

She stopped, her back to him, her head bowed. She closed her eyes for just a moment, drawing in a shaky, shallow breath.

Cyrus’ revelation had come with a price—she’d known it would.

Aurora faced him. “Do not ask this of me.”

“I ask for nothing that I would not give in return.” With his fingers he lifted her chin, forcing her gaze to his face. “Tell me as I told you, only what you wish.”

She did not wish to relay any of it. All of it was humiliating, all of it caused her shame.

Cyrus peered down at her, his expression open and full of tenderness, radiating with compassion. From some place deep inside herself she found the strength to do what she had never done before, she found the strength to reveal the broken pieces of her past no matter that every word tormented her.

“I wish I could tell you that I was betrayed, but my story is far simpler.” She shrugged as if it did not matter, when all of it mattered. “I was the eldest of five girls, and we had little wealth. My father could not hope to amass a dowry for us all, so he sold me.”

Aurora could no longer hold Cyrus’ stare so she shrank away from his touch and averted her eyes, even as moisture burned within them.

Her parents—she had never forgiven them, nor had she ever forgotten.

Had she been sold to afford her sisters’ dowries? Had she been sacrificed so that her sisters would find husbands, live comfortable lives, while hers had been bleak, full of pain, devoid of any gentleness, any kindness.

For many years she’d wondered why she’d been the one chosen, what was it about her that her parents had seen within her to find her so unworthy? Later, when she was much older, she realized as the eldest, it was her duty. And later she would pray to every god she knew that her sisters
had
found husbands and now lived comfortable lives. She prayed they’d been spared and that she was the only one who had endured such a fate. But Aurora did not know.

“How old were you?”

She looked at Cyrus once again. “I was twelve.”

“And your sisters? What of them?”

“I do not know.”