The Winged Serpent (The Order of the Oath) (9 page)

He was no stranger to pain, but neither was he to tenderness. He’d touched her with a gentleness that caused her soul to ache. No matter she would never forgive him, she knew he was remorseful. In his eyes, she saw her pain, his desire to take it inside himself so she would not suffer from it.

There was a softness to Cyrus, a kindness that had the power to do what none before him could—he threatened her heart. Even now, her skin still tingled, her cheek, her lips still burned with the fire he’d ignited with his caress. If she closed her eyes, she knew she would feel him again—his breath warming her face, his fingers sliding across her mouth. She wanted to feel him, longed to feel him, despite the wrongness of it, the impracticality of such a thing.

She needed to forget him—banish him from her thoughts.

One month had already passed, and she was no closer to accomplishing her mission, but Aurora was not deterred. When the opportunity presented itself, she would seize it. She simply had to be on guard for it.

She did not anticipate she would be in Capena long, and the sooner she fulfilled her duty, the sooner she could return to her life and put Cyrus and the complicated nature of her attraction to him long behind her.

The guard halting before Aurora jolted her back to the matter at hand. With Cyrus at her side, they stood in the
atrium
where they waited for Claudius to join them. He did so within moments, beckoning Cyrus over to him.

Aurora’s entire body was rigid, her gaze steady upon them as they whispered amongst themselves.

After what seemed like forever, Claudius finally looked up. With the nod of his head, he dismissed the guard behind her while Cyrus moved off to the side, just beyond Claudius’ right shoulder.

Aurora noted that with interest. It would seem Claudius trusted his back to Cyrus, which only meant one thing. The meaning of it did not sit well with her. Her assignment had suddenly grown more complicated within the space of mere seconds.

“You know why you are here.” Claudius drew her gaze with his words. “I have heard of what happened in the training arena this day.” She did not mistake the long sigh. “I never wish to lose a slave, because that is gold wasted.”

Her heart plunged, and she experienced a moment of sorrow. Even though she did not like him, Primus had not deserved such a fate. Not since her days in the arena had she killed indiscriminately, and even then, she’d felt the deaths of those she’d been forced to slay. Every single one of them still haunted her—

“I see the look upon your face.” Claudius waved a hand in the air dismissively. “But do not fret. Primus yet lives.”

Aurora breathed a sigh of relief.

“I am certain Cyrus must have shared with you that I care not about such things. This house trains fighters. That those within it should fight is a great thing.” He shook his fist, seemingly impassioned by his own words. “That I lose one ever so often is what happens in a place such as this. And I encourage it. Such brutality makes my fighters stronger, better. It leads to victory within the arena.”

Aurora found it all distasteful, but she did not speak a word, and her expression did not reveal her inner derision. Human existence was worth more than blood and sport, not to be so casually dismissed as a consequence of a life that need not be brutal.

“Primus still lives.” Claudius continued. “But he has no place within this
ludus,
and certainly not within the arena
.
Not if he can be so easily beaten.” Claudius’ eyes sparkled. “But you—
you
have secured your place within my
ludus
for which you shall be rewarded.”

Aurora looked curiously at Cyrus who shook his head. This was a surprise to him, as it was to her.

“Senator Balbus Flavian Vibius has returned to his villa here in Capena and has opened his home for a celebration two eves from this one to herald his arrival. Vibius has always shown great favor toward this house and the gladiatorial games. That is why I shall honor him with a coveted match—the champion of Capena alongside the champion of Aquileia.” Claudius’ eyes were almost rheumy with excitement. “Such a match will stir his guests. Perform well and they will demand your presence within the arena.”

Aurora nodded graciously, her smile false as she thanked him for the honor. She held back a snort. It was not an honor, not at all.

It was a spectacle, to parade her before Capena’s nobility as if she were a coveted prize. The only benefit to such an excursion was that she would leave this villa. Many things could happen along the way there, along the way back...

Claudius had drawn closer to her, and his eyes now smoldered with an emotion which had not been there moments before. The look upon his face made her skin crawl, and the hairs along her arms rose. It was always like this for her.

The initial distaste of being desired by one she was repulsed by. It would soon give way to determination, her sense of duty driving her passions.

“There is one other detail of note.” Claudius’ pupils widened, his eyes a dull gray. “I have decided you shall fight nude.”

Her attention snapped to Cyrus.

“The both of you,” Claudius added.

Aurora blanked her face, but Cyrus scowled darkly from over Claudius’ shoulder, his eyes boring into the man.

“Every man shall be mad with lust and jealousy that you belong to me.”

Aurora jerked at his words, then at his touch when his fingers grazed her face. She did not belong to him. She belonged to no one. It was his statement, more so than his hands upon her that fed her fury.

It dawned on her then that she would never be able to stomach his hands upon her—which was a startling revelation that gave her pause.

The women of The Order were trained to seduce. That was their duty—to disarm then dispatch. Aurora had never protested the touch of others in the past—it was her duty. Before she’d joined The Order she’d known what would be expected of her. She did not have to take the oath if she could not fulfill the tasks required of her.

She’d taken the oath.

Claudius’ hand inched its way across her shoulder, down the length of her arm, when he seized her breast, she gasped, revulsion coiling in the pit of her stomach. The touch of a man she did not desire should not have affected her this way.

As if it had a mind of its own, her gaze searched deep within the shadows and found Cyrus. He stood beyond Claudius, his body rigid.

Her blood chilled when Claudius’ lips began to kiss her neck, his hands fondling her in earnest.

She did not take her eyes from Cyrus.

She could not read him. His face revealed nothing. The only hint he possessed a single emotion was the throbbing vein, which jumped in his forehead.

Cyrus had sought to kiss her earlier, and she’d pulled away.

Claudius lifted his head, and for the moment she returned her attention to him. His lips hovered above hers, so close, his every breath stroked her chin.

She could not kiss him, not when she’d denied Cyrus.

Aurora shrank away, her hands already reaching for the hem of her
tunica
.

“If I am to fight nude, would you not wish to view your wares
before
any other?”

A fire leapt in Claudius’ eyes, the notion of seeing her naked distracting him from the fact she’d thwarted his purpose of kissing her.

Claudius stood before her, Cyrus just behind him, so that when she pulled off her garment, Claudius did not realize she stared straight at Cyrus, her gaze only for him.

Did Cyrus know she saw only him?

Did he realize the naked desire blazing in her eyes was for him, and only him?

If he did, he did not show it. He stood as rigid and motionless as one of the statues in the garden, his gaze looking, but not seeing. It was as if she was invisible, it was as if she did not exist as he stared through her.

Aurora looked away in disappointment, her cheeks boiling with humiliation, but she did not have long to dwell upon Cyrus’ rejection because seconds later Cornelia burst into the
atrium,
her eyes glittering with fury.

“What is the meaning of this? Clothe yourself, you whore,” she shrieked.

Aurora was in the middle of tugging on her
tunica
when Cornelia lunged for her as if she would strike. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cyrus move, but Claudius was the one to stop his crazed wife.

He stepped between Aurora and Cornelia, his hand catching his wife’s arm before she could hit her.

“Calm yourself,” thundered Claudius. “You are making a spectacle out of nothing.”

“Nothing?” Cornelia’s eyes bulged. “Get her out of here,” she commanded Cyrus. “Get her out of my sight this moment.”

Aurora was all too happy to leave as she let Cyrus usher her from the room. She could hear Cornelia’s shrieking screams all the way down the hall, long after she and Cyrus were gone.

Cyrus walked beside her, his long strides eating up the distance as if Pluto nipped at his heels. She did not say a word until they passed through the gate to the quarters of the slaves and turned a corner, the shadows of the space affording them a measure of privacy.

She touched his arm that was bare beneath her fingertips. When he jerked away she let her hand drop to her side where it remained, curled tight into a fist.

Her touch had stilled him, but when he moved to walk away, she blocked his path.

His eyes flashed dangerously. She was certain hers did the same as rage, dark and hot, seared her blood.

“I do not deserve your anger.”

Cyrus remained silent, every muscle in his body corded with tension, yet he did not move, and his expression was inscrutable.

Frustration and fury warred for dominance within her. She could not be certain which won out when she spoke again.

“You nearly kissed me earlier then you asked for my friendship. But now you are solemn and cold.” She jabbed her finger into his chest, punctuating each word. “Well, I do not wish such a person within my life if you can gaze upon me with such disdain. If you can stand there and look upon me and say nothing,
feel
nothing—”

She abruptly stopped at the catch in her voice. She realized, with utter mortification, she’d just revealed to him his rejection of her had wounded. It was not that pride made her believe every man desired her, because she believed no such thing.

It was the knowledge that the man
she
desired could gaze upon her naked form and remain unmoved, completely detached. It was the knowledge that the man
she
desired did not desire her in return, that he did not even find her pleasing.

A lump formed in her throat as she experienced the humiliation she’d felt earlier all over again. She turned to leave, but did not manage a single step when his arm snaked around her waist, dragging her backwards, deep into the shadows.

He held her imprisoned against him, her back flush against his chest, the swells of her buttocks pressed against his stirring, hardening shaft.

Every stilted, jagged breath he took trembled through Aurora, the pounding rhythm of his heart, echoing her own. His warmth surrounded her, filling the empty, aching spaces inside her the very ones she’d not known were empty or even aching until this man had touched her.

When she felt him kiss the top of her head, his face buried in her hair, she closed her eyes and savored him.

“I am sorry,” he whispered, his voice ragged as he held her tighter. “It is just that I have never felt such strong emotions, such jealousy.”

Cyrus released her long enough to spin her around and press her back against the wall. His hands found their way to her cheeks, and he cupped them, his thumbs gently stroking her face.

Her eyes fluttered closed at the same time he dipped his head, and when he touched his lips to hers, his tongue pushing inside and plunging deep, heat curled within her, throbbing in places long neglected, long denied. She wound her arms around him, losing herself in the strength of his embrace, the firm pressure of his lips. His tongue dueled with hers, mimicking the way in which they’d dueled before. Giving, yielding, demanding, thrusting.

She breathed him in, absorbing him until every part of her was full of him, his essence. The hard bulge of his arousal pressed against her belly, rocking gently at first, then rubbing against her with needs born of desperation. She longed to escape within his embrace, to feel him plowing inside her, his shaft buried deep, forging deeper than any man before him, after him. Aurora knew without a doubt that if Cyrus were to take her, he would surely claim her, brand her, leave her spoiled for any other man.

She wrenched her lips from his, to gather her breath, to gather her wits. She was not prepared for a man such as Cyrus, who touched her in a place that had nothing to do with the yearnings of her body.

As she panted, struggling to regain her breath, she feared what was growing between them. Just as she feared what would happen to the both of them if they succumbed to it.

Cyrus still held her face within his hands, but now he held her gaze as well, his own eyes brimming with a dark, powerful emotion. “It nearly killed me to watch you reveal yourself before Claudius,” he breathed out, the sound tortured to her ears as he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closing shut. “Do you know how that made me feel? Standing there powerless to stop him, powerless to do a thing when all I wanted to do was rip him apart. I was not angry with you, I was
never
angry with you, I was furious with myself. It makes a man feel less than a man to desire a woman that by law he cannot even have, let alone protect and shield from the lustful attentions of another.”