Page 10 of City of Secrets and Shadows (Empire of Vengeance #2)

10

I waited in Livia’s assigned quarters, pacing the length of the sitting room for what felt like the hundredth time. The suite was lavish by any standard — polished marble floors, silk hangings, furniture carved from rare woods and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. All the trappings of nobility that Livia would have to navigate convincingly in the days to come.

As her supposed steward, I’d been given a small but comfortable chamber adjoining hers, as had the half-breed and Octavia. Close enough to serve, far enough to maintain propriety. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Nothing about our relationship had ever been proper.

The door finally opened, and Livia entered, still dressed in the blue-and-silver training uniform of the academy. Her hair was damp at the temples, her skin flushed from exertion. Even in her exhaustion, she moved with the unconscious grace of a natural fighter.

“You’re late,” I said, more sharply than I’d intended.

She shot me a withering look. “The academy legates had additional questions. Was I supposed to tell them my steward was waiting impatiently?”

“What questions?” I moved closer, lowering my voice though we were alone. “Was there a problem with your credentials?”

“No.” She sank into a chair, rolling her shoulders to release tension. “They were impressed with Sirrax. Wanted to know more about our bonding process.”

“And what did you tell them?”

“Exactly what we rehearsed.” She closed her eyes briefly. “I’m not an amateur, Septimus.”

“In this arena, you are.” I crossed to a sideboard where servants had laid out refreshments and poured her a cup of watered wine.

“Where’s Tarshi?”

“I sent him to fetch Octavia. You’ll need her to get ready for the dinner tonight. What happened during the combat trials? Did you maintain the proper technique?”

She accepted the cup with a nod of thanks. “I fought like a noble, not a gladiator, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And your opponent? Did they suspect anything?”

A shadow crossed her face. “My opponent was...observant. He noticed things about my stance, my reactions.”

Alarm flared through me. “What things? Who was he?”

“Someone named Jalend Corvus. Another minor noble, apparently, though...” She frowned slightly. “There was something different about him. He fought practically, without flourishes.”

“Corvus.” I searched my memory for the name. “I don’t recall that house among the prominent families.”

“Neither did anyone else, from what I could tell. But he wasn’t treated like an outsider.” She took a sip of wine. “He had the bearing of someone with significant training.”

“Did he say anything to suggest suspicion of your identity?”

“He commented on my stance — said I fight like someone who’s never had the luxury of treating combat as a game.” She shrugged. “But it wasn’t accusatory. More... observational.”

I swore under my breath. “That’s exactly the kind of attention we don’t need. Tomorrow, you need to be even more conscious of your movements, your reactions.”

Livia stared at me. “I was conscious of everything today. I spent hours performing for these people, watching every word, every gesture. Do you have any idea how exhausting that is?”

“Of course I do,” I snapped. “I’ve been performing my entire life. The difference is, I don’t have the luxury of complaining about it.”

She rose to her feet, temper flashing in her eyes. “You think I’m complaining? I’m telling you what happened so we can adjust our strategy.”

“Then tell me without the attitude. This isn’t the arena where you can say whatever you please.”

“Gods, what is wrong with you?” She set her cup down with enough force that wine sloshed over the rim. “You didn’t even want to do this in the first place, and now you’re driving me like a taskmaster. Make up your mind, Septimus.”

“My mind is made up,” I replied coldly. “We’re here, and failure means death for all of us. So forgive me if I’m not gentle enough in my approach.”

“This isn’t about gentleness. It’s about reason.” She paced away from me, frustration evident in every line of her body. “I’m doing everything you and Octavia taught me. I maintained my cover through hours of scrutiny. One observant opponent doesn’t mean the plan is falling apart.”

“One observant opponent is all it takes to unravel everything,” I countered. “One person who notices the wrong detail, who asks the wrong question—”

“And I’m telling you I handled it!” Her voice rose despite herself, and she visibly fought to control her volume. “I know the stakes, Septimus. I’m the one who proposed this plan in the first place.”

“A plan that grows more dangerous by the day.” I moved closer to her, close enough to smell the faint scent of sweat and leather that still clung to her.

“The Emperor himself was watching today. Did you notice?”

“Of course I noticed,” she replied, her voice suddenly tight. “How could I not?”

“And did you maintain your composure? Or did your hatred show on your face?”

“I maintained my cover,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Are you sure? Because one slip, one moment where the mask drops, and—”

“I know!” she hissed. “You think I don’t understand what’s at stake? It’s my vengeance we’re here for. My plan. My risk.”

“Not just yours,” I shot back. “I promised Tarus I would protect you. A vow I’m finding increasingly difficult to honour when you insist on throwing yourself into the most dangerous situation possible.”

“Ah, yes. Your sacred vow to Tarus. Is that why you’re still here, Septimus? To fulfil an obligation to a dead man?”

The bluntness of her words felt like a physical blow. “Don’t speak of him that way.”

“Why not? You invoke his name every time you want to control what I do. You hide behind your vow to him rather than admitting why you’re really here.”

“And why am I really here, Livia?” I stepped closer, anger building in my chest. “Since you seem to know my motivations better than I do.”

“I don’t know!” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “That’s the problem. You didn’t want this plan. You argued against it from the start. And now you’re here, alternating between barely speaking to me and criticizing my every move. So tell me, Septimus — why did you come? Was it just your vow to my brother? Some misplaced sense of duty?”

“It’s not misplaced,” I growled.

“Then what is it? Why do you care so much? Why are you really here?”

“Because I want you safe, you impossible woman!” The words tore from me with more force than I intended. “Because despite how much you irritate me, despite how you drive me to madness with your recklessness and your stubbornness, the thought of you facing this alone—” I broke off, struggling to rein in emotions I’d kept locked away for too long.

Livia stared at me, her eyes wide with surprise at my outburst. “Septimus—”

“No.” I cut her off, stepping away to create distance between us. “We’re not having this conversation. Not now. Not here.”

“We are having this conversation,” she insisted, following me. “You can’t say something like that and then just—”

“I can and I will.” I turned to face her again. “We have more important matters to focus on.”

“More important than understanding why we’re here? Why we’re risking everything?” She shook her head. “I need to know, Septimus. I need to know if you’re here because of a vow to a dead man or because—”

“Because what?” I challenged, moving closer until I could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes.

“Because you want to be,” she finished quietly.

The room seemed to shrink around us, the air suddenly thick with tension that had nothing to do with our argument. I was acutely aware of her proximity, of the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, of the pulse visible at the base of her throat.

“It’s both,” I admitted finally. “My vow to Tarus is part of it. I promised him I would protect you, and I will honour that until my dying breath.”

“And the other part?” she pressed.

I exhaled slowly, knowing we were crossing a threshold from which there would be no return. “The other part is that I can’t imagine being anywhere else. Not while you’re here, in danger.”

Something softened in her expression. “What about Marcus?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “He and I… we’re still…”

“I’m aware,” I said, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

“Does that matter to you?” Her question was direct, her gaze unflinching.

“More than it should.” I ran a hand through my hair, frustration building again. “When we were in the arena, I knew there couldn’t be anything between us. Tarus would have killed me for touching you if he was alive, and even so long after his death, it felt like betraying his trust.”

“And now?” she asked, her voice soft but insistent.

I looked at her — really looked at her — allowing myself to see not just the gladiator I’d trained with, not just Tarus’s little sister, but the woman she had become. Strong, determined, fierce in her loyalties and her hatreds alike.

“I’m not a good man, Livia. I’ve never been. Tarus was noble, honourable — everything I’m not.” I stepped closer, backing her against the wall, my arms caging her in. “I will never break my vow to protect you, but Tarus’s ghost can damn me to Inferi for what I’m about to do.”

My hand slid up to grasp her throat, not squeezing but asserting dominance in a way we both understood from the arena. “You’ve been mine since the moment I saw you fight. Mine to train, mine to protect, and now—” I leaned in until my lips brushed her ear, feeling her pulse race beneath my fingers. “Mine to claim. I’ve watched Marcus touch you, comfort you, while I stood in the shadows, and I won’t deny you that tenderness if it’s what you need.”

I pulled back just enough to lock eyes with her, letting her see the dark hunger I’d kept leashed for years. “But understand this — you belong to me now. I’ll share you with him if I must, but you will come to my bed. You will know my hands, my mouth, my body. This isn’t a request, Livia. This isn’t a question.” I pressed my body against hers, hard enough that she could feel exactly what she did to me. “This is me telling you how it’s going to be.”

I pressed my forehead against hers, our breathing synchronized in the heavy silence. Her skin burned beneath my fingers, her body rigid with the same terrible want that coursed through mine.

“Say something,” I demanded, my voice rough.

Livia’s eyes darkened, pupils dilated with desire and something else — anger, perhaps, or rebellion. She’d never accepted my authority easily. “You don’t command me, Septimus. Not here. Not like this.”

“Don’t I?” I slid my hand higher along her throat, feeling her swallow against my palm. “Your body says otherwise.”

“My body doesn’t speak for me.” Yet even as she defied me with words, her hands fisted in my tunic, neither pushing me away nor pulling me closer — suspended in her own indecision.

“Then what does?” I asked, trailing my fingers down the column of her neck to the hollow at the base of her throat where her pulse hammered. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

She exhaled sharply. “Of course I’ve thought about it. I’ve also thought about gutting you on more than one occasion.”

I laughed, the sound low and harsh in the quiet room. “Always the fighter.”

“Always,” she agreed, but she lifted her hand to slide into my hair.

“I’m not a patient man. Not when it comes to things I want.”

“And you want me.” It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway.

“More than I’ve wanted anything since freedom.” I caught her wrist, bringing her hand down to press it flat against my hard cock. “Feel that? This is what you do to me. This is what you’ve always done.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Septimus—”

“No more talk,” I growled, releasing her wrist to tangle my fingers in her hair, tilting her head back. “No more pretending.”

I claimed her mouth with savage intensity, years of denied desire breaking through the dam of my control. For a heartbeat, she remained still, surprised perhaps by the force of my need. Then she responded with equal ferocity, her teeth nipping my lower lip hard enough to draw blood, her hands clawing at my shoulders.

This wasn’t a kiss of tenderness or affection. This was combat by another name — a struggle for dominance we both understood. I pressed her harder against the wall, lifting her until her legs wrapped around my waist, our bodies aligned in a mockery of the battle stance I’d taught her years ago.

“Gods,” she gasped when I finally tore my mouth from hers to taste the salt of her skin, tracing the tendon in her neck with my tongue. “We can’t — we shouldn’t—”

“We are,” I corrected, biting gently at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, feeling her shudder in response. “We will.”

Her head fell back against the wall, exposing more of her throat to my exploration. “Marcus—”

I bit down harder, silencing her with a sharp sting that made her gasp. “Don’t speak his name. Not now.” My hands slid beneath her training tunic, finding the warm flesh beneath, cupping her breast through the thin fabric of her undertunic. Her nipple hardened instantly against my palm. “Not while I’m touching you.”

Her fingernails raked across my scalp, sending shivers down my spine. “Jealous, Septimus?”

“Possessive,” I corrected, lifting her higher against the wall. “There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” She tugged my hair, forcing my head back so our eyes met. “Because it sounds like jealousy to me.”

I growled, hoisting her away from the wall and carrying her toward the bedchamber. “Call it what you want. You’re still ending up in my bed.”

“Your arrogance is—” she began, but I silenced her with another bruising kiss as I kicked open the door to her bedroom.

“My arrogance is part of what you want,” I said against her mouth. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”

I tossed Livia onto the bed, where she landed with a soft thud against the silk coverlet. She propped herself up on her elbows. The position pushed her breasts against the fabric of her tunic, outlining them in a way that made my mouth go dry. Her eyes blazed with a mixture of desire and defiance that made my blood burn hotter.

“You presume much,” she said, but made no move to leave the bed.

“I presume nothing.” I stalked toward her, shedding my outer tunic with quick, efficient movements. “I see what’s in front of me.”

Her gaze tracked my hands as I unfastened my belt, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “And what do you see, Septimus?”

“A woman who fights herself as fiercely as she fights her enemies.” I knelt on the edge of the bed, watching her scoot backward until her shoulders hit the carved headboard. “A woman who wants this as badly as I do but can’t admit it.”

“You think you know me so well.” Her voice was low, dangerous.

“Better than most.” I reached for her ankle, dragging her toward me with one swift pull. “Better than Marcus. I’ve watched you fight for years. I know how you move, how you breathe when you’re excited, how your eyes dilate when adrenaline hits your blood.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, but her voice remained steady. “Combat isn’t the same as this.”

“Isn’t it?” I placed one knee on the bed between her legs, looming over her. “The rush of blood, the heightened senses, the dance between pain and pleasure — they’re closer than you imagine.”

Livia’s eyes narrowed. “And what if I don’t want this? What if I tell you to leave?”

I paused, meeting her gaze. Despite the heat coursing through my veins, despite the near-painful hardness straining against my trousers, I would never cross that line.

“Then I leave,” I said simply. “I’m not that kind of monster, Livia.”

Something shifted in her expression — perhaps surprise at my answer, or a deeper emotion I couldn’t name. Her hand rose to my chest, fingers splayed over my heart.

“And if I don’t tell you to leave?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

I caught her wrist, bringing her palm to my lips. “Then I stay. And I show you exactly what I’ve been holding back since... since I first knew what it was to want a woman.”

Her breath hitched. “You hated me then.”

“I wanted you then,” I corrected, pressing a kiss to her inner wrist where her pulse fluttered like a trapped bird. “Hating you was easier. Safer. Now…” I reached down and tugged at her tunic. “Take it off.”

Livia’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t take orders from you.”

“Then I’ll tear it off you.”

A flash of heat crossed her face. “You wouldn’t dare.”

I reached for the collar of her uniform, gripping the fabric. “Try me.”