Page 21 of City of Secrets and Shadows (Empire of Vengeance #2)

21

I hadn’t expected anyone to knock on my door that evening. Octavia had gone out with a merchant who'd been sweet-talking her at the tavern for weeks, and I’d been looking forward to a rare night of solitude — just me, a bottle of cheap wine, and the silence I’d come to appreciate after years of the ludus’s constant noise.

When I opened the door and saw Livia standing there, my first thought was that I’d somehow conjured her from my imagination. She haunted my thoughts often enough that it wouldn’t have surprised me. But imagination couldn’t capture the slight tremble in her hands, the pallor beneath her skin, or the unshed tears brightening her eyes.

“Livia?” I kept my voice soft, uncertain if I should reach for her or maintain the careful distance we’d established these past few months.

She started to speak, then faltered, something breaking in her expression. “I... I shouldn’t have come.”

As she turned to leave, instinct took over and I caught her hand — gently, just enough to make her pause. Her skin was cold despite the mild evening.

“Livia,” I said again, concern rising like a tide. “What happened?”

The question seemed to crack something inside her. I’d seen Livia stand unflinching before opponents twice her size, had watched her suffer wounds that would have crippled others, all without a single tear. But now her eyes filled, and the sight tore at something in my chest.

“Come inside,” I said, stepping back to make space for her to enter.

My room was sparse — a bed, a table with two chairs, a small hearth where a modest fire burned. All I could afford was what my pitiful job at the butchers paid, but it was mine. No bars, no masters, no chains. Freedom, even impoverished, tasted sweeter than any luxury the ludus had offered.

Livia hesitated at the threshold, then stepped in, her movements stiff as if she were fighting her own body.

“Octavia’s not here,” I explained, closing the door. “She’s spending the evening with some merchant who’s been courting her at the tavern.” I gestured toward the lone bottle on the table. “I can offer wine, though it’s nothing like what you’re probably used to at the academy.”

She shook her head, standing awkwardly in the centre of the room. I’d never seen her uncertain before, and it unsettled me more than any wound ever could.

“What happened?” I asked again, keeping my distance though every instinct urged me to go to her.

“There was a man,” she began, her voice so soft I had to strain to hear it. “At the academy. A nobleman’s son.”

As she spoke — recounting the changing room, the ambush, the knife — I felt a familiar rage building inside me, the battle- fury that had both kept me alive and earned me punishment in the arena. My hands curled into fists, nails biting into my palms.

“I’ll kill him,” I said when she finished, the words emerging as a low growl. “I’ll go to the academy tonight and cut his throat while he sleeps.”

Livia shook her head, a bitter smile touching her lips. “And be executed for murdering nobility? No.”

“I don’t care," I said, and meant it. “He touched you. He tried to—”

“I handled it,” she interrupted, wrapping her arms around herself. “I had my knife. I was never truly in danger.”

“That’s not the point!” My voice rose, and I forced myself to lower it. “You shouldn’t have had to handle it. You shouldn’t have to carry a knife to feel safe. The academy was supposed to be—” I broke off, realizing I was shouting again.

“Better than the ludus?” She finished quietly.

The simplicity of that question struck me like a blow. We’d both believed it, hadn’t we? That the academy with its polished stone and ancient traditions would somehow be more civilized than the blood-soaked sands where we'd fought for others’ entertainment.

“Yes,” I admitted. “Better. Safer.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She turned away, facing the small fire. “I was stupid to be so affected by it. In the ludus, it was just another day. This was no different.”

“It is different,” I said firmly, moving to stand beside her. Not touching, but close enough that she could feel my presence. “There, we expected cruelty. We were prepared for it every moment. Here—” I gestured vaguely toward the academy on the hill above us, “—you dared to believe you might be safe. Having that belief shattered hurts differently.”

She looked up at me then, surprise evident in her eyes, as if I’d articulated something she hadn’t been able to name herself.

“Where were Tarshi and Septimus?” I asked, still struggling to contain my anger.

“They can’t escort me to training,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m supposed to be independent. A noblewoman in my own right.”

The irony of it twisted in my gut. Her disguise as nobility, meant to protect her, had instead isolated her when she needed protection most.

“It was your knife that saved me,” she said suddenly, her voice steadier. “The one you gave me.”

“I’m glad,” I said simply.

“I feel so stupid,” she whispered, the words barely audible over the crackling fire. “I’ve survived so much worse. Why does this shake me?”

“Because you’re human, Livia.” I turned to face her fully. “Despite everything they tried to make us into, we’re still human.”

A single tear finally escaped, trailing down her cheek. I’d never seen her cry before, not once in all our years together in the ludus.

“What can I do?” I asked, fighting the urge to wipe that tear away.

She looked up at me, something raw and vulnerable in her expression. “Hold me,” she whispered. “Just... hold me. Please.”

I opened my arms, and she stepped into them without hesitation, her body fitting against mine as if we’d embraced a thousand times rather than never before. I felt her exhale against my chest, some of the tension leaving her frame as my arms encircled her.

I’d meant to offer comfort, nothing more. But then she tilted her face up to mine, and before I could process what was happening, she had drawn my mouth down to hers.

Her lips were soft, urgent, demanding something I’d denied myself even the thought of for so long. For one moment, I surrendered to it, then reason reasserted itself, and I pulled back, searching her face. “Livia, you’re upset. You don’t—”

“Kiss me again,” she interrupted, her voice hoarse. “Please, Marcus. Make it all go away, just for a little while.”

I hesitated, torn between desire and concern. “I don’t want to take advantage—”

“You’re not.” Her fingers traced my jaw, sending shivers across my skin. “I’ve missed you. Every day at that place, surrounded by wealth and power and emptiness…” She shook her head. “You’re the colour in my life. My something beautiful.”

The words pierced something deep within me, resonating with a memory I’d held close through my darkest days. A conversation on the ludus rooftop, watching the sunset — the only beauty we were permitted — when I’d promised her that someday, we would have beautiful things of our own choosing.

“My sunset,” she whispered, confirming the shared memory. “Show me the sunset again, Marcus. Please.”

In her eyes, I saw not just the night’s trauma but years of denied longing, of connection forged in the most inhumane conditions, of two souls who had survived the unsurvivable together. This wasn’t about forgetting pain — it was about remembering who we were beneath our scars.

“God, Livia,” I said, pulling her against me and wrapping my arms tight around her. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”

This time I kissed her with all the feelings I’d been holding back. The heat between us ignited like kindling touched by flame. Her hands slid beneath my tunic, palms pressing against my bare skin, tracing the familiar map of scars I’d carried from the arena. Each touch blazed a trail of desire that drove rational thought from my mind.

I backed her toward the bed, our lips never parting, her soft gasps swallowed by my mouth. When her legs hit the edge, she pulled me down with her, our bodies collapsing together onto the thin mattress.

“Are you certain?” I whispered against her throat, even as my hands found the ties of her dress.

Her answer was to arch against me, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling my mouth back to hers with a ferocity that matched anything we’d shown in combat. This was Livia — not the frightened woman who’d appeared at my door, but the warrior I’d fought beside, trained with, dreamed of.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,” she breathed, reaching down to pull her tunic up and over her head. The undergarments she wore were twisted and ripped, and fury burned inside me for a moment.

My fingers traced the torn fabric, and I felt her tense beneath me.

“Don’t,” she whispered, covering my hand with hers. “Don't think about him. Just think about us.”

I nodded, lowering my mouth to her collarbone, trailing kisses along the delicate line of it. She fumbled with my tunic, her usual grace momentarily abandoned in her urgency. I helped her, pulling it over my head and tossing it aside. When our bare skin met, she gasped, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Marcus,” she breathed, my name a prayer on her lips. I’d imagined this countless times during lonely nights — Livia beneath me, her warrior’s body yielding to mine — but reality eclipsed memory. The softness of her breasts against my chest, the strength in her thighs as they wrapped around my waist, the way her fingers dug into my shoulders as if anchoring herself to me.

“You’re beautiful,” I whispered, pressing my lips to a long scar that curved beneath her breast.

She laughed, the sound half-broken. “I’m marked.”

“Yes,” I agreed, moving up to capture her mouth again. “Like the finest blade. Forged in fire, tested in battle.”

Her fingers fumbled with my belt, impatient now. “I don’t need poetry, Marcus.”

“What do you need?” I asked, pulling back to study her face, to be certain.

Her eyes, dark as midnight and just as deep, held mine without flinching. “You. Inside me. Now.”

The raw honesty of it sent heat surging through me. I shed my remaining clothes quickly, and she reached for me, wrapping her hand around my length with a boldness that made me groan. Her touch was both tender and demanding, drawing me closer to the edge before we’d even truly begun.

“Marcus,” she breathed, her voice breaking as my hand slid between her thighs. “Please.”

I found her wet and ready, and the knowledge that she wanted me as desperately as I wanted her nearly undid me. Her hips rocked against my hand, seeking more pressure, more friction. I watched her face as pleasure overtook her — the slight furrow between her brows, the parting of her lips, the flush spreading across her cheeks. Gods but I loved seeing her like this. The vulnerability under the warrior. The real her.

“Marcus please,” she begged.

“You’re not ready,” I said, sliding a finger inside her tight heat.

“I don’t care. I need you so badly, please…”

I couldn’t resist her any longer. Positioning myself between her thighs, I pressed forward slowly, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. Her eyes widened, lips parting on a silent gasp as I entered her. The sensation was overwhelming — tight heat enveloping me, her hands clutching at my shoulders, nails digging crescents into my skin.

“Gods,” I breathed, forcing myself to remain still, to give her time to adjust. “Livia…”

She shifted beneath me, wrapping one leg around my waist to draw me deeper. “Don’t stop,” she commanded, voice husky with need. “Don’t you dare stop now.”

I began to move, slowly at first, watching as pleasure transformed her features.

“More,” she pleaded. “Stop treating me like I’ll break. I won’t shatter, Marcus.”

Something inside me broke loose at her words. I captured her mouth in a bruising kiss and drove into her with a force that made the rickety bed frame creak in protest. She gasped against my lips, her body arching to meet mine. The careful restraint I’d maintained dissolved as her nails raked down my back, urging me on. The pain only heightened my pleasure, reminding me that this was Livia — my equal, my match in every way.

“Yes,” she breathed, “like that.”

I answered her plea by driving deeper, harder, breaking whatever restraint I’d been clinging to. Livia’s head fell back, exposing the vulnerable line of her throat, and I claimed it with my mouth, tasting salt and sweetness. Her moans filled the small room, each one urging me on.

Her hands clutched at my shoulders, my back, my hips — anywhere she could reach, as if trying to pull me deeper into her, to erase any space between us. Each touch branded my skin, marking me as hers in ways no arena brand ever could.

“I’m close,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Marcus, I’m—”

I captured her mouth again, swallowing her words, tasting the truth of them on her tongue. My pace quickened, driven by the small sounds she made when I hit a spot deep inside her. Her thighs trembled against mine, then her body tensed beneath mine, back arching as pleasure crashed through her. She cried out my name, the sound raw and unrestrained, fingers digging into my shoulders as if I were her only anchor in a storm. I fought against my own release, breathing hard as I watched her come apart under me.

As her cries abated, I rolled gently to the side, guiding her so she sat astride me. She gazed down at me, eyes blazing with an intensity that stole my breath. Shadows played across her body, highlighting the curves and planes that training had sculpted. The warrior and the woman, perfectly balanced.

For a moment, she was still, adjusting to this new position, her hands splayed across my chest. In the dim firelight, she looked like something from another world — a goddess of war descended to claim her tribute.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, adjusting to the new position, her body still joined with mine.

“Letting you take control,” I said, hands sliding up her thighs to rest on her hips. “You’ve had enough taken from you today.”

Something shifted in her expression — vulnerability giving way to determination, to power. She placed her palms flat against my chest and began to move, slowly at first, testing the sensation. I watched, transfixed, as she found her rhythm, her head falling back to expose the elegant column of her throat.

“Gods, Marcus,” she breathed, rolling her hips in a way that sent sparks shooting through my blood. “You feel…”

Words failed her as she increased her pace, chasing her pleasure with the same focus she brought to combat. My hands tightened on her hips, guiding her movements but letting her set the pace. The sight of her above me — strong, fierce, taking what she wanted — was almost more than I could bear.

“That’s it,” I encouraged, voice rough with need. “Take what you need, Livia.”

Her eyes opened, locking with mine as she moved. The intensity in that gaze stripped away pretence, leaving only raw truth between us. She leaned down, her hair falling around us like a curtain, creating a world where only we existed. Her lips brushed mine, the kiss deep and searching as she continued to move above me. My hands roamed her back, tracing the constellation of scars that told the story of her survival.

“Touch me,” she whispered against my mouth.

I slid one hand between us, finding the place where she needed me most. Her breath hitched as my fingers circled her clit gently. Her hips rolled against mine, drawing a groan from deep in my chest.

I watched her face as she found her pleasure again, this time on her own terms, commanding her body and mine with equal authority. When she shattered, it was with my name on her lips and her fingers interlaced with mine, holding on as if I were her only anchor in a storm.

I couldn’t hold back any longer. My release tore through me with an intensity that bordered on pain, every muscle tensing as I poured myself into her. Her name escaped me in a ragged groan as she collapsed against my chest, our bodies slick with sweat, hearts pounding in tandem.

For long moments, we lay entangled, neither speaking nor moving. My fingers traced idle patterns along her spine while her breath warmed my neck. Eventually, she shifted, rolling to lie beside me on the narrow bed. I turned to face her, studying her features in the fading firelight. The tears were gone, and she smiled shyly at me.

“I should go,” she murmured, though she made no move to leave.

“Stay,” I said, the word somewhere between a request and a plea. “Just for tonight.”

She hesitated, conflict evident in her expression. “If anyone at the academy discovers I spent the night…”

“I’ll get you back before they know you’re gone.”

Her eyes searched mine, weighing duty against desire. I held my breath, afraid to push further yet unable to bear the thought of watching her walk away again. The silence stretched between us, filled with unspoken fears and longing.

Finally, she nodded, her hand finding mine atop the threadbare blanket. “Just tonight,” she whispered, as if setting a boundary for herself as much as for me.

Relief washed through me, sweeter than any victory I’d ever tasted in the arena. I pulled the blanket up to cover her shoulders, protecting her from the chill that crept into the room as the fire died down.

“Sleep,” I said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “You’re safe here.”

The words hung in the air between us — a promise I intended to keep at any cost. She shifted closer, her body fitting against mine as if we’d spent a thousand nights this way rather than our first. Her eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion finally claiming her.

I watched her breathing slow and deepen, marvelling at the trust implicit in her surrender to sleep. In the ludus, we’d all slept with one eye open, muscles tensed for fight or flight even in supposed rest. To see her truly sleep, her face relaxed and vulnerable, stirred something fierce and protective in my chest.

She had come to me. Out of all the places she could have sought refuge, all the people who might have offered comfort, she had chosen my door, my arms. The realization humbled me. Whatever game of pretend she played at the academy, whatever role she'd been forced to adopt, the real Livia — the woman I’d watched fight and survive and endure — had needed me tonight.

The knowledge was both a gift and a burden. While she slept beside me, peaceful in a way I’d never seen her, my mind turned to darker thoughts. The nobleman who had dared touch her against her will still breathed, still walked the academy halls with impunity. The friends who should have protected her remained ignorant of her ordeal.

I eased myself from the bed with practiced stealth, careful not to disturb her rest. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, curling into the warmth I’d left behind. I moved silently around the room, dressing in the darkness, selecting my sturdiest boots and warmest cloak. From beneath a loose floorboard, I retrieved a short sword — nothing fancy, but well-balanced and sharp. I belted it beneath my cloak where it wouldn't be immediately visible.

At the table, I paused to scrawl a quick note on a scrap of parchment: “Gone to get food. Rest. I’ll return soon.” A simple lie to prevent her worrying if she woke before I returned. I placed it where she would see it, weighted with my wooden cup.

Before leaving, I added another log to the fire, ensuring she’d stay warm in my absence. I stood for a moment, watching her sleep, committing to memory the sight of Livia at peace in my bed. Something inside me shifted, crystallized — a certainty I couldn’t articulate but felt bone-deep.

She was mine to protect, as I had been hers in the arena when she’d drawn attention to save me from a killing blow.

I slipped out the door, locking it behind me. The night air hit my face, cold and clarifying. The city sprawled below me, while above, the academy’s windows glittered with lamplight, the Midwinter Ceremony likely in full swing. I needed to find Tarshi and Septimus. Somewhere in those halls walked a man who believed his nobility made him untouchable, that his birth gave him the right to take whatever he wanted.

He was wrong.