Page 27 of Firebird (The Fire That Binds #1)

XXVI

JULIAN

Ciprian had never been on our list of those to execute for our coup. Now, he was at the top of mine. Most of those on our list were present right now. Too bad Legatus Drussus was leading his campaign in Bthynia. He was practically my uncle’s twin in cruelty and brutality. Trajan’s grandfather insisted he must be in Rome before we put our plan into action.

As I watched Ciprian, holding his golden trophy and laughing with my uncle, I realized I wouldn’t be able to wait much longer. I needed Ciprian’s head severed from his body. Especially now that my uncle had given me a week to get rid of Malina. I couldn’t send her away without going with her. Perhaps Trajan could hide her in his home or somewhere else for me. He and his family had homes in provinces near and far.

Ciprian tipped his head back and laughed at something my uncle said. I was also well aware that his performance with Malina—licking her hand and caressing her with his tail—was specifically done to draw my anger out. In that, he had been entirely successful. The only reason I hadn’t shifted into half-skin and gone for his throat was because of her.

Yet again, she’d opened her gift to me, to keep me from going mad with rage. And it had worked. I was no longer wrestling my beast back into his cave. I was now calm enough to lead our guests back into my home, where there would be a grand feast and dancers for entertainment.

“Caesar and guests,” I called loudly from the arched entrance where light spilled onto the terrace, “come and feast in celebration.”

I ignored Ciprian’s smug glare and led the others back inside.

Kara and the servants had created a beautiful bounty of roasted pheasant, boar, and venison, along with decorative platters of seasoned fish with whole roasted cloves of garlic. Platters of garlic-seasoned endives, asparagus, leeks, and legumes were stacked in silver bowls around the feasting area. There were even more dishes of cheese, olives, and marinated artichokes, as well as baskets of honey cakes, berry tarts, and fresh-baked bread set out with decanters of oil and honey.

Some of the guests audibly gasped at the sight of the bounty spread out among the low tables and pillows, the many oil lamps lighting the room in a welcoming glow. While the musicians played a lively tune, I saw no dancers.

The guests made their way to the lounging area and reclined among the pillows and chaises to serve themselves. All I wanted to do was sneak off to the kitchen to see how Malina was feeling .

Taking a goblet of wine from one of the hired servants, I ambled past the atrium near the musicians. Ruskus appeared from near the foyer entrance of my home, his expression concerned. I met him so that he didn’t have to mingle among the guests.

“What is it?” I asked.

“The girls from the brothel. They aren’t coming.”

“Why not?” I demanded.

“There was an altercation at the brothel house. Some foreigners fighting over a girl, which turned into mayhem and started a fire. Some of the women were injured. Madame sends her apologies and returned your denarii.”

“Son of Dis,” I cursed.

Entertainment was always required of a host at these events. And music was not traditionally enough. Romans liked to be entertained, more specifically by beautiful women. I’d also hired prostitutes for favors they might give when the rowdy ones had drunk and laughed enough and wanted to fuck.

“Don’t worry. We are improvising.”

“What do you mean?”

Igniculus stepped to my side. Ruskus disappeared back toward the kitchen.

“Come, Julian. Have you met Fausta?” He guided me to the female dragon of the Media Nocte house I’d met on more than one occasion.

“Yes, we’ve met.” I gave her a nod. “Welcome to my home, Fausta.”

“I am pleased to be among your noble guests tonight, Julianus. Won’t you sit with me?”

My uncle’s grin was nothing less than telling. He wanted me to tie myself to a noble house and beget a pure-blood heir. He had only ever begotten bastards, who were killed at birth, if the rumors were true. I’d asked him once if he planned to marry. His nauseating reply was that the only woman he would ever make his wife lived in the dragon pit behind his palace. I believe my aunt Camilla knew this, and that was why she remained in dragon form.

“Such a succulent meal you’ve provided us,” Fausta was saying as she draped herself on her side among the pillows, her gown slipping enough to reveal the elegant curve of her shoulder without being too immodest.

“I am pleased to provide it.” I stretched out on a nearby chaise, propped on my side as well, doing my best to look at ease.

“Your home is quite lovely.” She stared at the mosaic on the opposite side of the atrium, the one of Diana hunting with her bow, her wings flared and tail curling, her hair billowing in the unseen wind. “You have an affection for the huntress goddess? Or just beautiful women?” she teased.

“You would think me a fool if I didn’t enjoy the beauty of graceful women, would you not?”

She tipped her head, baring her throat in that submissive pose again, her curls sliding over the silken skin of her shoulder.

Ciprian, now back in human form, lowered himself and sprawled beside us, dressed in his toga once again, completing our circle. “Julian enjoys beautiful women. Don’t you?” He plucked an olive from the tray between us and popped it into his mouth. “Where’s that pretty slave girl of yours?”

“Ciprian, you are a guest in my home. Though I accord all guests what comforts and pleasures I can provide, my servants are not on the menu.”

“Keeping her all to yourself, are you?” He popped another olive and chewed obnoxiously. “Too bad. I enjoyed the taste of her blood.”

Fausta’s expression pinched in annoyance or disgust or both. What I knew of her was that she came from a more noble family than her distant cousin Ciprian, and apparently she didn’t seem to relish his vulgarity. She turned her head toward the musicians, pretending not to hear his obscenities.

Ciprian leaned toward me and whispered loud enough for her to hear, “Have you tasted her?” He chuckled darkly. “What am I saying? Of course you have. That’s why you don’t want to share.” He then raised his voice. “Fausta.”

She turned to look at him with undisguised annoyance.

“If you catch Julian here for a husband, be sure and sell his slaves first. I’ll take at least one off your hands.” He laughed when both of us didn’t.

“I’ll die first,” I growled, unable to hold my tongue.

That had Ciprian grinning with glee. “That good, eh? Seems I need to try her magic pussy.”

I was across the carpet on my knees, lifting him by the front of his toga. “I know what you tried to do today.”

“Almost had her too,” he admitted freely, unruffled. “I bet she sucks good cock with that full mouth of hers.”

“Keep talking, and I’ll kill you right here.”

“Julianus!”

I froze and turned to see my uncle, standing close with the scarred General Sabinus beside him. The murmur of guests talking died, all eyes on us.

“Let him go, Julian.” The emperor scowled, his disapproval apparent in the tone of his voice.

Dropping Ciprian, I stood. “My apologies, Caesar.”

His frown remained tight, but his voice relaxed as he said, “It seems you two need to draw a little blood before this rivalry will settle. I can understand that.”

It had nothing to do with our rivalry. It was the fact that he continued to insult and threaten my mate. But no one knew that, except Trajan. No one could know or I’d instantly be charged a traitor to Rome. A dragon fated and mated to a common-born citizen was considered a curse by the gods. To be mated to a foreign enemy would be considered worse. My uncle wouldn’t stand for that shame. I’d be publicly executed alongside Malina.

“No need,” I said, fisting my hands at my sides.

“I wouldn’t mind drawing a little of his blood,” added Ciprian, now plucking a roasted wing from a pheasant off the platter beside him.

Igniculus chuckled. “It is necessary. When dragons target one another, there will be no peace until they’ve battled it out. Therefore, you two will meet tomorrow in half-skin. In the Colosseum.”

A murmur of excitement drifted over the guests. A public fight always pleased the people of Rome, especially when it was between two dragons. But rarely did they meet on the Colosseum floor.

“I accept,” said Ciprian frankly, chewing his pheasant and smiling up to where I towered over him.

I simply nodded in agreement.

“Good,” said Igniculus, clapping his hands and rubbing his palms together. “So where is our entertainment, Julian?”

I was about to reply with my apologies—my mind still reeling with the fact that I’d be fighting Ciprian in the arena tomorrow—when the music stopped, only the tympanum drumming a steady beat.

“My, my,” crooned Ciprian. “You decided to bring her out of hiding after all.”

Snapping my head toward the atrium where everyone else was staring, I nearly groaned in pain.

Malina was stepping dramatically, gracefully to the beat of the drum from around the fountain. She was no longer dressed in her slave tunic. She wore very little at all. A bandeau top of red silk bound her breasts and tied behind her neck. Her stomach was entirely bare down to her hips, where a gossamer material of white draped to her knees, slits open at the sides for ease of movement. Because she obviously was preparing to dance .

I moved away from Ciprian and off to the side of the guests to lean against a column.

She clapped her hands over her head and swayed her hips to the easy tempo of the drum, her gaze to the side and down, her waves of hair hiding her face and draped to her hips. Then the flute players joined in, playing a tune that seemed familiar. My pulse tripped when memory reminded me where and when I’d heard a similar song—beneath the Carpathian Mountains by moonlight.

Malina snapped her head up and began to shine like the jewel that she was. Her eyes were smeared with black kohl, giving her a mysterious visage, making her green eyes glitter brighter by the lamplight. She spun and leaped, the panels of her skirt flaring wide, revealing her bronzed, toned legs. And there I was, entranced yet again, just like the first time I’d seen her on that stage.

Only now, she was a full-grown woman, her body so beautiful and graceful as she spun in circles across the atrium, silhouetted against the white fountain behind her. Some of the guests gasped in awe as she arched her back until her hair draped the floor, then braced her hands on the marble and flipped her legs entirely over, spinning away again.

“Oh, how lovely!” one of the wives gushed and clapped somewhere to my right.

Several others did as well, all enamored with my dancer for the night, the entertainment I hadn’t procured at all.

“Not bad,” grunted Consul Valerius. “I’ve got a prettier one at home.”

But I barely heard his insult or the applause, my gut tightening that she would come out in full display for them.

What is she thinking?

That’s when I realized that Ciprian wasn’t heckling her or yelling obscenities as I’d expected, nor was he fondling himself while he watched her. Rather, he was nearly asleep. His eyes were half-lidded, his head resting on his shoulder as he leaned on his side .

I glanced toward the kitchen, wanting to catch Ruskus to see if perhaps they’d put something in his wine. They wouldn’t poison him as he was an honored guest in my home. I’d be blamed for sure if he was poisoned.

Then I noticed that Igniculus had taken a seat on a chaise as well, his own eyes blinking heavily. When I searched the faces of the other guests, there were no signs of drowsiness. I didn’t understand.

Malina danced on, spinning and swaying and hypnotizing the crowd with her bewitching dance, her sinuous movements. The song went on and on, and Malina never stopped, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple and dropping onto the white marble.

I was about to step in and stop the dance—etiquette be damned—when the music came to a crescendo. Malina spun faster and faster until she struck a final pose, reminding me of the girl on the stage in Dacia.

Everyone applauded while Igniculus barely roused and Ciprian was dead asleep on my carpet. My uncle pushed to stand groggily and ambled toward me, seeming more than a bit drunk when I knew he hadn’t imbibed nearly enough to be intoxicated.

“Thank you for hosting, nephew. I’d best be going.” He yawned and clapped his hand on my shoulder. “The day’s been long.”

“Yes, uncle. Happy to be of service.”

As he walked toward the foyer, his praetorian guards melting out of the shadows to flank him, he called back, “The Colosseum tomorrow. At noon.”

My gut clenched, but a sense of relief washed over me. The emperor leaving meant it was time for everyone to leave. The guests began to thank me for a lovely evening while I summoned Ruskus with a finger.

When he was at my side, I leaned down to say, “Fetch Ciprian’s litter bearers to come and get him off my carpet.”

“Yes, dominus. ”

Fausta stopped and bowed before me. “Thank you, Julian, for having me in your home.”

She didn’t simper or flirt or make any of the overtures she did earlier. I wondered if she had that feminine intuition and understood that Malina meant more to me than a slave should. She cut me with disapproving eyes as I expected, but she held her chin high, her gaze cold, full of the poise of a woman of the dragon aristocracy.

“Good night, Fausta. Thank you for coming.”

“Good night.” She followed the others filing through my foyer toward the front, where their litter bearers and litters had been waiting all night to carry them home.

Trajan stopped before me. As always, he’d kept his distance from me. Though he was my military tribune, we’d tried to keep a show of only casual acquaintance off the battlefield.

“So,” he murmured, his expression dark, “I suppose we won’t be meeting with my grandfather tomorrow.”

“Fuck.” My temper had thrown everything off course. “I am sorry, Trajan.”

“Don’t apologize. To be fair, you handled him with more calm than I imagined you would.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to for much longer.”

“Then Malina came to the rescue. Her dance seemed to distract everyone.” He watched as four of Ciprian’s large male slaves carried him, dead asleep, toward the exit. “Seems Ciprian drank too much. Can the blood do that to him?”

“No.” I searched the atrium, finding no sign of Malina. “It wasn’t the blood that put him unconscious.”

Trajan seemed about to ask another question, but then nodded. “I’ll be in touch.” Then he called to General Sabinus, complimenting him on the spoils of war he brought back from Macedonia on his last campaign.

Trajan always knew how to work the crowd, how to make them like him. I never had that in me. Tonight, I’d been as amiable and cordial as I could possibly manage. But right now, I wanted everyone gone. I wanted no one’s company but hers.

Storming back toward where she struck her final pose, I inhaled deeply and followed her scent straight down the corridor toward my bedchamber.