Page 7 of Firebird (The Fire That Binds #1)

VI

MALINA

I wiped Enid’s brow where she lay in the bed in an empty room next to the kitchen. She hadn’t said a word since we’d taken her from the slave auction.

After we’d gotten home, I’d helped Enid change, only to find a gash near her ribs. The wound reopened and began bleeding. Kara summoned a healer who tended to slaves and plebeians. He was a stern-looking but efficient man of the healing arts, it seemed.

He stitched Enid’s wound while I continued to wipe her brow. He spoke softly to her after he examined her, finding she had several broken ribs and a fractured leg as well.

“Most likely happened in the net being carried back to Rome,” he told me and Enid, who seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. “She’s lucky. Most of the elderly and weak don’t survive the netting.”

Kara entered quickly with a steaming cup. “I have a sleeping draught that should help her rest.”

“Good,” said the healer. He then instructed us to bind her ribs and keep her in bed so the bones could mend. “I’ll check on her next week.” Then he left.

I remembered how Julian had carried me carefully in his claws back to Rome. That was horrifying enough. I couldn’t imagine how it must’ve been for Enid being crushed into a net like an animal and carried away without a care in the world.

I helped Enid sip the draught. “Just a little more,” I told her.

Finally, she gave me a weak smile and drifted off. Even though Enid was a tiny woman among the Celts, she’d always been full of life and vigor. Not now. It sickened me to think what she went through.

“What can she do?” asked Kara, gathering the soiled rags and dirty bowl of water. “If she survives.”

“She can sew. Very well, actually. Not just practical clothes either. She has a gift for decorative embroidery. She can do laundry too.” I smiled, tears pricking my eyes. “Not much of a cook though.”

When we’d lived together in her hut with the Celts, I’d done most of the cooking. She’d either undercook our meal or burn it to a crisp.

“Don’t get your hopes up, girl. She looks like she’s got one foot in the underworld already.”

I turned away from Enid to find Kara’s usual frown. But this one seemed to be of concern rather than the ornery scowl she’d worn for me since I’d met her .

“She’s not your relation,” said Kara.

I shook my head. “She’s one of the Celtic clan. The one who took me in when my family was killed.”

With a sniff, she lifted the bowl and soiled rags. “I’ll make a broth for when she wakes up.”

“Thank you, Kara.”

Kara paused without looking at me, but then nodded and left.

I tucked the blanket around Enid and left, quietly closing the door to her small room. I left the oil lamp burning in case Stefanos’s voice in the yard behind the kitchen drew my attention. I followed sounds of something thwacking together.

Outside, I found Stefanos play fighting with Ivo, both of them using sticks like swords.

“Aha!” Stefanos shouted, spinning deftly and play stabbing Ivo in the side of the gut.

Ivo made a dramatic show of dying and falling to the ground. Stefanos laughed, then Ivo sat up, laughing too, before he stopped suddenly when he caught me watching.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Stefanos’s grin was a league wide. “Did you see me defeat Ivo?”

“I did.”

Ivo stood, revealing he was almost as tall as Julian, easily the size of other pure-blood Romans, though obviously he wasn’t one if he was a slave.

“Hi, Ivo.” I stepped forward. “My name is Malina.”

He seemed to be somewhere in his thirties, but he blushed profusely and ducked his head, dropping his dark gaze to the ground when I moved closer.

“Oh, sorry.” I looked at Stefanos. “Does he not like meeting new people?”

“He’s just shy.” Stefanos grinned wider and patted Ivo’s shoulder. “Especially around pretty girls. ”

Ivo shoved Stefanos, which almost toppled him to the ground, but the playful boy simply laughed and bounced right back.

“He cannot hear?” I asked Stefanos.

“He can, but he doesn’t speak.”

I nodded, then asked brightly, “So you like to sword fight?”

Stefanos shrugged. “Well, pretend anyway. I could never truly sword fight.”

Tension tightened the silence after he admitted that.

“It doesn’t hurt to train though, does it? You might have to defend the master’s home one day,” I offered since he truly seemed upset by the idea he would never fight in the Roman legions.

Stefanos’s blue eyes lit with excitement. “Yes! That is what dominus told me as well. That I might even fight in an army one day too.”

Ivo knocked him on the chest with the back of his hand and gave a quick shake of his head.

Surprised, I asked, “Why would dominus say that to you?”

Common-born Romans—humans—could be soldiers, but not slaves. Not even freed ones.

“Did you know Ivo can juggle?” He laughed and picked up his sword, swinging it around, but with less spirit than before.

Ivo kicked a rock on the ground with his large sandaled foot, avoiding looking at me.

“I didn’t.”

“Stefanos! Ivo!” called Ruskus, both hands on his hips in the kitchen doorway. “You’ve got a lot of work to do in the stalls to be playing in the yard.”

The both of them instantly marched for the stables, heads down.

“The master’s dinner is ready.” Ruskus eyed me carefully. “It’s your job to serve him now.”

“Of course.” I stepped toward him where he still remained in the doorway. “Where is Ivo from?” I asked.

“Macedonia. ”

“He’s been here long?”

“Three years.”

“Dominus bought him from the auction?” I stopped in front of him.

Ruskus arched a brow. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Am I not supposed to?”

“It depends why you’re asking. What are you after?”

He stared at me with a touch of accusation, and it finally hit me. His wariness of me, as well as Kara’s, wasn’t because they simply didn’t like me or that they were annoyed with another mouth to feed in their home. They were protecting their master.

“Because this is my home now,” I answered. “I’d like to know about those who live in it.”

He continued to stare; the scar that bisected his top lip grew tight as he pressed his lips together. When I remained still under his scrutiny, he finally answered.

“Ivo was the slave of another Roman, one of the consuls.”

“The consul of the Roman senate?”

A stiff nod. “Valerius is his name.” He paused, narrowing his eyes before continuing. “Ivo stepped between his master and another slave. A woman. He was trying to… protect her from Valerius.”

I swallowed hard. No need to explain what horror of a scene that must have been.

“What happened then?”

“Valerius had Ivo beaten near to death for interfering. But servants talk.” He shrugged a shoulder, seeming uncomfortable. “Word came to our house what had happened. Dominus stepped in and paid a handsome sum. He needed a big stableman anyway, to handle his horses, he’d told Valerius.”

I stared, wide-eyed, trying to absorb what he’d just told me: essentially that Julian had saved a condemned slave from death.

“Enough talk. Get to your work. Dominus is waiting on his supper.”

I walked swiftly past him into the kitchen where Kara was already setting food onto a tray. There was a large portion of everything—cuts of spiced pork, fresh bread, slices of fig and pear drizzled with honey, and a half round of sliced cheese. There was also a decanter of red wine set on the tray.

“He prefers to eat on his bedroom terrace. Take it quick before it gets cold.”

I didn’t hesitate since I’d already been scolded that morning for being late. Making my way through the center atrium and beside the fountain, I found my way back to his bedchamber with little difficulty this time.

He stood on his terrace, his hands clasped behind him as he gazed out at the city of Rome, torches and oil lamps beginning to burn bright in the homes as the sun set in a flourish of pink and gold.

“Your dinner, dominus,” I stated evenly, wanting to choke on the title I was forced to use with him.

He turned and walked toward the low chaise and pillows strewn on a carpet beneath an awning that jutted out on his terrace. I noted that it was on a dais so that he could still see the view of the city from a lounging position. Somehow, he gracefully lowered his large frame onto the chaise, half reclining and facing out.

I set the tray on the low table at the center of the cushions. A goblet half-full of wine already sat there. As I stood to leave, he said, “Sit.”

When I didn’t obey right away, he arched a brow with superiority. “Have you forgotten your bargain so soon?”

“My mind was preoccupied for most of the day,” I managed to reply evenly and without the irritation I felt.

I lowered myself and sat sideways on a pillow close to the low table opposite him. He’d already taken a slice of bread and folded it around a piece of pork, eating with unhurried but large bites.

“How is she?” he asked casually.

“Not well,” was my curt reply.

He showed no emotion whatsoever, and I had no interest in tet hering to him with my gift to find out what he felt. Or to discover that he had no feelings at all.

“Have you eaten?” he asked as he reached for more meat.

“No.” I’d had little stomach for anything since I’d arrived.

“Eat.” He gestured toward the platter. “Kara always prepares too much for me.”

I didn’t want to eat his food. “Wouldn’t that be inappropriate? For me to eat with you.”

He held my gaze for an uncomfortable moment, then he spoke in a conversational way, rather than dictatorial.

“A philosopher once said that while we cannot always control our circumstances, we can control how we react to them. It is better to take advantage of the smallest of gifts in these hard times. Take what you can, cherish what will give you peace and strength for the difficult roads that lie ahead.”

It was baffling. He was my enslaver and yet he was offering me such odd and somewhat wise advice. Starving myself or denying myself good food was foolish.

“And you’ve traveled hard roads, dominus?” I tried but couldn’t quite hide my bitterness.

“Eat, Malina.” His commanding voice was back. “Besides, this is my house, and I make the rules. I want you to give me what you promised in exchange for your friend’s life, and I don’t want to listen to your stomach making those noises the entire time I enjoy my meal.”

I scowled, ready to protest when a low gurgle of hunger rumbled in my belly. I hadn’t eaten all day, I was so sick with worry over Enid.

“Eat,” he commanded with more roughness.

I picked up a piece of fig and took a bite, savoring the honeyed fruit on my tongue. He watched as if waiting for me to eat more, so I did. I ate a chunk of cheese on bread, then another fig, and then picked up a slice of spiced pork, humming with pleasure at the savory deliciousness .

“Kara is a good cook, I see,” I finally broke the silence, licking one of my fingers.

“She is.” He’d stilled, gazing at me with unwavering intensity.

That stalled my feeding frenzy. I settled back from the table, feeling self-conscious and not a little bit uneasy.

He filled his cup of wine from the decanter Kara had set on the tray. Belatedly, I realized I was supposed to serve him, but he didn’t seem to care about the formalities.

“Tell me about the first time you knew you had this mystical gift.” He took a sip and waited while I let my mind drift back.

“The first time I never told anyone. I was very young, only six years old.” I looked out at the city, pinpoints of light from windows below. “My mother’s father died and she’d been crying uncontrollably the entire day it had happened. My father had tried to comfort her, but eventually took my sisters out of the house to give her privacy.”

“But you stayed behind,” he said quietly as if he’d known that’s what I’d do.

I turned to face him, finding his fixed attention thrilling when I should not.

“Yes, I did,” I confirmed. “She’d been sitting at the hearth, staring into the fire while she wept. I curled up beside her and laid my head on her lap. I can’t explain how I did it. I only knew that I was desperate to help my mother. To make her pain go away. When I wished for that to happen, I reached out with my first bond.”

“A bond?” he asked.

“It’s the line I create to connect with someone. I did it for the first time without really knowing what I was doing. But when I felt my mother’s pain feeding through the line, I just wanted to help her. To stop it.”

I’d poured my love through that connection. For some reason, that part felt too personal to tell.

“It worked. My mother stopped weeping a few moments later. And by the time my father and sisters returned, she was cooking dinner. She was still sad, of course, but not overwhelmed with the grief.”

I could still remember exactly how she’d stroked her palm over my head and hair before she pressed a kiss to my temple and whispered, “Thank you, sweet Mina.” I didn’t want to share that part either. Or how next time I saw Bunica, she patted my cheek and stared into my eyes and said, “It’s finally arrived. And now you know.”

I remained quiet while he seemed to be contemplating my story.

“And does anyone else in your family have this gift?”

“No,” I answered honestly. They did not have my gift.

He drank his wine, his gaze flicking over the lights below, the sky growing darker.

“About today,” he said.

My entire body locked into place remembering that scene in the forum. Actually, we were in a very secluded alcove off of the forum. I’d wondered about the man he met there and what they’d talked about. But all of that had fled my mind when Julian nearly burst into half-skin after the soldier passing by harassed me.

The sight of Julian was terrifying. He was beyond menacing, his eyes glowing fiery gold, his muscles bunching, expanding, as he fought to control his beast and nearly murdered the soldier. I hadn’t known any Romans personally. Julian was the only one I’d ever spoken to. My other interactions had only ever been violent and brief—from a far distance when I helped the Celts and that one other time when I lost my entire family.

So I wasn’t sure if his reaction was normal. Did all dragons nearly lose their minds when someone touched their property? Everyone knew they were innately possessive beings, but Julian had looked… maniacal, monstrous, horrifying.

“About today,” he repeated after setting his goblet down on the low table. “We must ensure that doesn’t happen again. ”

I blinked at him, saying nothing. I certainly didn’t want to witness a scene like that again.

“You won’t leave the house except in my company or with Ivo.” When I said nothing still, he added, “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” A burning stirred at the center of my chest. He didn’t trust me, and that was understandable, but now I was to be essentially imprisoned at his house. “Does Kara require an escort around the city?”

He clenched his jaw before answering. “No. But Kara isn’t you.”

“Surely, there are other young slaves who go about the city doing business for their masters. Why am I—”

“Because you don’t behave in a subservient way,” he snapped. The sinking sun cast half his face in shadow. “I told you this before we left.”

“My direct gaze?” I huffed in anger. “So you’re saying I invite the attention of other men?”

“Yes.”

I flinched at the insult.

He sat up from the lounge and faced me. “You may not mean to, Malina, but that fire burning in your eyes is a challenge to any man. But to a Roman and especially to a dragon, it’s like a summoning, a siren’s call. Not to mention the rest of you.”

I straightened my spine, my ire stoked, and unfortunately, my ego as well. My bravado took over beneath his intense stare.

“What about the rest of me?” I immediately wished I hadn’t asked that question.

His gaze flickered over my face and trailed down my throat, so tangible I could feel its caress, a tingling, delicious burn. I shouldn’t have done it, but I reached out with my empathic gift, finding his aura was already waiting for me, the tether faint but still there.

I gasped. A wave of heady lust, hot desire, and powerful need hit me so hard, I braced a hand on the table. It prickled through me, filling my veins with heat and igniting my own arousal. Or was that simply his feeding through the tether ?

The strangest part of all was that altogether, his myriad of emotions weren’t repulsive. They staggered me in their intensity, and yet, I wasn’t running from the room as I should’ve. Rather, the witch inside me basked in his emotions, bathing in their brilliance and power. She liked the strength she held over the dragon.

Stupid witch.

My pulse beat fiercely in my throat, my body beginning to tremble.

Finally, he leaned forward, his eyes glowing with supernatural luster. “Your defiant spirit,” he whispered, almost like he was sharing a secret, his timbre rough, “coupled with your beauty.” He shook his head. “It is dangerous. So very dangerous.”

“For me?” I asked, wondering why I could never keep my mouth shut, because then I kept going and asked, “Or is it dangerous for you?”

His wide mouth ticked up into a smile so devilish it stole my breath. Rather than frighten me, I wanted to capture that smile in my palms and hide it away for only me to ever see.

“Both, sweet firebird.” His voice was a velvety, dark caress. “We might both burn for what’s to come.”