Page 59 of Thawed Gladiator: Lucius
His touch draws the same symbols onto my arm that once adorned his body before battle—ritual lines of protection and purpose. Now, they’ve become a language between us, comfort offered through touch. The touch sends warmth spiraling through me, the way it always does. Two years together, and he still makes my pulse race with the simplest contact.
“Fortuna’s wheel turns in unexpected ways,” he says thoughtfully. “I think we were always meant to find each other,” he says simply, his hand rising to touch my cheek. “Two souls marked by death’s touch, learning to live fully for the first time.”
The sentiment warms me more than the wine. My work has transformed this past year—no longer chasing paranormal evidence for views, but documenting death traditions across cultures with genuine respect. The Beyond the Veil brand still exists, but now as an educational platform rather than entertainment. Each episode features experts from various cultural backgrounds explaining their practices in their ownwords, with Lucius occasionally providing historical context from off-camera.
“I still can’t believe you turned down Norris’s million-dollar offer,” Lucius says, his voice tinged with admiration. “For an exclusive series featuring ‘The Ghost and the Goth.’”
I groan at the memory. “That title alone deserved rejection. Besides, some things aren’t for sale.”
“A concept my original time understood poorly,” he observes wryly.
“We should probably head back soon,” I say eventually, though reluctance colors my voice.
“Our bed is calling me, too, but it can wait a moment longer,” Lucius murmurs, turning to face me fully.
His hand reaches into his pocket, withdrawing something small that reflects the moonlight. My heart stops. Actually stops, the way it did that night on the icy road when everything changed. But this time, the pause feels like anticipation rather than an ending. My breath catches as he opens his palm to reveal a delicate ring—a band that appears ancient, with intricate symbols etched into a metal that gleams with age and care.
“Thrax crafted this,” he explains, voice quieter than usual. “From a Roman denarius carried on the Fortuna. The symbols represent eternal connection—the kind that transcends time, death, and every impossible boundary we’ve already crossed together.”
Tears fill my eyes as understanding dawns. “Lucius…”
“In my time, formal declarations were often made with practical arrangements—dowries, contracts, family negotiations.” His smile turns self-deprecating. “I understand modern tradition requires more romantic gestures.”
A laugh escapes me despite the emotion tightening my throat. “I think proposing in a cemetery at midnight with a ring made from ancient Roman currency qualifies as romantic by my standard.”
His expression grows serious. “Rosemary Anne Vaughn, who sometimes calls herself Raven, who walks between worlds as I do—would you join your life with mine, creating something that exists between our times, between our traditions?”
The question steals my breath. Two years of dancing around forever, and he’s finally asking. In a cemetery at midnight, surrounded by the dead who brought us together.
“But what about our bonding ceremony?” I ask, remembering that night in the Texas safe house when we tied our souls together with forces older than time. “Aren’t we already bound in ways deeper than marriage?”
“In every way that matters to the gods,” he agrees, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “But this world recognizes different bonds. Our private ceremony joined our souls, but marriage will announce our choice to everyone who matters to us. The sanctuary, our friends, the world that’s watched our journey.They deserve to witness the lasting import of our sacred commitment.”
“Yes,” I whisper, offering my hand. “Yes, you impossible, beautiful ghost of a man. Yes to everything.”
The ring settles into place as if it has always belonged there, warm metal against cool skin. When Lucius pulls me into his arms, I taste salt from our mingled tears—joy crystallized into something tangible.
“Mrs. Valerius,” he murmurs against my lips, testing out the sound.
“Not yet,” I laugh, though the title sends butterflies spiraling through my chest. “But soon.”
“Soon,” he agrees, sealing the promise with another kiss that tastes like wine and forever.
Above us, stars wheel in familiar patterns, the same constellations that witnessed Rome’s glory and fall, that oversaw our separate journeys through death’s territory, that now illuminate this impossible connection. Behind us, the altar’s candles flicker in celebration, honoring those who have passed while marking new beginnings.
“Come,” Lucius says finally, helping me gather our ritual items. “Let’s return home.”
As we walk arm in arm through the cemetery where everything began, I realize we’ve achieved the balance neither of usthought possible. He no longer exists solely as a relic of the past, and I’ve shed the artificial persona created to validate my experiences. Together, we walk the boundary between worlds—his ancient wisdom complementing my modern perspective, creating something neither Rome nor the twenty-first century could have imagined.
The cemetery gate creaks softly as we pass through, heading toward the future we’ve chosen together—one foot in each world, fully belonging to both and neither. Perfect symmetry found in the most unexpected crossing of paths.
Behind us, the candles continue their vigil among the stones. Ahead, the sanctuary glows with warm light, filled with friends who’ve become family, gladiators who’ve become brothers, and a life we’ve built from impossible circumstances.
“What are you thinking?” Lucius asks, noticing my backward glance.
“That some boundaries aren’t meant to divide,” I say, squeezing his hand. “They’re meant to be crossed by the right people at the right time.”
His smile catches the moonlight. “Before I met you, I thought I was trapped between worlds—belonging fully to neither ancient Rome nor modern times.”
“And now?”
“Now I know I was wrong.” He stops walking, turning to face me fully. “I wasn’t trapped between worlds. I was waiting forthe right person to help me build a new one.” He lifts my ringed hand to his lips. “Against all odds, across every impossible divide.”
As we continue toward home—toward the sanctuary, toward our people, toward the life we’ve chosen—I realize this isn’t an ending at all. It’s a beginning. The first page of forever, written in starlight and sealed with promises that death itself couldn’t break.
Some love stories span lifetimes. Ours spans millennia.
And we’re just getting started.