He doesn’t know he’s following me to his doom. I tell myself I don’t care. He is not my destiny. The child is. He is only a tool, and I plan to use him.
Chapter 9
Virius
We walk in silence down the stony pathway. My bare feet slap against smooth rocks. Her boots crunch along, grinding small stones into sand.
There is an itch at the center of my palm. I want to reach out and take her slight paw into mine like I’ve seen Hadrian do with Cari. I’ve never held a woman’s hand before. What if I do it wrong? What if I crush her slender fingers in mine?
Looking down at her hand, I see that her fingers are not so slender. Her nails are short, not long and painted like Marechal’s. Zahara’s worked in the Durand vineyard for years. She knows the roughness of turning soil. She knows the prick of pruning shears. She undoubtedly can’t handle my cock, but perhaps she can handle my hand.
Without a second thought, I reach for her.
“Ouch.” I grimace, pulling my hand back from hers.
A trail of crimson beads at the tip of my forefinger. It’s blood I can’t afford to lose. Pressing my finger to my mouth, I look back down at Zahara’s hand. How had I missed the gleam of the blade there?
“Were you trying to disarm me?” she asks.
“I was trying to hold your hand.”
Zahara looks down at her hand; her fingers tighten on the hilt of her dagger. There isn’t suspicion in her gaze, only confusion. As though she questions my battle tactic.
“Why?” she says.
I shrug, too embarrassed to explain. I might be Roman, but I am clearly not cut out for these antics. I need to dispense with the attempts at romance from here on out.
We have come to the end of the hall and can go no further. The mangled door blocks our path. Bending down, I pick it up as though the metal slab weighs nothing, because it doesn’t for me. I turn and wait for Zahara to go inside.
She doesn’t move. She stands there, staring at the door, then at me. “You weren’t trying to escape?”
There’s something in her voice. It’s not fear; I know what that smells like. It’s acrid on my tongue, bitter like hopelessness. But I can’t be sure. I’ve long since forgotten both of those emotions. I’ve had so few feelings for most of my life. My default setting is numb and detached.
This night with her, I am drowning in awareness and sensation. I don’t care to come up for air if Zahara is the flood. I’m more than happy to exist as a piece of driftwood in the ocean of her.
“I told you I’d stay,” I say.
She narrows her eyes as she looks from me to the door in my hands.
“I heard raised voices. I thought you were in trouble,” I add.
Zahara rolls her eyes at that. Her shoulders slump, like a child who’s just had a reprimand. She walks into the room and plops down on the cot. “Close the door behind you, will you?” she says.
I do as she bids me, fitting the door back into place. The knob will no longer work, which means the lock won’t engage. I doubt any of the shifters have the strength to remove the slab. So, we will have our privacy.
Once I’m certain that we are isolated, I turn to her. Her gaze isn’t on my face. It dips to my waist. She’s looking down at the beast.
I bend down and gather my jeans from the floor. I don’t bother to step either leg into the pants. Clearly, I’ll lose the battle of wrangling my cock into the cloth. Stepping out of the chaps, I then tear the fabric of the leather With a quick tie, I have a makeshift toga. My native garb is far more comfortable than the fashion of the day. Gaius always acts as though he’s got a pebble in his Italian loafers when I deign to walk around in this fashion.
Zahara doesn’t complain. Which reminds me of something.
“Why were you arguing?” I ask as I finish making the knot to hold the fabric and the beast in place.
“Because of the prophecy. I told them you don’t want to fuck me. Even though we both know that isn’t true.”
Her gaze is on my crotch. Though I’ve tied the beast up, it remains staunchly erect. Its fat head points directly at Zahara, as though asking her for a dance.
“That can’t be comfortable,” she says.
It’s not. My balls are starting to turn blue, since the monster has been erect for the better part of a couple of hours.
“My sire used cock rings to keep her new bucks in order. If they displeased her, she’d yank out a valve of their hearts and lecture them as the wound healed. Or cut off their testicles if they fucked another without her permission.”
Zahara gasps. Her gaze finally leaves my groin area and comes to my face.
“Oh, those grow back,” I assure her. “There’s a vampire queen in Africa who makes eunuchs out of her human warriors. I hear that makes them obedient.”
Domitia might have played with the testes but she never whacked off the penises of her sireds. I’ve always thought it would be better to be a eunuch. But my cock would grow back. I know that for a fact as well.
“You weren’t trying to escape,” Zahara says. It’s not a question this time.
“I’ll never leave you,” I say as I settle down on the cot beside her. “You’re mine.”
“You do remember that I captured you.”
“That you did.” I grin. “And I’m yours.”
“Then you’re going to have to fuck me and put a baby in me. Why don’t we just get it over with now?”
She begins to unbutton her shirt. I don’t stop her. I want to see her breasts.
The twin peaks that appear as she parts her shirt
