by Kate Cotoner
Lucilla responded, wild with excitement, writhing against her mouth. Her thighs closed about Alypia’s head almost instinctively to trap her into position. She trembled, her head twisting from side to side as she heaved up from the bed, crying out as the distant tremble of orgasm ran through her.
Alypia worked at Lucilla’s breasts, rolling her nipples between her fingers, tugging on them to produce fiery sparks of pleasure-pain. A quick upward glance showed that Lucilla was lost in a sensual haze, her mind focused solely on achieving climax. Now was the time to do it.
She moved quickly, licking over the delicate patch of skin where the thigh joined the body. Alypia felt the thunder of blood through the artery, smelled its fragrance hot and delicious even over the scent of sex. She let her fangs extend, the bones cracking as they unsheathed, and she plunged deep, tapping the vein.
She felt Lucilla flinch; heard her cry out. Alypia slid a hand between Lucilla’s thighs and rubbed her clit, sending her higher. She tasted the impending orgasm in Lucilla’s blood as it flowed sweetly over her tongue.
Alypia groaned, taking more of the life-giving liquid. She shivered, feeling the approach of her own climax spurred by the bloodlust. Reaching beneath her skirts, Alypia plunged the fingers of her free hand inside her cunt then rubbed the wetness over her clit until she convulsed in orgasm.
She stifled her gasp against Lucilla’s flesh, then withdrew her fangs and licked over the wounds to stem the bleeding. Alypia burrowed between Lucilla’s thighs, flicking her tongue over Lucilla’s clit until the girl arched off the bed and hung suspended, her breath caught, her body quivering. She began to shudder, mewling in high, gasping ecstasy. Alypia caught Lucilla’s thighs to hold her in place, her tongue tensed against her clit as Lucilla jerked her hips.
Orgasm rushed over her and Lucilla wailed, the sound echoing about the room. She collapsed onto the quilt, still shuddering, and then lay, languid and gasping, her heartbeat loud to Alypia’s ears. Alypia pressed kisses to Lucilla’s soft, damp thighs, taking the time to lick again at the puncture wounds to heal them.
Lucilla gave a deep, heartfelt sigh. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”
With a chuckle, Alypia sat up, wiping a hand across her mouth. “You are innocent, aren’t you? I could show you much more, if only you didn’t have to prove your maidenhead.” She paused, eyeing Lucilla’s relaxed, satiated body sprawled in front of her. “I could still show you. There are ways of fooling a man...”
Suddenly shy, Lucilla drew the quilt around her. “No. I... I shouldn’t.” She closed her eyes, her golden hair tangled around her face. “If I did, I wouldn’t return home and go through with my marriage. I couldn’t. How could I?”
“Many patrician women take lovers. It’s easier for them to look for pleasure with another woman than to risk discovery with a man other than their husband. Besides, once you have a taste for women, cock loses its appeal.” Alypia straightened her crumpled amethyst silk and stood to retrieve the wine. She took a deep draught, enjoying the rough flavours, and held out the other cup.
“I don’t want a husband.” Lucilla accepted the drink and sipped it. Her eyes widened. “You drink wine unwatered?”
“Wine shouldn’t be diluted,” Alypia said with a smile. “I prefer the uncomplicated taste of Greek reds to the thin bouquet of Falernian.”
Lucilla sat quiet, tasting the wine with slow caution until she could drink it without wrinkling her nose. “I had a Greek slave named Charis who was dear to me. She was dark, like you. Charis was my closest friend growing up. We shared a bed, innocent at first, then later she taught me how to love another woman.”
She flashed a glance at Alypia and took another gulp of wine. “We kissed and caressed, touched each other’s breasts and watched one another reach climax. I thought I loved her. Certainly I thought she loved me, but she didn’t. She used what she learned with me to seduce our cook. And then Mama caught us together one evening. She sold Charis and replaced her with Tacita.”
Lucilla set down her cup. “Do you think badly of me for wanting this?”
Alypia shook her head. “No. Not when the lot of a Roman woman is decided without taking her wishes into account. Take whatever happiness you can find, and enjoy whatever freedom you can get.”
“You seem to be free, Lady Alypia.” Lucilla wore a wistful expression.
“I am different.”
Lucilla smiled and pushed aside the quilt to examine her body. Her skin still glowed from orgasm and she gave a breathless murmur when she discovered the extent of her sensitivity. She traced her fingers over her breasts, across her belly and into the dip of her thigh. There she hesitated, wincing slightly, before twisting to look closer at the dark blue bruises imprinted in her pale flesh.
Alypia took a tighter grip on the wine-cup. “Don’t worry. Those will fade by your wedding night.”
Silence spread between them until Lucilla looked up. There was no fear or disgust on her face, only curiosity. “You said you were different. And... you bit me. I knew when you did it; I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. You’re one of them, aren’t you? An empusa. A lamia.”
She used the Greek terms, but Alypia knew what she meant. Many centuries ago, her people had traded with the Greeks, swapping tales of romance and horror in the marketplace and in portside taverns. The Romans had another name for her. Strix—a woman with unnatural powers who needed human blood to stay alive.
When she didn’t respond, Lucilla sat forward, eager to talk. “I’ve read about creatures like you. My great-grandfather collected folklore from every country he visited. When he retired from public office, he lived near Lake Sabatinus. He gathered dozens of tales from that region, dating from the times of the ancient kingdoms of Italy...”
“The Etruscans.” Alypia named her vanished people with a shiver of loss. “And yes, I am a demon.”
Lucilla made a soft sound, but it was not of disgust. When Alypia glanced at her, she was astonished to see excitement as well as sympathetic understanding. “I don’t think you’re a demon,” Lucilla said. “You could’ve killed me, but you didn’t. You’re not a demon.”
Alypia poured more wine. “You don’t know me.” It seemed best to forestall any further dialogue about her past. Time to remind Lucilla of her duty. “Who is your husband-to-be?”
“Gnaeus Vibius Fronto.” Lucilla shuddered as she spoke his name.
Alypia frowned. The name was familiar, though it evoked only a distant memory. “Fronto... Wasn’t he Tribune of the Plebs some time ago?”
Lucilla gave her a startled look. “Some time ago? It’s been at least thirty years!”
“Has it been that long? It seems like only yesterday.” Alypia drank the wine and put the cup down with more force than she intended. “You forget I’ve been around for longer than you. Longer than Fronto, even.”
“How long?”
Alypia shook her head, thinking back through her memories. She remembered Fronto’s election well enough, and the subsequent legal case brought against him. The Tribune of the Plebs was supposed to safeguard the interests of the people and be their voice against the patrician Senate, but over the years the post had become corrupt. The Tribunes often passed the Senate’s laws even when they were deficient to the interests of the people.
Fronto was one of the corrupt, rushing through a law restricting the number of public donation fire engines and night watchmen assigned to each Suburan district. The new law favoured the wealthy landlords to the detriment of the poor, who were forced to pay to protect their property from fire or else watch their homes burn to the ground.
Though the case lost its impetus when no one could be found to testify against him, Fronto’s reputation as a moral champion suffered. After his year in office, he retired and built up his client list, buying small favours from big men.
Alypia considered him to be an average Roman male of few wits and little imagination. “I’d heard he was married,” she said. “His fourth wife, I believe.”
“She died.” Lucilla’s tone was dull. She plucked at the bed sheets and smoothed the folds of her gown over her thighs. “She slipped in their courtyard garden and struck her head on a stone.”
“A terrible accident.” Alypia kept her tone neutral.
“I don’t think it was an accident.” Lucilla looked up. Her mouth trembled, and her voice wasn’t quite steady when she added, “There’s a rumour that Fronto kills his wives for their dowries. That’s why he’s so rich.”
“But your family isn’t wealthy.” Alypia smiled at Lucilla’s startled gasp. “Your clothes, your servant... even your perfume. You are not rich.”
Lucilla sighed. “It’s true. It was difficult enough for Father to gather a dowry for my older sister. There’s hardly anything left for me.”
“Most patrician women your age would be on their second marriage by now,” Alypia said. “Or their third child.”
“How many times did you marry?”
Alypia hesitated. Her first instinct was to lie; her second, to snarl and terrify Lucilla with the sight of her fangs. Reason made her think better of both options. Lucilla hadn’t asked the question to cause hurt. She’d asked because she was curious. Alypia nodded. Perhaps it was time she spoke of those days, of her former life so long ago.
“Once,” she said, clearing her throat when the word emerged husky and soft. “I only married once.”
Lucilla covered herself, pulling the gown around her body. She didn’t fasten the garment but wrapped her arms around her knees and waited, her gaze fixed on Alypia.
“My husband Sethre was older than me and very handsome.” Alypia remembered him, as dark and golden as a god. “He had no family and was as rich as Croesus. I was young and silly, as girls are at that age. I never asked my father why the match had been made. I was so happy, even when we left town right after the wedding rituals. Like a fool, I believed myself in love with my husband. And why not? He was attentive and charming, and very skilled in bed.”
Alypia felt her mouth twist. “We went south along the coast to his villa overlooking the sea. My life was perfect when I became pregnant. I wrote letters of rejoicing to my mother and sisters, inviting them to come and stay during my confinement, but I heard nothing in response. Sethre told me they were jealous of my good fortune, and I believed him. Still, as the day of the birthing drew nearer, I wished I could have one of my sisters with me. I yearned for my mother’s advice when, not long after giving life to him, my baby son was lost to a sleeping sickness.”
Lucilla stirred. “The sleeping sickness?”
“He simply fell asleep and died.” Alypia kept her tone detached, as if recounting the misery of another woman. In a way, it was. She had nothing in common with the girl she’d once been. Recollecting herself to her story, she continued, “There wasn’t a mark on him. His nursemaid swore she hadn’t left him alone for a moment. I believed her, but Sethre, distraught and raving, blamed her and ordered her death.
“It took a few months, but we recovered from the loss and soon I was expecting another child. Again I wrote to my family; again I received no reply. By the time my daughter was born, I felt completely alone. Oh, I had slaves, more slaves than I knew what to do with, but they were my husband’s choices, not mine. And so I clung to my daughter, my precious little girl...”
Alypia felt her throat thicken. She took a deep breath, forcing back the emotion. Aware of her distress, Lucilla slid across the bed and took her hand, pressing it in a comforting way.
“Sethre resented our daughter, or so I believed. He showed his impatience more and more, and I thought he was eager for us to return to the marriage bed. Instead, he wanted to separate my child from me. The first night I slept apart from her, I was restless. The second night was easier. But the third night... Something woke me. A bad dream, perhaps. I can no longer remember...”
Lost in the memories, she started in surprise when Lucilla touched her arm. “What happened?”
Alypia pulled free. She didn’t want Lucilla’s sympathy. She gazed at the wall, seeing not the cracked plaster and faded paint of the apartment, but the sight that had met her eyes all those years ago. Her husband, crouching over their daughter’s cradle. Her husband, grasping their child by her nape and feet, his teeth sunk deep in her neck. Her husband, sucking the blood from their little girl, draining the life from her the way he’d done with her brother.
“I caught him drinking the blood from our daughter.” It felt strange to say it after so long. “I screamed and ran at him, knowing him then for what he truly was. I fought him, and we struggled. Under normal circumstances, he’d have far greater strength than I, but because I’d disturbed him feeding, he was weakened. I almost had him—I was ready to cut out his eyes with my pocketknife—when he bit me. He ripped a chunk from my arm.”
She rubbed the underside of her forearm, still feeling the cold of his fangs slicing through her flesh. “I let go of the knife. I was so angry, I bit him the way he’d bitten my daughter. I tasted his blood. I laughed and repudiated him, declaring myself free of our marriage. He struck me, and I hit my head on the cradle. By the time I regained consciousness, he’d gone... and my baby was dead.”
Lucilla gave a soft cry of sympathy and attempted to draw her into an embrace, but Alypia shrugged her off. “You need to hear the rest. You need to know everything.”
She avoided Lucilla’s gaze, her hand clasped around the smooth skin of her arm where once there’d been deep scars. “While I lay recovering, an old slave who’d attended Sethre for years came to see me. In whispers, he told me he knew of my husband’s true nature and warned that the same fate could befall me. He said he used to procure young men and women for Sethre to feed from. He wasn’t comfortable doing it, but he was a slave, trained to obey and not ask questions. He told me how to deal with the bloodlust. He helped me through the pain and confusion when my body underwent its change from human to immortal. He was there at my side when I woke craving blood, and he offered me his own life as my first kill.”
Lucilla gazed at her with a horrified expression. “Did you kill him?”
“Yes.” Alypia sighed and let the tension ease from her. “He begged me to do it. He’d helped Sethre for years, and only turned against him because of the children. ‘Children should be cherished’, he said, ‘not devoured like sweetmeats. Kill me, and may my death help make amends for the evil I’ve done.’”
She smiled at the memory of the proud old man. “I accepted his sacrifice.”
“Why did your husband take the lives of your children?”
Alypia curled her lip. “The blood of an innocent tastes sweetest. It’s pure. It brings great longevity to one of our kind.”
Lucilla stared. “Have you ever...?”
“No.” Alypia paused. “But I have fed upon one who drank the blood of innocents.” She smiled briefly. “I killed my husband.”
A sharp, indrawn breath was Lucilla’s only reaction; then she said simply, “He deserved to die.”
“Yes. He did.” Alypia turned and looked at Lucilla, studying her expression to read her intentions. “But does Gnaeus Vibius Fronto deserve a similar death?”
Lucilla knelt on the bed, her sea-green gown slipping over her pale breasts. “If the rumours are true, I believe he does. It’s not just because I fear for my own safety as his fifth wife. He killed his other wives and got away with it because the laws favour the rights of men. Too many men interpret the role of pater familias in a way to suit their greed. They aren’t protecting the women in their care. They’re abusing their trust.”
Alypia nodded in agreement and ran a hand through Lucilla’s golden hair. “There are ways and means of ridding the world of the likes of Fronto. Give me some time, Lucilla. I will think about it.”
* * *
Lucilla’s wedding took place four days later at her father’s house during the early evening. After the brief ceremony, the bridal party left her childhood home on the far side of the Aventine and we
nded its way around the Circus Maximus, along the Via Ostiensis, and up onto the Caelian Hill to the villa of Gnaeus Vibius Fronto.
Alypia watched from the loggia of a neighbouring house as the party approached. Lucilla looked swamped by her bridal gown of saffron wool. The fluttering folds of her flame-coloured veil obscured her face, but every few feet she turned her head as if looking for someone.
Looking for her.
Alypia tightened her grip on the balustrade and leaned forward as Fronto came out to greet his new wife. He’d hurried home an hour ago, leaving Lucilla’s family to complete the marriage rites and offer sacrifices for a fruitful union. Alypia had heard him shouting at his slaves, ordering them to make ready the pans of fire and water to complete his part of the ceremony.
Over the last few days, Alypia had made discreet enquiries about Fronto and his four dead wives. Gossip and piecemeal evidence came back to her, and she’d chased cold trails until she’d discovered all she wished to know.
Lucilla was right to be afraid of her husband. Gnaeus Vibius Fronto had killed his wives and his first lover, a woman older and wealthier than him. The family of his second wife had tried to bring charges against Fronto for unlawful killing, but a court declared him innocent. When Alypia dug a little deeper, she learned that the judgement had been bought, the magistrates bribed—by Fronto.
This flagrant abuse of justice enraged Alypia. The Romans liked to preen and posture, claiming their system of law was the most advanced and fair in the known world, and yet she saw nothing good in it. Fronto had escaped punishment too long. This time, he would pay for his crimes—and he would pay for the wickedness he intended toward Lucilla.
Alypia drew back beneath the shadows of the loggia. Drawing her dark mantle around her shoulders, she hurried through the laurel shrubs to the boundary wall dividing the property from Fronto’s house. She vaulted the wall with ease and slunk through the open door of the servants’ quarters, guessing that all the slaves would be lined up in the entrance hall to greet their new mistress.
