“Syra…”
“It doesn’t matter,” Syra said as she began kissing his nipple again. “I need you inside of me.”
Brutus brushed the hair from her face and pulled her chin from his chest. His eyes searched her face. Syra could see the look of recognition cross his face. This Scottish body was not used to his thickness, for she was a virgin.
* * *
Brutus’ heart sank as he realized Syra’s small secret. His sadness was not that she was a virgin. His love had saved him the most precious gift. No, it was the shame in his own heart that he had not held in reserve the same for her. Even unconscious to his Fate, Brutus wished beyond all else he had never lain with another woman. Did his heart not know he was meant only for Syra?
She must have felt his waning passion, for she pulled their hips together with her leg. Her hand followed the trail of hair down his belly to the nest of his desire. Her fingers teased the throbbing back to a full roar.
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered, as her hand encouraged him to thrust again.
Even though this was not the first life in which one of them had been intimate with another, Brutus still felt he had betrayed her. “None else—”
Syra silenced him with a finger to his lips. “You are always mine. Will you let their memory spoil this moment?”
Brutus let her kiss away his regret as he became thick again. With passion flowing through his veins, he picked Syra up and carried her below deck to their cabin. He would know the feel of her, but he would not do it like a boar in rut.
“What are you doing?” Syra asked as she settled herself on top of his desire.
“I want to watch you,” Brutus stated honestly.
Laying her down upon the settee, he watched as her breasts rose and fell from her hurried breath. Her skin was flushed a deep pink. His hand stroked her nipples, feeling them pucker under his ministrations. Massaging her belly, his fingers drew nearer and nearer to the soft mound of hair that graced her pubis.
“Please, just—”
Brutus silenced her with his lips. Kissing her mouth, Brutus’ finger combed the coarse hair gently. Feeling her legs quiver against him, he reached deeper within. Touching her moisture, Brutus found the small protuberance that made Syra moan in utter pleasure. He allowed her to suck his tongue in rhythm with his finger, stroking her to higher and higher planes of passion.
Brutus was not so arrogant to believe that he was the most endowed male in Rome, but he could tell by the look of pain on her face earlier that her body was not yet ready for his full desire. Even though his own pulse pounded in his ear so loudly that a war could break out in the next room without him hearing, Brutus kept the pace slow and steady. He knew preparing her for his passion would only enhance his own pleasure later.
Leaving the mound, Brutus allowed his fingers to test further in. Her lips parted for his fingers as his digits explored the moisture deep within her. Syra broke off their kiss, but this time not from pain, but pleasure. Her pelvis rocked up into his hand, begging him to thrust deeper. Using his fingers as he would his member, Brutus complied. Moving his thumb up, he began stroking her mound while his fingers moved in and out of her.
* * *
The world was a vague blur beyond the image of Brutus’ face. The sting of intrusion had been replaced by pure ecstasy. Syra’s legs tensed as her groin tightened. She could feel herself stiffen under his thumb. His fingers stroked at just the right angle to make her body believe that he was truly within her. The tingling began deep inside, then radiated outward. Brutus must have sensed her arousal, for his rhythm became faster. Too fast for Syra to control her body’s reaction.
“I’m too close.”
Brutus nuzzled her breast. “You are never too close.”
Syra tried to squirm out from under his hand, but Brutus kept stroking. “Not until you are inside of me,” she begged, but Brutus did not listen.
Instead, his fingers took on new urgency. Syra tried to will her body to calm, but it had the opposite effect. Brutus’ thumb found exactly the right spot, and Syra’s body felt like it rode a bubble up into the heavens.
Then the pent-up energy burst as if it were a crashing wave upon her body. A wall of water seemed to tumble her under the surf, only to bring her back up and roll her under again. Wave after wave spilled over her body until the intensity finally faded to that of water lapping at a tide pool. Then even that evaporated into nothing.
Syra let out a strangled gasp. She had not even realized she had been holding her breath. Brutus kissed her neck as she tried to recover. He slid his fingers out and swung his body over her. With passion sparkling in his eyes, her Fated began to mount her, but she resisted.
* * *
Brutus could not keep the concern from his face. Had he misread Syra’s mood? Did she not wish to share his pleasure as well? A sly smile gave away his love’s mind however. Following her direction, Brutus slid onto his back as she swung a leg over his hips.
Lowering herself down as if she were straddling a horse, Syra moved with confidence. This time there was no flinch of discomfort as his shaft dove deeply into her. Riding him as the expert horsewoman that she was, it was not long before he felt his own pleasure quicken. He wished the sensation to last longer, but Syra was being as persistent with her ministrations as he had been with his.
Pressure built until he could no longer hold back. Exploding within her, he felt her spasm around him, heightening his pleasure until the room swam before his eyes. Syra collapsed down onto his chest as they both panted from the exertion. Still dizzy from the release, Brutus stroked her long red hair. The gods could claim him for their own now. He was now privy to more of heaven than Venus.
* * *
Syra smoothed back a lock of Brutus’ hair. His forehead was still slick with the sweat from their lovemaking. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He looked like any other man. Yet as she traced his collarbone, she knew he was not. As different as this body was from all the others he had inhabited, it still felt the same under her touch— warm and inviting.
Now she knew what that yearning in her bones had always called for. It was this moment when she felt finally whole. The Fated were always driven by this unquenchable desire to find the other. No matter their circumstances, they were drawn together.
For the first time since they had been reunited at the slave auction in Rome, Brutus’ face was at peace. The worry of the last month had melted from him. How she wished he could always look like this. Their duty always weighed far heavier on his shoulders. He would never share the depth of his angst, but she could tell by the set of his jaw after the assassination that this life was most difficult.
“There is no need to stop,” Brutus said, even though his eyes were still closed.
She reached down and kissed his cheek as her fingers kept playing with his hair. “You should sleep.”
“And miss this? Never.”
Syra wished she could say they would have years to indulge their passion, but there was no point. For neither of them knew what the future held. Would Antony organize his forces and strike at the dawn? Or would they be lucky enough to escape bloodshed for a fortnight? Perhaps a whole season?
Brutus’ eyes opened and surveyed her face as if reading her mind. “We do not need to meet up with Cassius. If you wish it, we can flee to the north or the east.”
“Shh,” Syra whispered as she stroked the skin around his eyes, willing them to close again. “I will not have what you have done go to waste. We are The Fated. We shall do our duty.”
The man she loved refused to release his gaze. “But why, Syra? Why must it always be like this?”
“We can ask much, my love, but not why,” Syra said as she leaned over and kissed his eyelids. “Never why.”
Brutus’ hands found her waist and pulled her into a kiss. Syra’s eyes suddenly welled up with tears as his desire poured through her body. Despite her exhaustion, she responded in equal measure.
&nb
sp; Because there was another question that could never be asked—how long would they have together? Surrendering to his passion, she squeezed her eyes closed to hide the tears. For however long they did have, Syra would not squander a single moment.
* * * * *
EPILOGUE
September 9th, 41 B.C.
39 miles east of Athens, Greece
Brutus watched as the others argued over the battle strategy. For the past three years they had been chased through all of Rome, finally retreating to Greece. But Antony and Octavius’ armies were still hard on them. They were running out of room to flee. Besides, Brutus tired of this game. The ploy had worked. Octavius was well ensconced in Rome. The three years of alignment with Antony had given him the time and experience to rise as a statesman with no equal. Even though Antony had taken Cleopatra as his ally, the Order felt confident that Octavius would win out to become the sole Emperor.
Brutus was distracted as Syra slammed a hand down upon the map table. Her anger at Cassius was not at all veiled.
“We need to go out onto that field strong! Let Antony see the whole of our army!”
Cassius was equally heated. “This is not a bragging right. We must keep some to the rear. Antony will do the same.”
“That is exactly why we must not.” Syra pointed to the map. “Antony is no Caesar. He holds a poor position. If we sweep in from the north in full force, we can cut him off from his reinforcements.”
“That will trap us between his lines.”
“We will be prepared. Keep our rear troops fresh for the assault.”
The two continued arguing as Brutus watched. Even in anger, Syra could stand next to Venus and not suffer for it. They had been hounded and routed from place to place, but with her at his side, Brutus had not cared. To see her just now, with her red hair flashing in the candlelight, was enough to feed his eyes for a decade. And to know her body every night was a feast for his soul.
Despite centuries together, each life held its own secrets. Each grew in their own way before they were Awakened. Each had so much to share that even three years was not enough to reveal the all to one another. Even though he had never traveled north, Brutus could see the rolling green hills in Syra’s eyes when she spoke of her adopted homeland. Her voice would thicken when she told him of Scotland. How he so wanted to take her back there. He wished to see this gem of a land Syra described breathlessly every night.
But such a trip was not in the making. Even though their task was played out and there was no reason to keep the ruse, Brutus could not risk fleeing the conflict with Antony. He had a plan to free Syra from this trap, but he could not share it, for she would never agree. It was unthinkable to leave her, but that he must.
“Cassius is right.”
Syra swung around with anger in her eyes. “He wishes to continue this damnable stalemate. We can win on this field. I know it.”
Any other time, Brutus would have commended her zeal, but not this day. She was right, but he could not let on. History wished to move forward, and he would not stall it any longer. Octavius could never rise to power until Cassius and Brutus were eliminated.
Brutus shook his head. “Your plan risks too much. We must conserve our forces, even more than Antony does.”
Cassius’ face glowed with satisfaction. It was seldom that Brutus sided with him. The older senator had been aghast when he was told that Syra would take part in these strategies, but his objection faded the first time Syra saved him from a broadsword. Still, Cassius was loath to take anyone’s orders, woman or not.
“Let me give the order, Brutus. We must be prepared before sunrise.”
“Aye.”
As Cassius left the tent, Syra’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Do you wish to lose this battle?”
Brutus kept his face stoic. How he wished he could share his reasons with his love, but after centuries together, he knew she would not understand. And worse, she had the means to stop him from fulfilling his goal. No, this day he must walk his own path to ensure that hers was left open.
“You taste victory, my love. That is not our duty here. Only to keep Antony and Octavius aligned.”
She studied his face, then let out a long breath. “To teach that arrogant Roman a lesson would not necessarily violate our roles, you know.”
Brutus allowed a true smile to spread across his face as he pulled her into an all- encompassing embrace. “I know.”
He held her so tight against him that he risked hurting her. She let out a small yip as he squeezed even harder.
Syra pulled back. “Is something wrong?”
Brutus could not hide much from his Fated. Instead, he must misdirect her. “I have a surprise for you.”
Laughing, Syra came back into his arms. “After all this time, I doubt that very much.”
Brutus raised an eyebrow in feign. “Really? Then follow me.”
For if all went as planned, this would be the last time they would have together. Meeting Horat’s eyes over Syra’s head, he gave a curt nod. The servant acknowledged his order and left the tent. His Guardian would make sure that their reinforcements never saw the battlefield.
* * *
Syra allowed Brutus to lead her through the thicket, away from the war table, but she did not relent in her attempt to sway his mind.
“There is still time to rethink, Brutus. Trouncing Antony might be the very thing Octavius needs to consolidate power.”
But her love simply led her deeper and deeper into the forest.
There were times when she truly wondered about the man she had spent next to eternity with. He wished to take a stroll in the woods rather than hammer out a keening blow to their mortal enemy.
“Perhaps we could merge Cassius’ and my plan and—”
He turned to her and most gently put a finger to her lips.
“Come.”
Brutus urged her through a break in the trees to a small clearing. At the very center lay a ring of fire. Low yet bright, the flames brightened the area as if a hundred candles burned.
“Do you remember?”
How could she forget?
It had been a time before candles. A time before even wax. They had so few words, yet so much was spoken that night. It was before they knew of the Order or even their own destiny.
They had just Awoken for the first time. Their clans had joined for a great hunt and once seeing the other, they were drawn to each as bees to a hive. Out in the steppes, tired and hungry after chasing down a wounded mastodon, they had found a moment alone. That was all it took. They met one another’s lips with passion and their bond washed over them, cementing once again.
Unfortunately, the clan leader still considered Syra his. Brutus had been forced to kill him, and they had fled into the night. Hunting parties close on their trail chased them for three days and three nights. Finally, they could run no more.
Just as their legs gave out, they came upon a clearing in the wood very similar to this one. The ring of fire dared them to enter. Normally they would have shied away from the flames, run, and hidden themselves, because their fear of fire was so great. But in the glade so long ago, it was overcome that fear or die.
So they jumped within the circle and when the clans came with crude spears brandished, they were saved. Not just saved but revered. Brutus was made leader and brought many a clan within their fold.
It had all been so long ago, hundreds of lives, yet she could remember the sweat sheening across Brutus’ chest, just as it was now.
Did she remember? The question was clearly rhetorical.
Brutus guided her to the edge of the ring and reached out his hand.
“Together?”
Syra smiled. This is how they had fought their fear. Together.
She took his hand and squeezed as they leapt up and over the knee-high flame. The blast of heat a sure reminder of the first time.
But unlike then, she found a small table set with some of Greece’s finest delicacies and a large yak
skin as a bed.
“I could not find a mastodon,” he commented, a smile upon his lips.
“I imagine not,” Syra replied, as he pulled his hand from hers.
He offered her a small plate with steamed squid—one of her favorites. But her eyes narrowed. This had taken a bit of planning, especially on the run from Antony’s troops.
“What is this for?”
He grinned at her. “So, you do not remember?”
Syra gazed about her. Each item, even the small, low table, represented a life they had lived, each precious and sacred. But clearly, Brutus still had a surprise left.
“It is our anniversary.”
Her mind raced. This was fall. “Our Awakening was upon the Ides.”
“Not this anniversary, Syra. Our first.”
It could not be. “We did not have calendars, Brutus. We did not even know how to tan hides, even!”
“So true.” Then he looked up at the sky. “But we had the stars, and we felt the seasons within our bones.”
When he looked down at her once again, his face was filled with wonder. “This is the night. I have marked it in my heart forever.”
She took the plate from him and set it back down onto the table. “Then perhaps we should forgo dinner and commemorate that night.”
They needed no more words, very similar to their first time. He wrapped his strong arms around her as she kissed the hollow of his neck. Lifting her, Brutus carried her over to the rug and laid her gently upon it.
He undid her toga, letting the linen fall away, exposing her fair skin to the stars above. Brutus hovered over her, coursing his hands over her form, yet not quite touching her. She could feel the heat of skin, which made her only yearn more for his caress. But it appeared he would not be satisfied with a night of average passion.
Fated: Torn Apart by History, Bound for Eternity Page 29
