He gripped my upper arms and rounded his palms on the balls of my shoulders, squeezing gently. “Yes.” He held my gaze. “All slaves will go free in the new Rome we want to create.”
I scoffed. “You’re mad. The patricians will never give them up.”
“I disagree. Will it be hard to change the mindset of so many? Yes. Will we have to kill or banish those who fight against the new regime? Yes. But it isn’t impossible.” He lifted the palm of his hand to cup the side of my face. “There are many things that may seem impossible that I want to make a reality.”
The brush of his thumb along my cheek was distracting.
“What you want and what will happen are two different things. You’re too idealistic, Trajan.”
He smiled. “I’m also tenacious. I usually get what I want.”
“You may die trying for what you want this time.”
He sobered then slowly dropped his hand from my face. “You may be right.” He stepped away and turned. “But at least you’ll be free somewhere else in the world.”
My stomach fluttered at the sincerity in his voice. He truly wanted that. He truly cared for me.
Without saying anything else, he wandered toward some steps off the terrace.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To find us some food. Get some rest,” he said without looking back. “We leave at sunset.”
Walking over to the balcony of the terrace, I watched him march down several flights of stairs that ended at the sandy beach. It was a small patch of shoreline inside a small cove, tucked away from the rough waters of the wide ocean.
Once at the bottom, Trajan lifted the tunic over his head, and tossed it on a large rock. He then headed toward the lapping waves, shifting and growing, skin changing to blue scales, horns, tail, and wings emerging from his body. It should’ve been a horrific sight, but I found it rather beautiful now.
So strange to think so after all I’d seen and been through. At the hands of Roman dragons. But I watched him, unable to drag my gaze away, until he dove and disappeared under the waves.
I didn’t feel tired, but I wandered inside anyway and draped myself on a cushioned settee that faced the open doors. I pushed off my sandals and stretched my legs. A seagull called somewhere, the salty breeze wafting through the room. And though I wasn’t sleepy, I stared at the mural with the mermaid, dozing quickly to the sound of waves and gulls.
I awoke to the sound of voices, jolting upright and listening hard. One was Trajan, and he didn’t sound angry or upset. Quite the opposite. He laughed.
Jumping to my feet, I hurried outside and peered over the balcony below. On the beach, there was a small fisherman’s boat and an older man with short gray hair standing on the sand gesticulating with his hands as if telling a story. Trajan was dressed in his tunic.
Trajan laughed again, holding two giant fish in each hand by their mouths. He then lifted one and offered it to the old man, who seemed astonished and said something else before he held out both arms totake it. He began to fall, off-balance. Trajan instantly dropped the large fish he was still holding to the ground and caught the man then helped him carry his fish and place it into his boat.
The old man then hugged Trajan, still talking the whole time, though I couldn’t hear what he said, before he climbed into his small boat. He sat on a bench and took his oars in hand, while Trajan pushed the boat back out into the water, wading up to his knees to give him a good shove.
Trajan waded back to shore and gave him a final wave before picking up his fish and a wooden bucket that had been sitting in the sand. He ambled back across the beach in bare feet to the steps that led to the terrace. I stood there and waited until he emerged onto the balcony. He stopped, seeming distracted and surprised to find me there.
“Did you get some rest?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Good.” He walked past me back into the home.
I followed him all the way into the kitchen, where he set the fish and the bucket of what appeared to be seawater on a table. He opened the wooden shutters to let the fresh air and sunlight in. He dipped his hands in the bucket of seawater and washed them off, taking a cloth from a cupboard to dry them.
Finally, he frowned over at me and asked, “What is it?” He set the rag down. “You don’t like fish?”
I realized then I’d been oddly silent, watching him with overeager interest. I couldn’t say what it was specifically that sent me finally into acting on what I’d been feeling for some time. Was it because he’d helped me escape Rome, his flawed but admirable idealism, or the way he cared for his grandfather and his sisters? Was it his beauty as both man and beast? His strength as he rode through the skies with me—a woman—on his back, something I knew was seen as weak toothers of dragonkind? Or was it simply watching him showing kindness to an old fisherman who’d had no luck finding a catch today?
Suddenly, I didn’t want to wonder why and overthink my every calculated move as I’d been doing in my years of survival. The only thing that mattered was that I wanted him, desperately.
Without a word, I walked closer and cupped his bearded face, the bristles tickling. “You need a trim,” I told him before I pulled his face down to mine.
There was no hesitation on my part as I coaxed his lips apart with mine and thrust my tongue inside. His hesitation was brief. He wrapped an arm around my waist, hauling me against his body, scooping his hand beneath my hair to my nape as he sucked my tongue then delved into my mouth with his own. Our kiss was fierce and desperate as I rubbed my body against his, wanting friction, wanting fire, wanting everything he could give me.
