Page 30 of Firebird
As I drew closer to his bedchamber, the same heaviness of the air that surrounded the master of this house began to press against my chest before it slipped over my skin and enveloped me entirely. It should’ve sparked terror, an innate instinct to claw out of his hold—the deadly predator’s strong embrace. It did not. It only increased the anticipation of seeing him again.
It was the same sensation I felt beneath the moonlight so many years ago, a sort of wonder and awe and interest that my inner witch wouldnotlet me walk or run away from. And now, the feeling was stronger, the pull was greater, and it only made me angrier—at fate and him and myself—as I finally stepped through the doorway into his vast bedchamber.
He stood beneath one of the arches leading to his terrace facing the city, hands clasped at his back, the same posture I found him in last evening.
Still, his figure was arresting. Even wearing a simple white tunic without his formal red robes or his general’s armor, he exuded electric power. He was an intimidating force. I tilted my chin up and stepped forward with all the confidence I could muster.
I made no noise, and yet, he knew I was there. There was a subtle stiffening of his shoulders, and he curled one hand at his back into a fist.
I remained still and quiet, waiting to serve him as was my duty. A mixture of anger and, yes, excitement again, flared in my breast. It was obscene to have such feelings. There should be absolutely nothing living inside me but disgust and hatred for this man. This Roman.
“Where would you like your morning meal, dominus?”
He turned with only a flickering glance my way and gestured toward a side table, not out to the terrace. I set the tray down.
Without looking at me, he quickly ate a piece of bread and cheese, then washed it down with the cup of milk, leaving the rest untouched.His manners were abrupt and hurried, unlike his usual cool demeanor. He then strode toward a screened area. “Follow me.”
I followed, slowing when I rounded the screen to find this was his bathing chamber. There was a large bath set into the floor, surrounded by decorative tiles. Bathing oils shimmered along the surface. There was a small window to one side where he’d have a view down Palatine Hill.
Rather than disrobe and horrify me further, he sat at a table in front of the window in a chair with a high back that was thickly cushioned. He patted the stool next to him. “Sit.” He watched me.
Confused, I moved at his command, perching stiffly on the stool.
“I need a shave.” He gestured to the bowl of steaming water. “Kara just brought this and it won’t stay hot long. Do you know how to shave a man?”
I shook my head. Where would I possibly have occasion to learn such a thing?
“It’s easy. Apply the olive oil to my chin and neck area, then use the novacila to scrape the bristles off.” He gestured to an instrument lying on a bit of toweling.
I picked up the shaving tool. The top was a bronze, flattened dragon in flight with three finger holes beneath it, the dragon’s claws clasped around the sharp copper blade extending at the bottom. I slipped my three middle fingers through the holes and pressed it into my palm.
“That’s correct. Scrape upward along the bristles. That’s the most efficient way as Ruskus does it.”
Still clutching the blade in my hand, I asked, “Why don’t you have Ruskus do this since he knows how to do it properly?”
“It’s your job now as my body slave. The light from the window will help you see.”
He seemed almost amiable as he tilted his head backward and rested it on the top of the cushioned high-back. I realized the chair must’ve been made for this exact purpose.
“Don’t forget to put the oil on first.” Then he closed his eyes and waited.
For a moment, I did nothing. Slowly, I set the shaving tool back on the toweling atop the table. Standing, I then poured the scented olive oil into my palms before I gently rubbed it along his abrasive chin and jaw, the roughness sending prickles over my skin. He let out a small grunt of pleasure, not opening his eyes while I used my fingertips to smooth the oil up to his ears and down his neck where the dark bristles grew.
My pulse raced as I wiped my hands clean on the rag, then slipped the instrument back on my fingers, using my free hand to tip his chin up. His eyes were closed, his body relaxed, his throat exposed. He was completely vulnerable and unaware of the sudden thought beating its way to the forefront of my mind. This was a sharp blade. I could escape right now.
I stared at the strong column of his throat, the cords of lean muscle, and the vulnerable dip at the base. Then I raised the razor toward his neck, my hand trembling and frozen midair.
“What will you do after?” His deep, silken voice made me flinch.
“After what?” I whispered.
“After you slit my throat.”
His eyes remained closed, his neck curved as if daring me to do it. I was frozen in place, my breaths coming quicker.
“You can’t escape over my terrace. The cliff is too steep on the other side of the wall. You have no money, though I suppose you could rob me of what I have in my private coffer beside my bed. Then you’d have to get past Ruskus and Ivo, who keep watch of the back gate. They’d turn you in to the emperor’s praetorians for killing their master, the emperor’s nephew.”
The emperor’s nephew? My stomach rolled with nausea, while my hand trembled, with the blade still aloft. He opened his eyes and turned his head on the cushion, so calm and cool.
