Page 14 of Firebird
Licking my lips again, I asked, “Why did you kill your own soldier who was attacking me?” A flash of sharp jaws and blood spray flitted across my mind. “Why did you bring me here?”
“Silvanus disobeyed a direct order.”
“What order was that?”
“The prisoners of war were to be left unspoiled.”
“Why?”
“Because slaves are a profitable commodity. And damaged ones don’t fetch much coin.”
His response gutted me. I felt it like a slap to the face. He wasn’t concerned about my welfare or the fact that his soldier had planned to violate me, likely to the point of death. He was concerned with money. Gain and profit. Of course. He was a Roman.
Swallowing the ire that stirred acid in my stomach, I asked, “What will become of me now?”
“That was exactly what I was trying to determine,” he said. “You need a role in my house.”
“I can cook,” I told him.
“I already have a cook.”
“I can wash clothes and linens,” I offered next, my skin prickling with awareness at the way he was intensely staring again.
“My cook, Kara, is my laundress as well.”
“Then what?”
Golden eyes coasted down my frame, a phantom caress I could practically feel where it traced. “You will be my body slave.”
“Your … what?”
A body slave attended to a Roman’s physical needs—dressing and grooming—but they also often followed the dominus. Serving him in whatever needs he had, whenever and wherever he went.
“I have need of a body slave. You will serve as mine.” The tenor of his voice dipped lower, deeper.
“Wouldn’t you prefer a male like Ruskus to serve your… personal needs?”
“Ruskus manages my house and business affairs.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped casually betweenthem. His voice was a husky rasp between us, his eyes golden bright. “I prefer you.”
I sat very still, soaking in his words and unwavering attention. I should’ve been terrified at the prospect of attending a Roman general so intimately, but I was afraid that wasn’t why my heart raced wildly with the idea of it. I wasn’t afraid at all. That telltale thrill of adrenaline running through my veins was excitement.
“You will report to me every morning at dawn and every evening. You will assist with my dressing, my bath, and my meals. And though Kara tends to most of the household laundering, you will now take care of mine. You will keep my room and bed linens clean.”
My gaze shot to the monstrosity of a bed behind him, pulse thrumming swiftly in my throat.
“Unless Kara needs your specific help in the kitchen, this will be your domain.” He gestured with one hand to the room.
He paused and examined me with that unsettling, all-knowing gaze, as if he expected me to protest. At the moment, I had nothing to say. He wasn’t selling me off or beating me for being the witch who helped the Celts, but keeping me here. Very close to him.
After what felt like an eternal breathless moment, he stood. I jumped to my feet as well, readying to defend myself. His mouth quirked in that amused manner again.
“Go. Get some rest. I start early in the mornings.”
I was probably supposed to bow or curtsy or something, but all I wanted to do was get away.
“Good night… dominus,” I muttered, then hurried for the door.
“I’ll show you back to your room,” he said behind me.
