Page 20 of Firebird
“You’re afraid,” he stated, brushing the pads of his fingers along the hollow of my throat and back up to my chin.
“For her, yes. For Enid.”
His fingers lightly held my chin, his voice rumbling in a low, silken voice. “And what will you give me if I do this for you?”
I swallowed hard, terrified at his quiet question and all of the favors he might require for this trade. My chest rising and falling faster, I whispered, “Whatever you want.”
He arched a dark brow, pinching my chin softly between two fingers. “Is that so?”
I didn’t move a muscle, but held his gaze. Or rather, he held mine. I was his complete captive in that moment, unable to look away, unable to move.
“You know they think you’re a witch, don’t you?” His voice was soft, melodious, even as his grip on my chin hardened.
“Yes.”
“I want to know more of your craft, little witch.”
“I’ve already told you.”
He huffed a laugh, though there was little merriment in it. “You’ve told me very little. Just enough to get the Roman general to stop asking you questions. But I want to know more of what you can do.”
“So that you can use it against others in battle?” I snapped, even while I was on my knees at his feet.
He smiled. “Does it matter what I do with the information? You are mine, Malina, to do with as I will.”
I scowled, and there was no doubt he could misread the anger burning in my eyes. It only made him smile wider.
“There’s the firebird.” He loosened his hold, brushing his thumb beneath my bottom lip, lingering in a way that made me shiver before he withdrew his hand. “Do we have a bargain? Every night when you serve me dinner, you will answer any question I ask about your mystical gift. Honestly. In return, I will save your Enid. If she is still alive.”
I flinched at that last part but then I nodded.
“Say ‘yes, dominus’ so that I have your unwavering agreement.”
“Yes, dominus,” I said on a quivering breath.
He dipped his chin and straightened to his full height. “Stand up.”
I did. But then I gasped when he gripped me around the upper arms, drawing me close. His features hardened, but his timbre was even harder when he said, “Do you know the significance of what I’m wearing?”
I shook my head.
“It is the color of my house. Do you know the lineage of dragons?”
Swallowing hard, I whispered, “Yes. My grandmother taught me.”
He grunted. “Smart woman. You can pick out the Roman citizens in the crowds. The patricians will be wearing a toga, stola, sash, or even a pendant with the jewels of their house color.” His penetrating glare kept me silent. “Do you know all of the houses?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Good.” His eyes narrowed. “Your gaze is too direct. Don’t look a dragon in the eyes.Ever.Do you understand? Remember who you are.”
“I know who I am,” I snapped back, pride burning the words out of my mouth.
For some reason, that softened his expression. “No, Malina.” He drew me closer, the anger gone, some other emotion dancing in his golden eyes. Even as an empath, I couldn’t place it. “In Rome, you are no longer one of the beautiful Bihari sisters dancing for crowds under the shadow of your beloved Carpathian Mountains.”
My breath hitched that he’d known my full name. That he spoke to me with such tender intimacy, all while he was obviously putting me in my place.
“You are no longer the witch who aided the Celts against the Roman legions,” he said softly.
