Chapter 21 Olivia
Olivia
My body was still thrumming with the aftermath of our lovemaking as we descended into the depths of Raul’s house.
Overcome with joy, I reached for the back of Roman’s doublet before he could take another step down the dark stairs.
When he turned, questioning, I silenced him with a kiss—unapologetic, deep, and lingering.
My hands skimmed across his back, feeling his warmth beneath my fingertips.
We tasted each other, teasing with lips and tongues, as if time had unraveled, leaving only us in this stolen moment.
I wanted to stay here, lost in his touch and how his mouth perfectly fit against mine.
I had missed him with every fiber of my being.
Every breath in his absence had been filled with longing. Now, at last, he was here.
Roman’s eyes glistened in the candlelight as he gazed at me. “I love you, Olivia, my beautiful, flaming fire. I’m so happy to have found you again.”
“I love you, too, Roman, my handsome warrior. With all my heart.” I squeezed his hand, holding onto the joy of our reunion.
Reluctantly, we turned and continued down the stone steps. I pressed my palm against Roman’s back as I followed him, our single candle lighting the cavernous corridor.
“Stop for a moment,” I whispered. “Lift the light.”
Roman obeyed, and the candle’s glow danced across the rough polygonal masonry.
The walls were adorned with intricate carvings—delicate plants etched into the stone with the same artistry as the illustrations above. I reached out, examining the carefully sculpted leaves, stems, and flowers, tracing their beauty in the dim candlelight.
“Look,” I whispered. “The Timehunters are obsessed with cataloging and understanding poisonous plants. There are similar illustrations upstairs. They’re so detailed… they look like photographs taken in my time.”
Thick and cloying, a strange mustiness filled the air, growing stronger with each step.
“I wonder if it’s safe to go down here,” I murmured. “What if the air is poisoned?”
“Then we’ll soon be dead,” Roman said dryly. “But why set a trap if this place is supposed to be a secret?”
“You’re probably right.” Still, worry slithered through my stomach.
We continued our descent, our footfalls echoing in the high-ceilinged corridor. Each step sounded like a hammer striking an anvil, the noise unsettling in the oppressive silence. I could only hope the sound didn’t carry to the rooms above.
At the landing, we found ourselves in a catacomb lined with skulls.
The bones were stacked in neat, methodical rows, their hollow eye sockets staring, leering. A shudder crawled up my spine, and my hand flew to my sternum.
“Oh, God,” I breathed. “Roman… these bones—they were once Timebornes or Timebounds. The Timehunters kept them as trophies.” I was overcome with revulsion. “They’re so sick.”
Roman said nothing, but his jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he surveyed the grisly display.
Beyond the rows of grim skulls, an archway loomed at the back of the chamber.
We stepped onto the cool Calacatta marble floor and peered into the circular room beyond.
Candlelight lit the vast round table, dominating the center of the space.
Along the walls, paintings of plants hung in perfect symmetry—vivid, detailed, eerily lifelike.
Unlike the monochrome illustrations upstairs, these were in color, their hues so rich they seemed to pulse in the low light.
“My God,” I murmured. “They’re like the modern-day scientists of my time… only with evil intent.”
“Indeed.” Roman approached the table, his gaze sweeping the room with wary precision.
Centuries pressed down on us, the darkness thick with secrets long buried.
Daggers had been meticulously arranged in a sunbeam pattern across the table’s polished surface. Empty spaces punctuated the design—gaps where blades should have been. A sickening realization twisted my stomach.
“Maybe those missing knives are on the Timehunters’ wish list.”
The thought made my blood boil.
“One of these must be the Sun Dagger,” I said. “Hold the candle over the table so I can see better.”
Roman lifted the light, and I ran my fingers over the hilts of the knives. Each blade pointed toward the center, where cryptic symbols had been painted in dark ink.
If this had been the twenty-first century, I would’ve pulled out my phone and snapped a picture. But this was sixteenth-century Italy. There was no Google to search cryptic symbols and their meanings—only my memory to rely on.
At the far end of the table, a blade caught my eye.
Tingles spread through my fingers as I traced the sun carved into its hilt.
“I think this is it!” My pulse quickened. “We’ve found the Sun Dagger! It looks like my knife, but bigger. And the script carved into the blade—it’s different.”
I lifted it carefully, turning it in my hands. The metal was ancient yet untouched by time, its craftsmanship intricate and menacing.
“It looks so powerful…” I murmured, running my fingers over the finely etched sun on the handle. “Exquisite.”
“Let’s examine it later,” Roman said, his tone sharp with urgency. “We need to leave.”
A sudden, grating sound tore through the chamber.
My head snapped up.
The walls were shifting. Panels pivoting.
A yelp escaped my lips as I scrambled around the table, instinct screaming at me to flee.
Three figures emerged from the darkness between the moving panels, clad in black from head to toe, their faces obscured by shadowy masks.
One of them spoke, his voice a knife in the silence.
“The blade is not yours. It does not belong to you.”
“Nor does it belong to you,” I shot back. “You stole it.”
I hurled the Sun Dagger at Roman. “Here!”
He caught it seamlessly, shoving the dagger into his leather boot swiftly.
The cloaked figures advanced—silent, menacing—closing in.
We were surrounded.
Roman and I scrambled onto the table, snatching up daggers so quickly that the blades clanged together in our hands. I dropped into a fighting stance, a snarl curling my lips as one of the attackers lunged at me.
Without breaking eye contact, I drove my heel down onto his outstretched hand. A sickening crunch echoed through the chamber as bones crunched beneath my foot.
He howled in agony but recovered fast, scrambling onto the table with a sweep of his boots, sending daggers skidding across the surface. Before I could react, he grabbed my arms and wrenched them behind my back.
I swung my head back, aiming for his nose—missed.
Roman moved in with a growl of contempt, tilting the candle holder until molten wax spilled like red-hot tears down the attacker’s face. The wax coated his eyes, searing into his skin and hardening into a grotesque ivory mask.
The man shrieked, thrashing, batting the candle from Roman’s hand. It struck the wall, tumbled to the floor, and snuffed out.
Darkness swallowed us whole.
A knife hissed through the air.
Roman grunted. A thud followed.
“What happened?” I whispered, pulse hammering.
The man let out a strangled gasp, then collapsed.
“I slit his throat,” Roman said.
A ragged breath from the dying man. “Raul is going to find you… He’ll torture you… then kill you with the poison…” His words faded into silence.
My heart pounded against my ribs. The dark was disorienting, swallowing sound and space alike.
“Where are you?” I murmured.
A hand brushed my cheek. “I’m here.”
“Back-to-back,” I said.
Roman pressed his back to mine, a solid wall of strength as we braced for the next attack.
I slashed my blade viciously into the darkness, a silent prayer on my lips that I’d hit my mark. A bellow of agony and rage confirmed my strike. Triumph surged through me.
One left.
Grappling sounds erupted behind me. Roman shifted away—shouts, curses, and brutal impacts filled the air. I clenched my dagger tighter, my breath shallow. I couldn’t see anything.
“Roman!” I cried.
“Let’s go! Now, Olivia!” His icy grip latched onto my fingers. “The last one is dead. We need to move!”
We scrambled out of the cavern, making our way toward the door. My body shook as we inched through the room of glistening skulls. The bones lining the walls seemed to reach for me, whispering silent pleas of the damned.
A fresh wave of nausea twisted my stomach. “Oh, God—I think I’m going to be sick.”
Roman’s grip tightened like a vice, pulling me forward. “Don’t stop.”
I choked down my rising panic as my fingertips brushed endless skulls’ cold, hard surfaces. Their hollow eyes felt like they were watching me.
Then—solid ground. My foot found the first step. A rush of relief hit me so hard that I nearly collapsed.
Roman gave a triumphant shout, his voice ricocheting through the macabre chamber. Still gripping each other’s hands, we raced up the stone staircase, our footfalls echoing like war drums.
At the top, we slammed into an unmoving wall of wood.
Roman cursed. “The bookshelf! It’s shut. How do we open it?”
“There has to be a way from inside,” I panted, running my fingers over the smooth surface. “You start at that end—I’ll start at this one.”
A beat of silence.
“Olivia, we’re in total darkness—which end are you referring to?” Roman asked dryly.
I grabbed his shoulders, spinning him to face the opposite direction. “You go that way; I’ll go this way. If you find a lever, a pull string, anything that feels like it should be pulled, cranked, or tugged—do it.”
“On it,” he said.
I moved quickly, feeling along the wall, my fingers searching every crevice. Crouching low, stretching high—then finally—there.
A small protrusion beneath my palm.
I pressed it.
A loud click echoed through the hidden chamber.
The bookshelf groaned as it eased open a crack, revealing a sliver of moonlight.
Roman and I rushed through, shoving the passage closed behind us.
The office was bathed in pale silver light, illuminating the stark contrast of blood against our clothing.
Roman exhaled sharply. “What now? We both look like hell.”