CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
OLIVIA
T he rhythmic clop of horse hooves against the dirt road was a lullaby, one I wished could soothe away the tangled complexities of my life. Inside the carriage, I cradled Luna to my chest, adjusting the light blanket over her as she nursed. The warmth of her small body grounded me, but it was a stark contrast to the chilling truth that our journey was no serene family outing—it was a perilous quest to unravel the mysteries hidden within the dagger’s hilt.
“Another kilometer or so, and we’ll stop,” Roman called back from his mount. His sharp eyes scanned the horizon, his vigilance an ever-present reminder of the dangers that stalked us. Malik rode beside him; his brow furrowed in concentration as his mind likely churned with strategies to keep us ahead of any unseen threat.
The carriage creaked with each dip in the uneven road, its wooden wheels spinning tirelessly. Roman had insisted on bringing it along, reasoning that its speed outmatched a wagon’s plodding pace.
“You need to rest, love,” he’d said gently when I’d protested. His hands, firm yet tender, had settled on my shoulders, grounding me in his unyielding determination. “And Luna needs you well.”
He had been right. The carriage offered me the privacy to nurse and the rare chance to stretch out my aching, weary body. Our belongings, bundled in modest packs, were tied securely to the top of the carriage—a testament to our effort to travel lightly and inconspicuously.
“We don’t want to draw attention,” Roman had explained as he fastened his pack to his saddle. “We’ll stop at taverns, but we can’t linger. We’re in a time crunch. Mathias and Alina could already be hunting us. We don’t know. We have to be swift, and we must find Pasha Hassan.”
His words echoed in my mind with every passing kilometer. Swiftness was our ally, secrecy our shield. Yet, as Luna’s tiny hand wrapped around my finger, a bittersweet ache settled in my chest. I longed for the life we’d been torn away from—a life filled with simple joys, untouched by the specter of danger that now shadowed every mile, every whisper of tomorrow.
Yet, here we were—Roman, Malik, Reyna, Rosie, baby Luna, and me—together in flight, bound by a cause greater than any individual desire. My body had regained its strength, but the lingering exhaustion remained, every jolt of the carriage a stark reminder of the trials I had endured. Yet my heart hammered with determination, an unyielding resolve to protect this makeshift family we’d become.
“Rest now,” Roman said, his voice soft but firm. His eyes found mine in brief, tender glances that carried promises unspoken. “I’ve got you.”
And in those fleeting moments, beneath the canopy of the vast sky, I believed him.
The weeks dragged on, each day blending into the next as we pressed forward. The weight of our shared purpose tempered the monotony of the journey. I reached out to Reyna, trying to offer solace in her grief. Since losing Osman, she had withdrawn into herself, her pain an impenetrable barrier. Malik, too, sought to console her with gentle words and protective gestures. Yet, I could sense something deeper within him—a simmering desire to be closer to her, to use his strength to shield her from further heartache.
The carriage jostled over the uneven road, its wheels groaning in protest as Roman urged the horses to maintain their grueling pace. I shifted in my seat, trying to ease the persistent ache in my back. Strapped against my spine, the sun and moon daggers pressed into me, their jeweled hilts catching the light like fragments of captured twilight. Below them, the familiar weight of my time-traveling dagger and Glock hugged my thighs—a dual reassurance of my ability to defend and protect should the need arise.
Luna lay nestled against my chest, her tiny breaths warm and steady. At only six weeks old, she already bore the weight of a fugitive’s life, her innocence a stark contrast to the dangers that surrounded us.
My thoughts drifted to Mathias—my grandfather turned evil adversary—and my mother, whose relentless desire to kill me twisted like a knife in my heart. Yet, what perplexed me most was the newfound absence of fear toward Balthazar. Where dread once loomed, a peculiar sense of tranquility had taken place. In the swirling chaos of our lives, perhaps the only clarity I could grasp was the singular focus of finding the scripture to awaken the blades.
As we emerged from the dense woods of France, the landscape unfolded into a breathtaking panorama. Vast farmlands stretched endlessly, their golden grains swaying in the gentle breeze. Lush vineyards and vegetable gardens scattered across the countryside, vibrant-green and deep-red bursts contrasting the blue horizon. Sheep, cattle, and goats grazed contentedly while diligent farmers toiled under the warm sun, their hands shaping the land with tireless devotion.
Along the road, groups of travelers trudged steadily, all heading in the same direction as us. Roman, as fluent in French as I was, approached one of the groups to inquire.
“Where are you headed?” he asked.
“We are making our way to Vézelay,” a man replied, his weathered face alight with purpose. “It is a major stop on the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela. We will pay homage to the Basilica of Saint Mary Magdalene. See it there?”
Following his outstretched arm, I caught sight of it—a majestic town perched on a hill, crowned by the towering silhouette of the Basilica. Its grandeur beckoned us closer, an unspoken invitation laced with the promise of discovery.
“ Merci ,” Roman said, tipping his head before urging his horse onward.
As we crested the hill, the scene before me stole my breath. The Basilica of Saint Mary Magdalene stood resplendent against the azure sky, its weathered stone walls radiating strength and faith. Sunlight spilled across the clay-tiled roof, painting the structure in warm, golden hues. The murmur of pilgrims and travelers drifted toward us on the breeze, their voices mingling with the rustle of leaves, creating a harmony that seemed to belong to another world entirely.
Beyond the Basilica, the dimly lit sign of a tavern swung in the evening breeze. The soles of my feet ached with every jostle of the carriage, and my back protested with sharp twinges. Every muscle in my body cried out for relief, for the sweet reprieve of a soft mattress and a warm blanket. Heavy with exhaustion, my eyes threatened to close, their weight greater than my resolve to push forward. The promise of rest became my only thought, far more enticing than any prayer or forgiveness the holy sanctuary could offer.
The tavern was tucked between two timber-framed houses, its creaking wooden sign illuminated by the glow of lantern light from its windows. The warm, golden light promised comfort and respite from the biting chill of the evening air.
When we dismounted, my arms instinctively tightened around Luna, her small weight grounding me amidst the weariness. Roman led the way, his shoulders squared and strong, carrying the silent burden of protecting us all. Behind him, Malik dismounted, his gaze lingering on Reyna with a tenderness he tried and failed to hide.
Pushing open the heavy door, we were greeted by a wave of heat and the mingling aromas of roasting meat, ale, and burning pine. The sound of lively chatter and the strumming of a bard’s lute filled the air, a sharp contrast to the somber silence of the road. My stomach growled audibly, reminding me how long it had been since we’d eaten anything more substantial than dried bread and cheese. The tavern’s low ceiling and exposed wooden beams gave it a cozy, intimate feel, and the flickering candles on the tables added to the inviting atmosphere. It felt like a sanctuary where the world’s weight might be momentarily set aside.
“We need three rooms,” Roman said to the tavern keeper, a plump woman with shrewd eyes squinted at us over her ledger.
“Three rooms?” she repeated, a smirk tugging at her lips. “What kind of place do you think this is? Pilgrims are everywhere, seeking refuge for the night. I only have two rooms, and you’ll have to share. Comprenez-vous? ”
“ Oui, ” Roman replied with a curt nod. “I understand.”
Malik shifted uncomfortably beside me, his eyes darting toward Reyna. The infatuation he felt for her was clear in every glance, every lingering moment where his attention strayed to her. She, however, met his gaze with wary distrust, her grief and guardedness forming an invisible barrier between them.
“I’ll take the floor,” Malik offered quickly, his voice steady despite the faint flush on his face.
Roman handled the arrangements with his usual calm resolve, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his frustration. Coins clinked against the wooden counter; a small fortune was exchanged for a chance at rest. He always seemed to carry the weight of our survival with unflappable grace, and I admired him for it.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, carrying the unspoken promise that he would bear the weight of our world—a world teetering on the brink of chaos.
As I followed him to our assigned quarters, Luna cradled in my arms; I wondered what the morning would bring. For now, we had shelter, and we had each other. That would have to be enough.
The room was modest, dimly lit by the flickering glow of a solitary candle. The walls, weathered and uneven, seemed to echo the weariness in my soul. Luna, my sweet anchor in the storm, stirred gently against me as I shrugged free of my heavy cloak. Roman set our belongings in the corner, his movements deliberate as he arranged the cloak into a makeshift nest. I carefully placed Luna onto the soft fabric, tucking the edges around her small form to shield her from the world’s weight beyond these walls. My heart ached for the life we deserved—a life unmarked by fear, pursuit, and shadows that loomed too close.
“Olivia,” Roman murmured, breaking into my reverie, “I ordered you a bath. I will give you a massage afterward.”
His words were simple, yet they carried a tenderness that contradicted the steel we needed to survive these past weeks. His eyes, filled with quiet devotion, were a balm against the raw edges of my heart.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles, and slipped out to check on the bath.
Alone with my thoughts, I yearned for more than survival. I longed for his touch—not out of necessity, but as a reminder of life and love amidst the encroaching shadows.
“My love,” Roman called softly from across the hall.
The sight that greeted me was a rare luxury. Steam rose from the surface of a large copper bath, swirling in lazy tendrils like fingers beckoning me closer. The warmth reached out, easing the ache in my weary muscles before I even stepped inside.
“Is it not custom for the men to bathe first in this era?” I teased, a weak attempt at humor as I approached the bath. “Women and children get the dirty water, don’t they?”
Roman’s lips curved into a wry smile. “Perhaps,” he said.
“But we are not bound by time, my love. Social customs are for those who obey them—not us.”
Our own rules and our own needs bound us.
“Of course, you come first. You and the baby are the most important things in the world,” Roman murmured, his voice low and steady as his warm hands reached for me. Rough yet gentle, they were the hands of a man who had weathered countless storms, and I melted into his touch.
With practiced ease, he began unfastening the buttons of my woolen traveling overgown, letting it slide to the ground in a soft heap around our feet. His familiar scent enveloped me, a heady mixture of pine and leather, washing over me like a soothing balm. It had been far too long since we had shared such moments, and I reveled in his hands gliding over my skin, grounding me in a world that so often threatened to tear us apart.
The woolen kirtle followed, its earthy tones and comforting texture slipping away, leaving only the cool air to brush against my skin. My linen chemise was the last barrier, and Roman removed it with deliberate care as if unwrapping a treasure he had long sought to claim. I felt an intoxicating mix of liberation and vulnerability with each layer shed. My senses heightened, every breath and movement becoming part of an intricate, intimate dance.
He untied the straps securing my blades with reverence, his fingers steady as they worked. It was as though he were peeling back the layers of our shared struggle to expose the woman beneath—the woman he cherished above all else.
“So beautiful, my love,” he murmured, his voice deep and rich, like velvet draped over molten gold. His heated gaze roamed over me, igniting a warmth that spread from my cheeks down to my very core. My hands instinctively went to my stomach, still soft and bearing the marks of motherhood. A flicker of self-consciousness crept in, but before I could speak, he stepped closer, his voice a raw mixture of tenderness and desire.
“So fucking beautiful,” he repeated, his words dripping with admiration and longing as if daring me to see myself as he did.
I pushed past my self-consciousness, allowing the tidal wave of desire to consume me. Every fiber of my being was deeply, madly in love with this man. His mere presence sent my heart racing and my hands trembling. I couldn’t resist the pull toward him. This love was all-consuming, saturating every inch of my soul until nothing remained but the raw, aching need for his touch, his presence.
He kissed my jaw, neck, and collarbones while caressing my bare skin.
“We’ll get to the connection we both ache for,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger and restraint. “But first, I need you to rest. Rejuvenate. Restore yourself—for me.”
His words dripped with unspoken promises, and I obeyed, letting him guide me into the bath. The steaming water rose around me like a lover’s embrace, licking at my skin, soothing every ache and stirring every nerve. For a fleeting moment, I closed my eyes and imagined a world where his touch wasn’t fleeting—a life where every inch of my body was his to explore without fear or interruption.
The quiet clink of copper broke through the haze, drawing my gaze to him. Roman stood at the bath’s edge, his powerful body backlit by firelight, the pitcher in his hands steaming with heat. His eyes darkened as they raked over me, and a slow smile curled his lips—predatory, possessive.
He tipped the pitcher, letting the water flow in a slow, deliberate cascade. Steam curled into the air like a seductive whisper, warming my skin.
“Let me,” he said, his voice deep, commanding, yet impossibly tender.
I turned toward him, my body languid and exposed, and watched as he peeled away his clothes. Each piece dropped to the floor with a quiet thud, revealing inch after inch of flawless, bronzed muscle. Firelight kissed the ridges of his body, highlighting every line, every curve, every sinfully carved detail. My breath caught as my eyes roamed over him, lingering on the hard, thick length of him that stood proudly between his thighs, a testament to his arousal.
“Roman,” I breathed, the sound trembling with desire.
“You’re breathtaking,” he murmured, stepping into the water with a grace that belied his size. “My greatest temptation.”
He moved behind me, his chest pressing against my back, hard and unyielding, a stark contrast to the soft curve of my body. His hands found my hair, threading through it with a gentle tug that sent a jolt of heat straight to my core. The herb-scented soap lathered under his hands, and he began washing me, his touch reverent yet teasing.
The scent of wildflowers and rain wrapped around us, but it was his touch that consumed me. His hands moved over my shoulders, down my arms, across my breasts. He lingered there, his fingers kneading the sensitive flesh, his thumbs brushing over my aching nipples until I gasped, arching into him.
“God, Roman,” I moaned, my voice heavy with need.
He tilted my head back, his lips finding the sensitive curve of my neck. He kissed me there, his tongue flicking over my skin before his teeth scraped in a way that made me shiver. His hard cock pressed against my lower back, the heat of it branding me even through the water.
“Do you feel what you do to me?” he growled, his voice rough with desire.
“Yes,” I whispered, my thighs parting instinctively under the water.
His hands slid lower, tracing the curve of my waist, and my hips, before slipping between my thighs. His fingers found me slick and ready, and he groaned, the sound low and guttural.
“You’re soaked for me,” he murmured against my ear, his fingers sliding inside me with deliberate slowness. “So tight… so perfect.”
I cried out as he began moving his fingers, his strokes unhurried but devastatingly precise. His thumb found my clit, circling it in a rhythm that had my breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Roman,” I moaned, reaching back to grasp his thigh, desperate for more.
“Not yet,” he said, his voice a sinful tease. He withdrew his fingers, earning a whimper of protest, only to turn me to face him.
The water rippled as he pulled me onto his lap, the hard length of him pressing against my core, tantalizing but just out of reach. He cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip before he kissed me—a kiss that was all-consuming, devouring.
His lips moved from mine, trailing down my neck, my collarbone, until they found my breast. He took the swollen peak into his mouth, his tongue flicking over it before his teeth grazed just enough to make me cry out.
“You’re addictive,” he murmured against my skin, his voice rough, raw.
His hand found its way back between my legs, and this time, there was no teasing. His fingers plunged into me, deep and demanding, curling to find that perfect spot inside me that made me see stars.
“That’s it,” he growled, his thumb pressing against my clit, his pace quickening as my body arched into him. “Come for me, Olivia. I want to feel you shatter.”
And shatter I did. My climax hit me like a wave, powerful and all-consuming, leaving me trembling in his arms, my cries echoing in the steamy air.
As I slumped against him, breathless and boneless, he cradled me, his lips brushing over my temple. But the hard, insistent press of his cock against my belly told me he wasn’t done.
“We’re far from over,” he whispered against my lips, his erection pressing insistently against me. “This is only the beginning.”
Lifting me from the bath with the ease of a man accustomed to wielding both blade and love, Roman cradled my still-quivering body against his own. Rivulets of water cascaded down our skin, mingling as if reluctant to part from the warmth of our touch. With one arm securing me, he reached for the sun and moon daggers, their hilts cool against his fingers as he gathered them from the nearby stand. His gaze swept through the foggy tendrils of steam filling the room, ensuring our privacy remained intact before carrying me toward the door.
“Okay, it’s safe,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that heightened my senses. He carried me out of the washroom and back into the seclusion of our chamber. The door clicked shut behind us, and I felt the distance between us and the world widen with every step.
Baby Luna lay in peaceful slumber, her tiny chest rising and falling rhythmically, undisturbed by our return.
Roman laid me on the bed, our damp, heated bodies imprinting the sheets like a brand. With deliberate care, he set the sun and moon daggers on the floor beside us—close enough to reach, yet forgotten for now. His eyes burned with a wild mix of mischief and feral hunger, his body hovering over me like a predator savoring prey. The weight of his gaze alone was enough to send a pulse of heat straight to my core, my thighs parting instinctively in invitation.
Without a word, he lowered himself between my legs, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, his stubble leaving the faintest, tantalizing burn. His hands slid up my legs, spreading me open with firm, possessive confidence. His breath ghosted over my center, the anticipation alone enough to make me tremble.
“You’re already soaking for me,” he murmured, his voice thick and approving. “I could devour you all night.”
And then he did. His tongue darted out, the first touch soft and teasing, like the flick of a flame. He circled my clit, slow, deliberate, his lips closing around it to suck lightly, then harder, pulling a broken moan from my lips. His mouth was relentless, his tongue alternating between gentle strokes and fierce, insistent laps that sent bolts of electricity shooting through my body.
“Fuck, Roman,” I gasped, arching off the bed, desperate for more, desperate for him to push me over the edge.
He didn’t relent. His fingers joined the assault, sliding into my wet heat with ease, curling upward to find the spot that made me see stars. His thrusts were deep, precise, in perfect harmony with his tongue against my clit.
The pleasure built in waves, cresting higher and higher until I shattered beneath him. My orgasm tore through me, fierce and all-consuming, my cries muffled only by the need to keep our sleeping child undisturbed. My thighs trembled against his head as he held me there, his tongue still working me gently, drawing out every last shudder and whimper.
Before I could catch my breath, I tugged him upward, my hands fisting in his damp hair, dragging his mouth to mine. I tasted myself on his lips as I kissed him with feral desperation, biting at his bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth until he groaned, deep and guttural.
“Inside me,” I whispered, my voice hoarse, my body still trembling from the aftershocks. “Now.”
He didn’t hesitate. Roman positioned himself between my thighs, the thick head of his cock pressing against my entrance, teasing, stretching. He slid into me with one slow, deliberate thrust, filling me completely and making me cry out in pure, unbridled ecstasy.
“God, you feel perfect,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my entire body.
He moved inside me, his rhythm slow at first, deep, agonizingly thorough, until my hips bucked against his, demanding more. And then he gave it to me. His thrusts turned fierce, desperate, each one harder and faster, hitting that spot inside me that made me scream his name like a prayer.
My nails dug into his back, raking down his skin, and he groaned in response, his head dipping to claim my mouth in a kiss so raw, so consuming, it left me breathless. His teeth grazed my neck and my collarbone before his lips found my nipple, biting and suckling in a way that sent jolts of pleasure straight to my core.
The room was filled with the sounds of us—our moans, our gasps, the slap of his hips against mine, the wet, sinful noise of him driving into me again and again.
“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice ragged, his eyes blazing as they locked onto mine. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I cried out, my body tightening around him as another orgasm built within me, threatening to consume me whole. “Always yours.”
He groaned, his rhythm faltering as he thrust into me one last time, his release triggering my own. I shattered beneath him, my body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crashed over me, pulling me under, leaving me gasping, trembling, and utterly spent.
Roman collapsed beside me, pulling me against his chest, his body still warm and slick with sweat. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close, his lips brushing against my temple in a soft, reverent kiss.
There was only us for a moment—our bodies still tangled, the outside world forgotten, and the storm of passion between us finally calmed. But as I lay there, wrapped in his warmth, the weight of our reality began to creep back in, cold and unforgiving.
“Roman,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, “what if the Timehunters find us? What if they take our baby?”
My fingers traced invisible patterns across his sweat-slicked chest the repetitive motion a futile attempt to calm the storm brewing within me. His steady presence grounded me, but even that couldn’t stop the chaos in my mind. My anxiety surged, my thoughts racing faster than the heartbeat pounding in my chest.
“These dreams,” I murmured, my voice trembling under the weight of unspoken fears. “They keep haunting me. I can’t shake the feeling that something is holding me back, blocking me, keeping me from remembering.”
The memories of my past—the ones that were supposedly the key to my destiny—hovered just out of reach like a foggy mist obscuring the truth. Frustration and fear warred within me, leaving a hollow ache in their wake.
“It’s fear. You’re afraid,” he said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead, his touch warm and reassuring.
“What could I be afraid of?” I asked, though deep down, my heart whispered the answer before the words left my lips. “I think… I think it’s because I had a relationship with Malik, and maybe—just maybe—I had a connection to Balthazar that wasn’t based on fear or mistrust. What if I find out my destiny is bigger than me? Too big to handle?”
Before he could reply, a small whimper cut through the room, breaking the tension. Luna’s tiny fists flailed in the air, her face scrunched in the early signs of hunger. Her cry, though soft, was insistent, a reminder of the life we were fighting for.
I rose and scooped her up, cradling her against me as she latched on eagerly, her soft suckling the only sound in the quiet night. Roman watched us, his lips curving into a playful pout.
“You know,” he said with mock grievance, “I am quite jealous of Luna. She gets to nurse all the time from your lovely breasts.”
A laugh bubbled up from within me, breaking through the heaviness that had settled over my chest.
“Luna will share,” I teased, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. The lightness in our exchange was a small reprieve, a moment of normalcy amidst the chaos of our lives.
As Luna’s eyelids fluttered closed once more, leaving her sated and content in my arms, I met Roman’s gaze. In his eyes, I found not just love but an unwavering resolve that steadied my trembling spirit.
“We will get through this together,” he said, his voice low but filled with determination. His words wrapped around me like a protective shield, each syllable a vow.
He leaned closer, his lips brushing softly against my neck, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses that sent shivers down my spine.
“No matter what obstacles come our way, I will always be by your side, protecting you and our daughter,” he murmured. “Together, we’ll face whatever challenges arise. And together, we’ll overcome them.”
As his words settled over me, the edges of my fear began to soften, melting into a deep sense of security and love. For a fleeting moment, the heavy weight of uncertainty lightened, and I allowed myself to lean into the comfort he offered, taking whatever reprieve I could find.
Yet, beneath the warmth of his assurances, I could feel the looming presence of the trials ahead. The challenges waiting for us grew more daunting with each passing moment, like invisible barriers tightening their hold. Fear gnawed at the edges of my resolve, but I clung to the determination that flickered within me, bracing myself for the road yet to come.