Chapter V Trajan #2
“She’s free to go anywhere she wants in the city, provided she has her bodyguards.”
And she wears her muzzle like a dog.
“But I was surprised to hear you were in the Aventine,” he added accusingly.
Fuck.
“Is it common for you to mingle with the plebs?” Valerius continued, his dark eyes narrowed like a serpent’s.
“Not at all. But the common folk there have better remedies and potions.” I held his hard gaze.
“And what remedies were you seeking?”
“Perhaps it wasn’t a remedy. Perhaps it was a poison.”
Silence stretched. There was movement at my elbow. “Trajan, why don’t you take a walk around the room. There’s an issue I’d like to discuss with Consul Valerius.”
Without another word, I stepped past Valerius, but he caught my arm in an iron grip.
“I saw the way you looked at her at my house,” he seethed, his canines elongating. “Don’t think to covet what is mine.”
“Perhaps she won’t be yours much longer.”
“What do you mean by that?” he spat.
“Trajan.” Grandfather snapped my name in warning. “Remember your place.”
The consul was my superior in the senate house, even though my family and lineage far outranked him in society. My grandfather couldn’t care less about Valerius’s station, but losing my temper would only draw unwanted attention from the emperor.
Pulling my arm from his grip, I bowed my head, willing my blood to cool. “Forgive me, Consul. I’ve had too much to drink. I meant nothing by it.”
With as much reserve I could muster, I walked away, noting only a few had turned their heads at the small disturbance. One of them was Fausta Ovidius, who was standing and chatting with Agrippa. The one I’d heard speaking to Lela from her litter on the street. What a nice coincidence.
I strolled over to them, where a male in a jewel-blue skirt—Appius’s house colors—held a tray of honey-drizzled dates.
“Salve, Agrippa. I didn’t see you arrive. Good to see you, Fausta. Beautiful and elegant as always.”
“Why, thank you, Trajan,” she crooned, wearing a one-shouldered silvery-black stola that hugged her beautiful frame. “I was asking Agrippa here how Appius seems to have the finest-looking slaves in all of Rome.”
“Does he?” I glanced around, noting his many male slaves moving about the room. They were all muscular men with sleek dark hair and handsome features. They wore blue silk skirts, revealing their bronzed chests and shoulders, which were dusted with blue and gold glitter, enhancing their physiques.
“Simply look at them.” She scoffed with a feminine laugh. “I must know his secret.”
“Not much of a secret,” I added. “They’re Macedonian. I believe he paid a hefty price for them.”
I also knew that he bought them specifically for their strength and prowess as warriors before they were defeated on General Sabinus’s last campaign there. He was preparing, gathering strong warriors to his household.
“I see why.” She ogled the one still holding a tray at her right as she took a date and chewed it seductively.
“Perhaps Agrippa here can keep you apprised if Scippio’s campaign in Macedonia bears any fruit.”
“Why are we back in Macedonia?” Fausta asked in that docile, empty-headed way of vapid females.
The fact was, Fausta was neither docile nor empty-headed.
When her second husband died of some mysterious illness, she became the wealthiest woman in Rome.
No one knew how either of her husbands actually died—both suddenly and without specifically identified causes.
Now she owned and ran the most prosperous grain import and export business in all of Rome.
She wasn’t vapid, but she liked people to believe that she was. Which made her all the more intelligent. And dangerous.
“My son, Marcellus, is the new tribune to Legatus Scippio,” said Agrippa in his stern manner of speaking. “Apparently, some of the provinces there have slowed sending their tribute and taxes to Rome. Scippio is there to ensure they pay Caesar in a timely manner.”
“Wonderful. I hope they are swift in their endeavors. But I hope some of them put up a real fight against the general and your son’s army.”
“Why is that?” Agrippa asked, genuinely concerned.
“So that they’re forced to bring back the warriors and sell them at market,” she said with a trilling laugh before licking the honey off a finger, giving me a flirtatious wink.
“I see your grandfather is here, Trajan. If you’ll excuse me.” Agrippa ducked away with a swift bow of the head to Fausta.
“Agrippa doesn’t know what to do with a flirtatious woman,” I noted as soon as we were alone. “Was it your aim to frighten him away?”
Fausta’s carefree gaze became assessing, studying me carefully.
Her light brown hair was immaculately coifed, with a single thick curl hanging over one shoulder.
Diamond-studded dragon combs were pinned in her hair, and around her neck she wore a black-jeweled dragon that curled around her throat as if it were sleeping against her pale skin.
“Perhaps it was, Tribune. Maybe I wanted you all to myself.”
“Now you have me.”
“I haven’t had the chance to congratulate you on your promotion to tribune.” She plucked another honeyed date from the tray then shooed the servant away. “That was unexpected, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” I answered coolly. “But appreciated.”
“You seem better built for the battlefield than the floor of the senate house. Whatever will you do with your sword now?”
Her smile was all sex.
“I’m sure I’ll find some place to put it.”
“Must keep that blade sharp, Trajan.”
“Do you have a special whetstone for me?”
“I might.” She bit and chewed her date.
I took a sip of wine, wondering at the games Fausta played.
She’d never shown any interest in me. And though my family was the oldest and most renowned in the senate, I couldn’t imagine she flirted so aggressively because she had designs on me as her next husband.
Or even lover. We’d never said more than a few words at parties, and none that hinted at seduction.
“So how is the grain business?” I asked.
“No, no, silly man. That’s too droll. Keep to the more enticing topics. Besides, the grain business is always doing well.”
“And keeping you a wealthy, powerful woman.”
“The only kind to be.” She examined me over her silver goblet as she sipped her wine.
“What do you do with all that power, I wonder?” I asked.
“Must I do something with it?”
“Seems a waste, if not.”
“True. Perhaps I simply lure handsome men into scintillating conversation with me.”
“Is that a euphemism for your bed?”
She tossed her head back and laughed. “My, my, Tribune Tiberius. You play this game so much better than most.”
“But you just called me droll.”
“How could I possibly think a man boring who served the most infamous general in all of Rome? Who happened to be his dearest comrade, according to many. But rather than be interrogated more closely by Caesar,” she noted, narrowing her eyes curiously, “he was awarded a high-ranking station in the senate instead.”
No. She wasn’t remotely vapid. She was suspicious of me. Dangerous, indeed.
I held her gaze, the musicians’ music and loud chatter of the party filling the void between us. She watched me, her eyes brightening with her dragon.
“That is rather curious, isn’t it?” I added casually. “But we all know that even if he was my dearest friend, that ceased to be the moment he betrayed our emperor.”
“Of course.” She nodded and smiled. “You are a true and loyal citizen to Rome, I am sure of it.”
No. She wasn’t sure at all. That’s why she was poking and prodding.
“Just as I am sure you are,” I said, dipping my head lower, my voice dropping. “No matter that you slide secret notes to slaves on the street.”
Instantly, her heartbeat catapulted, her pupils dilated, and her mouth dropped open in surprise. And fear.
Then she blinked the shock away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do.”
“Are you following me?” she asked on a laugh, trying for coy but failing miserably.
Of course, I wasn’t. I was following the woman she gave the missive to.
“Don’t worry, Fausta. I’m not after you, though I’d love to know what your little note said.”
“I believe you’ve had too much to drink.” She glanced away. “You’re imagining things.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” I gave her a genuine smile. “Just be more careful, my lady.”
I bowed and headed for the exit. I’d done my rounds and was eager to go, but of course it wasn’t quickly enough.
As I marched through the entry hallway—now empty since Appius had joined his guests—Quintus exited the curtained latrina. Right after him, a slave girl hurried out, lifting the strap of her gown back in place on her shoulder. She saw me and then ducked her head, scurrying back to the kitchen.
“Quintus,” I snapped, suddenly furious, “my relative’s slaves aren’t yours to use however you want.”
He laughed, adjusting his own toga that was askew and combing a hand through his sweat-drenched hair.
“Don’t worry, Trajan. There’s plenty if you want a piece.”
I stepped in front of him before he could pass. “I should report you to Appius. He doesn’t take stealing lightly.”
For that’s what this would be considered in the imperial court. When any dragon uses or rapes a slave that isn’t his own, it’s considered theft. The price is to lose a hand if not more. Not to mention the depravity of the deed itself.
Quintus’s eyes flared gold with his beast. I yearned for him to shift, so that I could do the same and draw blood.
“I didn’t know you were such a schoolboy, Trajan. Or perhaps you just need to stick your dick in a slave of your own.”
“I don’t use slaves to satisfy baser needs. That would be your territory.”
His grin was cruel when he said, “You’re right. Perhaps I need to aim higher. How are those pretty sisters of yours doing? What’s the blond one’s name? Junia?”
I cracked my fist in his face, relishing the sting in my hand as he flew back onto the stone floor. In an instant, I was on top of him, my knee in his chest, my hand on his throat.
“Don’t you ever even think about my sisters again,” I grated.
Quintus only laughed. His mouth bled at the corner as he bit out, “It’s time for me to settle down, I think. Mount a wife and get her to pop out a few sons.” He licked the blood off his lip, his tongue forked as his dragon deepened his voice. “Sweet little Junia would do well.”
I swung and cracked my knuckles against his jaw again when someone pulled me off him. One of the Macedonian slaves.
I shoved off him, feeling the sharp pain of transformation burning in my veins as my dragon tried to edge me out. Pushing past the servants who’d gathered around at the sound of trouble, I hurried through the exit before anyone from the party saw.
Storming out into the night, I tried to wrangle the beast back into the cave.
He wanted out. He wanted to kill. But the only death that would satisfy was that of the dragon back inside that party.
I’d kept my sisters tucked away safely from Rome, but Valerius was Caesar’s favorite puppet.
And Quintus was his most loyal dog. If he asked for a betrothal to one of my eligible sisters, Caesar could command it.
Nausea stirred in my belly. I stepped toward the stables and gripped the wall, spitting the bile that filled my mouth.
“Sir?” The stableman stepped forward with the reins of my horse Apollo. “Can I assist you?”
Heaving another breath, I stood straight. “Not unless you can murder a man for me.”
“Sir?”
I lifted myself into the saddle and launched into a gallop, knowing full well nothing would sate the beast tonight. Nothing but one thing … blood.