Page 21 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
“Jalend,” she gasped, her voice raw, as she writhed against me. “Jalend… oh gods!”
She screamed my name as she came apart, her body convulsing around me, her back arching as her climax ripped through her, a violent, beautiful surrender. I swallowed her cries with my kiss as I continued to move against her, holding her tight against me, using only my hips to thrust deep inside. Gods I wanted to come, to claim her, fill her, but I fought against it, wanting to prolong this moment. Her body, slick and hot against mine, her mouth kissing me with abandon even as she whimpered my name, and her soaking wet pussy tight around my cock like she was made for me. I wanted this moment to last forever, even as the pressure built inside me, a blinding, white-hot need that threatened to shatter my control. I felt her body begin to tense around me, her inner muscles clenching in the first tremors of her release.
"Livia," I choked out. “Come with me, love.”
Her eyes flew open, fixing on mine and in them, I saw my own desperation reflected, a raw, unguarded need that went beyond the physical. Her answer was a choked sob, a final, complete surrender as she shattered. The sight of her, the feel of her body breaking apart around me, was the only permission I needed. My own control snapped.
A guttural cry ripped from my own throat, as I called her name, my release a violent, shuddering wave, emptying me of all the anger, the loneliness, the desperate, aching love I had carried for her. I poured myself into her, not just my body, but every broken piece of my soul.
When the storm passed, I collapsed against her, my forehead resting on her damp shoulder, my lungs burning. We lay tangled in the sheets, our bodies slick with sweat, the only sound in the room the ragged counterpoint of our breathing. My hand came up to trace the line of a scar on her ribs, the raised skin a testament to a life I could barely comprehend. It didn't matter. None of it mattered.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat that echoed the rhythm of hers. I was still buried deep inside her, unwilling to break the connection, to let the cold reality of the world seep back in. This was real. This was the only thing that had ever felt truly real. I wanted to stay here forever, in this quiet, breathless space where none of the lies mattered, but I knew we couldn’t.
I pressed a final, exhausted kiss to her lips, as I shifted my weight, pulling the coverlet over us, cocooning us in the aftermath. She curled into my side, her head resting on my chest, her breathing finally evening out into the soft sighs of exhaustion. I pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair.
She was a fugitive. A killer. A rebel. Loving her might cost me my title, my future, my life. But as I held her sleeping form against me, I knew with a certainty that shook me to my core that the only thing I couldn't survive was losing her again.
8
Ifound Livia on her hands and knees in the eastern corridor, scrubbing the stone floors with a coarse brush that had already left her knuckles raw and bleeding. The sight of her like that—bent over like a common servant, her Academy uniform stained with dirty water—sent a familiar rage coursing through my veins.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered, crouching down beside her. "You're a dragon rider, not a scullery maid."
She looked up at me, pushing a strand of dark hair from her face with the back of her wrist. There was exhaustion in her eyes, but also a kind of grim satisfaction that I recognized all too well. It was the same look she'd worn in the ludus after particularly brutal training sessions—battered but unbroken.
"It's honest work," she said simply, returning to her scrubbing. "I've done worse."
That was exactly the problem. Shehaddone worse, and the Academy masters had no idea that their attempt at humiliation was falling completely flat. They thought they were breaking down a spoiled noble girl, teaching her humility through meniallabour. Instead, they were giving a former slave tasks that probably felt like a holiday compared to what she'd endured.
"The other students are talking," I warned, keeping my voice low. A group of Valeria's friends had passed by earlier, making loud comments about "putting the savage in her place" and wondering if cleaning floors might teach her "proper behaviour." I'd wanted to break their pretty little necks.
"Let them talk." Livia's brush scraped against the stone with unnecessary force. "Their opinions matter about as much as a dragon's fart in a windstorm."
Despite my frustration, I couldn't help but smile at that. Even exhausted and humiliated, she still had fire. It was one of the things I loved most about her—that unbreakable core that had kept her alive through everything we'd faced.
"Valeria's been keeping her distance though," I observed. "Haven't seen her anywhere near you since the fight."
Livia paused in her scrubbing, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Good. Maybe she finally learned her lesson."
"Or maybe she's planning something." I caught her hand, stilling the brush. "Scared people can be more dangerous than angry ones, Liv. When someone's used to being the predator and suddenly finds themselves prey, they don't always react rationally."
She pulled her hand free, but gently. "She's a bully, Marcus. Bullies fold when someone stands up to them. She won't risk another confrontation after what happened."
I wanted to argue, to tell her that my years of reading people—first as a gladiator trying to survive, then as someone navigating the complex social hierarchies of the capital—had taught me that wounded pride could be more dangerous than open hostility. But I could see the stubborn set of her jaw, the way her shouldershad tensed. She'd made up her mind, and pushing would only make her dig in deeper.
Instead, I stood and offered her my hand. "Come on. You've been at this for hours. Even the masters can't expect you to work through dinner."
She accepted my help, wincing slightly as she straightened. Her knees were probably aching from kneeling on stone for so long. "I suppose I could eat something."
As we walked back toward our quarters, I debated whether to tell her about Antonius and my plans for the afternoon. We'd received word that the last of the bodies from the festival bombing had been recovered, and we wanted to check them ourselves. Neither of us really believed we'd find Tarshi and Septimus there—if they were dead, their bodies would have been found by now. But we needed to be certain.
The other possibility—that they'd been captured alive—was somehow worse. We'd heard whispers about other resistance members who'd been taken by the Imperial Guard, subjected to interrogation techniques that made ludus punishments look gentle. Some had eventually been released, broken and terrified. Others had simply disappeared.
"Any word?" Livia asked quietly, as if reading my thoughts.
"Nothing concrete." I kept my voice carefully neutral. "Antonius and I are going to check the morgues this afternoon, just to be thorough. The last bodies were brought in yesterday."
She nodded, not asking the obvious question—what we'd do if we found them. What we'd do if we didn't. The resistance network had gone underground after the bombing, and without Mira and Kalen's leadership, most of us were operating blind. We'd tried to make contact with other cells, but it was like shouting into a void.
