J. Geissinger - Edge of Oblivion

Her heart pole-vaulted over her breastbone.

Feeling like a character out of Indiana Jones , she unclasped the medallion from her neck and shakily approached the small niche in the wall. Without breathing, she set the medallion flush against the ancient brick and jumped back with a yelp when the lid of the sarcophagus directly behind her popped open with a puff of dust and the low groan of stone on stone.

“Oh, hell, no,” she said into the ancient, sinister hush. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The answering silence was deafening.

She stood in the center of the mausoleum for several minutes, arguing the pros and cons with herself. She’d found what she’d come looking for—possibly—and now she could go back and tell Xander...ask for his help...

If it wasn’t for you, Julian might still be alive.

Right. Xander was the last one who would want to help.

Fighting back the sudden, bitter onslaught of tears, Morgan snapped the necklace back around her neck, strode over to the sarcophagus, and pushed the lid wide open. Peering down, she saw a set of impossibly narrow steps descending into impenetrable blackness. She sat on the edge of the hulking stone coffin and swung her legs over, then, moving as silently as her feet would allow, stepped down into darkness.

D stared down at the folded note in his hand. Change of plans , it read, in the lilting, elegant script he recognized as Eliana’s. Meet before Purgare? Sunken church. One half hour.

He dismissed the blushing young handmaiden who’d brought it with a curt nod that made her blush deepen. As she backed quickly out of the room and fled into the safety of the dark corridor beyond, D slowly unwound the tape around his knuckles.

His bare chest was bathed in sweat, the muscles in his arms and shoulders ached, his breathing was heavy, but he was satisfied that the punching bag he’d been beating the life out of for the past hour had served its purpose. He’d be calmer now, his head clearer.

And he was definitely going to need that.

He left the gym with his duffel bag in hand and went to the adjoining multiroomed thermae, where warm spring waters bubbled up naturally from the bedrock far below. He was alone in the baths at this hour, but he didn’t bother with his usual postworkout soak. He got himself clean as quickly as possible, dried off, and dressed, then, after a quick side trip to stash the duffel in his footlocker in the private quarters of the Bellatorum , set out for the sunken church.

On the way, he burned Eliana’s note with a lighter and let the ashes drift to the ground.

No one would miss him at this hour. The Bellatorum were allowed personal time prior to the Purgare , and in any case, Celian, Lix, and Constantine—all now healed—had decided to play with a quartet of nubile young Electi the King had grown bored with and gifted them for their pleasure.

Our pleasure , he thought grimly. But I’m not interested in anything other than what I’m going to meet now.

Twenty minutes later he’d wound through the maze of catacombs and stood silent in the shadows of the sunken church, waiting for her beside a crumbling stone column next to the corridor that led deep into the bowels of the catacombs he’d just emerged from. He stood there breathing, feeling his heart pump in his chest, feeling anticipation clench the muscles deep in his belly.

He felt ravenous. Exultant. Alive.

He sensed rather than heard her approach. She was silent as midnight but carried with her a tangible current of power, refined yet electric. As she passed the threshold into the sunken church and glanced nervously around, he moved swiftly from his position hidden against the column, grabbed her by the arms, and spun her around, her wrists held tightly behind her in both his hands. She gasped as he pushed his body against hers and held her, pinned, to the wall.

“Demetrius!”

“Tell me again,” he said, very low, his face mere inches from hers, “why I’m risking my hide to be here?”

Panting a little, she stared up into his eyes. Her skin was lucid in the moonlight that spilled over the floor from the small windows high above in the rounded room.

“Because you want to,” she said, breathless.

He stared down at her parted lips, feeling the clench in his belly grow into a burn. “Not good enough,” he said, slowly shaking his head.

“Because...I want you to?”

He cocked his head and considered her, enjoying the heat and softness of her body pressed against his, prolonging the moment. Jesus, she looked good enough to eat. Dressed in tight black leggings, black boots, and a black sweater that hugged every curve, she was probably the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

He lowered his face slowly, watching her eyes widen, watching the pulse in her neck grow jagged. Slowly, softly, he ran the tip of his nose down the column of her throat and inhaled, deeply, against her skin. He felt himself harden, knew she felt it too because her breathing hitched and, subtly, she arched into him.

“I need something more definitive than that, Principessa ...” he murmured, letting his lips skim her exposed collarbone as he spoke.

“Oh. In that case, how about this?” she breathed, then leaned forward and took his earlobe between her lips.

D froze as heat detonated in his body. Eliana sucked gently on his earlobe, running her tongue over and around that tiny piece of flesh he had never known had so many nerve endings, then lightly pressed it between her teeth. He pulled away, took her face in his hand, and darkly said, “Oh, little girl, you really shouldn’t have done that.”

Then he lifted her up and tossed her over his shoulder so she hung upside down behind his back. He turned and ambled across the moonlit floor, heading to the door that led outside, into the night.

“Demetrius!” Eliana squealed, pummeling his back with her fists. “Put me down! Put me down this instant!”

He slapped her hard on the bottom and enjoyed her mortified howl.

“Sorry, Your Highness,” he drawled, “but I’m not taking orders tonight.”

She gasped in horror or astonishment, he couldn’t tell which, and D broke into a smile. His arm easily spanning both her thighs, he maneuvered his way through the hidden doorway that led outside and around a thicket of wild raspberries that grew along the rounded wall. Eliana grasped his belt to steady herself as he walked, alternating between pleading and demanding that he let her down.

“Stop squirming or I’ll put you down and take you over my knee,” he threatened, and gave her bottom a soft pinch. She quieted instantly with a sharp intake of breath, and his smile grew wider.

God, this was going to be fun.

On a damp patch of clover around the east wall of the sunken church, he abruptly set her back on her feet. Before she could protest, he put one hand over her eyes—it covered most of her face—and spun her around so her back was against his chest. He pulled her close. “Are you ready?” he murmured suggestively into her ear.

She trembled against him and clutched the arm he’d wrapped around her chest. “Ready for what?” she whispered.

Oh, yes, she was ready. Her voice gave her away. The heat and longing in it flooded him with carnal urges, but he was able to control himself, just barely. Because right now he wanted to give her something she—and everyone with a soul—deserved.

Slowly, he removed his hand from her face. “For Rome.”

She exhaled sharply. Her body fell utterly still.

Before them lay the glorious, decadent labyrinth of humanity’s most magnificent city, the crown jewel of man’s achievement and imagination, the pulsing, vibrant heart of the planet that had beaten for over two and a half thousand years. Renaissance palaces and baroque basilicas, medieval bell towers and Etruscan tombs, a sprawl of tiled rooftops as far as the eye could see washed fairy-dust gold by the huge, orange moon that lazed like a fat pumpkin over the distant black hills. A huge cloud of starlings rose in a tangle into the star-dusted dome of the sky, flashing quicksilver until they vanished into the horizon, and off in the distance the enormous stone bulk of the Colosseum crouched in the center of it all, striped gold and black like a sleeping tiger.