LOVE'S TIMELESS FIRE - PART I
LOVE’S TIMELESS FIRE
PART I (Chapters 1 - 11)
posted by Cat @ 6:35 PM
Sunday, August 08, 2004
About Me
- Name: Cat
- Location: BULLARD, Texas, United States
C.R.Myers is a Texan—born and bred in the Lone Star State. A English/Drama teacher by profession, she received her M. A. from the University of Texas at Tyler. As a teacher and professional speaker, she designed and implemented her own creative course as well as writing college sketches, which were performed on a local television station. She decided to start writing seriously only within the last few years. Since then, she has written eleven novels. Black Ice/Shadowed Road was her first published novel. Since then, Through the Shadows, Red, Red Rose, Lady’s Game, Shattered Illusion, and Blonde Logic have been published as well as nine other stories sold to area newspapers and magazines. Through her writing, she has received cards and letters from fans from all over the US and fifteen different countries. The books have sold well and the reviews have been strong, leading to seven book signings and two out of state appearances. Two of the books have been chosen as books to be presented in Austin at the Texas Book Festival.
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LOVE’S TIMELESS FIRE
Part I
Nicadea stood at the stone altar. The growing fire flashed bright yellow mingled with deeper shades of orange and red to form undulating peaks—mountains, shooting sparks of fire against the unrelieved darkness of the moonless night. Soon, the pyre’s colorful tongues of flame would be high enough to lick greedily at the lifeless sacrifice, warming its cold body once more before totally consuming the stiff, decaying shell.
Standing motionless in her black, hooded robe, she had ample time to ponder the shortness of life and the inappropriate timing of death for one so young. The flames moved ever closer to the lamb’s white fur. She shivered in the cool night air, loathing to see the final moments of the small body’s brief existence in this world. Lifting her eyes from the pitiful sight, she glanced around the closed Druid circle, as if her disturbing thoughts might betray her as a heretic.
No one noticed. She reined in her thoughts and renewed her efforts to appear pious and reverent. Did the sun god, Lugos, really care whether or not she was devout? Wasn’t it enough that she was compliant? Not that she had any wish to anger the handsome, young deity. On the contrary, Lugos was her favorite of all the gods, and she had spent many a long afternoon imagining what it would be like to be chosen to sit at his side as his goddess.
Mikelle Saturnus lay stretched out across the bed, sated from a night of rich food, expensive wine, and heavy lovemaking. His muscled leg was thrown carelessly across the pale girl lying beside him, holding her captive, submissive, and within easy reach. The soft candlelight from the mounted torches cast flickering shadows across his nude body, giving just enough light for the woman standing quietly in the corner to fill her eyes with his many comely assets. Knowing that he would sleep for several more hours, she took her time examining every inch of the healthy young body, catching her breath as she neared the focus of her desire. Even at rest, he struck her as a man who was strong and virile.
Staring openly at the naked epitome of male virility, a subtle craving began to stir deep inside of her, and throwing caution aside, she stepped further into the small room. Mikelle’s face was undeniably handsome, without being pretty or effeminate. Tendrils of deep, auburn-colored hair lay against his forehead and fanned behind him on the bed, catching the light in russet waves of golden fire. She studied the dark sprinkling of hair lining his broad chest, giving it sculptured definition and depth, and pictured her fingers moving over him, tracing circles around his nipples until they stood hard and erect. She watched the wavering light caress his parted thighs as it danced lightly back and forth over him, giving his skin a silken bronzed sheen. Unconsciously, she flicked her tongue over her lips, shifting her weight at the sudden warmth centered between her legs. As if sensing her thoughts, Mikelle stirred slightly and his resting sword tensed, no longer content to remain dormant under her scrutinizing gaze.
Without bothering to open his eyes, he turned familiarly to the woman beside him, mounting her quickly as his body unfolded to its full length. The gasp she uttered as he entered her was echoed by the woman watching from behind them in the shadows. Stepping once again into the corner, the woman stood mesmerized as Mikelle’s body tensed and relaxed repeatedly until he had skillfully carried the girl lying beneath him into the clouds of Nirvana. Overcome with her own emotions, the woman in the corner, slipped quietly into the hall as sighs of mutual contentment floated dreamily across the room.
As the fire burned brighter, the woolen robe that Nicadea was wearing became increasingly uncomfortable. She longed to scratch at her tortured skin in order to gain some much-needed relief from the itchy feel of the heavy robe. The pungent smell from altar was making her lightheaded and slightly nauseous as the humble sacrifice caught fire and burned away the coming wrath of the almighty sun god. When the group raised their arms in reverent supplication and began to sound the responsive chant of adoration, Nicadea stepped back, doubling over to fall ignominiously to the ground in a dead faint.
When she opened her eyes several minutes later, she was surprised to find herself lying on a woolen pallet inside of a large cavern, the scene of the last few hours having completely disappeared. Feeling confused and disoriented, she looked around, searching earnestly for something familiar. Illuminated only by the light of a small candle, the cave looked mysteriously forbidding, raising the hairs on the back of her neck and sharpening her senses.
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she began to recognize the shapes and objects surrounding her as symbols of worship. Nicadea was surprised to realize that she must be lying in a makeshift temple, a place of prayer and meditation, of chanting and sacrifice—of death. Standing quickly to her feet, she moved toward the candle, intent on finding a way out. She had almost reached the light source when a familiar noise stopped her, freezing her into immobility.
Mikelle stretched wearily as light from the open window fell across his face. Still groggy from his night of pleasure, he pushed himself to a sitting position and looked over at the woman lying beside him—trying to remember her name. She was lying on her stomach, sleeping soundly, the sound of her breathing regular and rhythmic. Looking at her shapely bottom, he was tempted to take her again before his shower.
Two hours later Mikelle arrived at the senatorial chamber steps just as the meeting he was supposed to attend ended and the crowd was beginning to disassemble.
“Have I missed anything?” he asked Anthony as he approached his second-in-command.
“You mean besides the entire meeting?” his friend teased with a knowing grin. “Was she as good as she looked?”
Mikelle pretended to consider the question seriously. “The first few times she was.”
Anthony laughed heartily, slapping him on the back. “Maybe, you should take her along on the campaign.”
“The campaign? Are we going out again?”
“That was why they called the special meeting, General. Tomorrow we ride to East Anglia to squash a local rebellion involving the Iceni and one of our clients-rulers.”
Mikelle looked surprised. “We’ve never had a problem with them before. What happened?”
“Well, you remember a couple of months ago, King Prasutagus died and his widow, Boadicea, became queen of the Iceni. In his will, the king assigned half of his personal property to the Roman emperor and the other half to his widow. However, Roman officials decided to interpret his will as a submission to the Roman State, so they moved to appropriate all of the Iceni lands and disarm the tribe. When, Queen Boadicea protested, the Romans had her flogged and her daughters raped.”
“So, the injured Queen is leading a revolt against the empire. I suppose that other Celtic tribes are joining her?”
“They revere her as the Celtic goddess of Victory and would give their lives for her. It is said her forces number over one hundred thousand.”
“I do not look forward to fighting the Celts. Women have no business fighting in battle. Their place is in the bedroom under a man, not beside him.” Mikelle shook his head in disgust.
Anthony chuckled. “I agree with you. There are much better uses for a woman’s hands than wielding a sword and an ax.”
Mikelle rewarded him with a wicked grin. “So, are we to fight this woman, Boadicea?”
“No, actually, we are going to be fighting the gods themselves.”
“What do you mean?”
“Since Boadicea is associated with the goddess, we are supposed so destroy all of the Celtic holy places, beginning with her home shrines.”
Mikelle looked at Anthony in open surprise. “You are joking. We are not to engage in the battle.”
Anthony looked quickly away, carefully avoiding the eyes of his friend. “I think the senate was angry that you missed the meeting. This is their little way of letting you know.”
Mikelle’s eyes darkened to deep jade. “Did you talk to Cassius?”
“I tried. He said for me to tell you to do as the council ordered, destroy all of the shrines around East Anglia and then, return here for another assignment.”
Mikelle’s look turned deadly. “I’ll show them destroy. Gather the men. We’ll head out tomorrow morning.”
Nicadea shrank into the shadows as the hooded figures walked through the mouth of the cavern. She held her breath as she waited for the men to discover her hiding place. Without speaking, they crossed the small area and stopped directly in front of her. Terrified, she remained quiet as they grabbed and led her roughly to the stone altar where she was chained against the cavern wall.
“Why are you doing this?” she managed to blurt out as the men were turning to leave.
The man closest to her paused, turning to look in her direction. “You are the chosen one,” he said enigmatically.
She stared uncomprehendingly, her thoughts a blur. “But I’m the high priestess of Lugos.”
The man shook his head. “You broke the Golden Circle of fire. It was a sign. Lugos chose you to be the sacrifice.”
Cassea ran her fingers lovingly through her long auburn locks, letting the silken strands glide through her fingers as she admired herself in the polished, gilded mirror. After assuring herself of her continued beauty, she settled her thoughts around the scene of last evening, only this time, Mikelle’s practiced hands were caressing the intimate places of her body instead of toying with that slut, Zela.
Mikelle watched dispassionately as his troops stormed through the village, toppling shrines and eliminating priests and priestesses. Sitting stoically atop his horse above the action, he was far removed from the gruesome realities of death. Shutting the cries of war from his mind, he turned instead to the surrounding countryside, taking in the beauty and peacefulness of the heathered hills. He waited, caught up in his own thoughts, until a nearby sound seized his attention. Turning his head, he was trying to identify what had disturbed him when he noticed the almost hidden opening of a hillside cave. He nudged his horse toward the area, dismounting at the cavern entrance.
Standing very still, he waited to hear the sounds again, wanting to confirm his suspicions before actually entering the dark hole. A few minutes later he drew his sword and entered the opening. He had gone only a few feet inside when the darkness became complete. Logic told him to go back for a torch, but some instinctive intuition led him deeper into the darkness. Feeling his way around a damp corner wall, he began to discern a faint glow from further inside the cavern.
Systematically, Mikelle inched his way through the narrow hall leading away from the front opening, inching ever closer to the source of the distant light. The sounds that had first attracted his attention had diminished until finally disappearing altogether. The absence of the disturbing catalyst only served to heighten his curiosity. Holding his sword firmly in his hand, he crossed the last several feet and found himself suddenly in a large room illuminated by several unwavering flames of light.
The candles appeared to rest upon a stone altar dedicated to some unknown foreign deity. In the dim light, he was able to discern the shapes of several small statues set up around the stone monument. He had been standing there several minutes before he noticed the girl chained at the head of the altar.
Niki reached down to pick up her pen, deftly removing the gum from her mouth and slipping it under the seat of the chair.
“Good morning, Nicole. Is everything all right? You look a little flushed.” Marge Hammond was the office supervisor—a petty tyrant who ruled over the women in the computer room with an eagle eye coupled with an iron fist. Yesterday, she had berated Niki for chewing gum and put a note about the incident in her personal file. Niki called her the Dragon Lady behind her back—and not just because of her bad breath.
“Everything is fine, Ms. Hammond.”
“Good. For a minute, I thought that you might be chewing gum again.”
“No. Not me. See,” she said, opening her mouth wide.
“That won’t be necessary,” Marge Hammond assured her, moving away from the girl’s desk.
Niki turned toward the smothered giggle to her left. “God, what is that woman’s problem?”
Sally leaned forward to answer her friend. “Anyone she thinks is pretty enough to get Michael Samisen’s attention, that’s what.”
“But why? He’s not dating her.”
“No, but she keeps hoping. Turn around, she’s looking this way.”
Being twenty eight years old, Niki had valid reason to resent being treated like a kid in grade school, but the wage and benefit package were too much to resist. Without the Dragon Lady, it would have been the perfect job. Too bad the woman didn’t know how she really felt about the boss. Niki had little time or patience for men like Michael Samisen—arrogant, self-important, womanizers—and she had a particular dislike for this one.
“Pour me another drink, Michael. Then, come here. I have something for you.”
Michael gave the redheaded woman sitting across the room a cursory glance before mixing the sweet drink she had requested. Her proposition had been obvious—blatant. So, why was he so bored? When had beautiful, rich, willing woman ceased to amuse him? When had all of his nights begun to blend together into a monotonous blur? He downed a shot of tequila and poured another.
“You’re not nervous about making love in the afternoon, are you, Michael?” she asked, misreading his action.
Michael wanted to laugh. That was the most entertaining remark she had made all day. He picked up the drinks from the side bar, turning toward the now bare-breasted woman. God, she was more interesting with her top on—at least, that’s what his brain thought—his penis, however, never met a breast he didn’t like. Michael downed another shot. Might as well get it over with.
The rest of the afternoon was predictably mundane—or would have been. He had just finished letting the charming Cassandra (if he remembered right) have her way with him when the phone rang. He picked up at the sound of Tony’s voice.
“Michael, something’s come up. We need to talk.”
“You sound serious. Nothing wrong, I hope.”
“I don’t want to discuss this over the phone, but we need to meet—now if possible.”
“Actually, that would be quite possible. Where did you have in mind?”
“I can be at your place in twenty minutes.”
“Make it forty-five.”
Tony laughed. “The redhead?”
“See you later, Tony.”
Cassandra wasn’t pleased with the sudden turn of events. She would have been even less pleased if she had known how pleased Michael was with the unexpected interruption. She watched as he pulled the tan Gucci slacks over his narrow hips. God, what a great looking bod. This was a man she could get used to. Having him torn from her before the evening had a chance to really fire up made her want him even more—want to run her hands over his smooth skin and feel his mouth on hers. She bit her lip and turned away. No need to appear too eager. There would be other times.
Michael breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind Cassandra—his promise to call her still ringing in the air between them. He looked toward the side bar but resisted. With the woman gone, the idea of another drink didn’t seem so attractive anymore. By the time Tony had arrived, he had showered and changed—all traces of Cassandra gone from the apartment.
“What’s up?” he asked as soon as his friend and partner was seated across from him. “This looks like an official visit,” he added, referring to the briefcase in Tony’s hand.
“It is. I have some news, but I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure.”
“Doesn’t sound like good news.”
“It isn’t.”
“Should I have a drink first?”
Tony shook his head. “You’ll want to be sober for this.”
“Okay, let’s have it. What is your devastating news?”
Tony stood up. “I think that I need a drink.” Michael waited while he walked to the bar and made a scotch and water. “We have an embezzler on the payroll.”
“Who?”
“Not sure. Several suspects.”
“How much?”
“A few hundred thousand so far.”
Michael let out a low whistle. “So, far?”
“I suspect that I have only uncovered the tip of the iceberg. But this is not the worst news.”
“Great. What is the worst?”
“We have a cooperate spy.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. That’s what cost us the Baker deal.”
“Is it the same person?”
“Don’t know yet? What do you want to do?”
Michael looked at him and smiled. “That’s easy. Set a trap.”
Niki threw her bag on the seat of the cross-town bus and plopped unceremoniously into her usual spot. Thirty minutes and she’d be home, if she was lucky. The smell of diesel filled her nostrils as the doors swung shut and the groaning vehicle began to move forward.
“Hard day at work?”
“Oh, hi, Jim. Just the usual. You?”
“Sameo, sameo. Going to the Grove this weekend? S’pposed to have a new band.”
“Maybe. Sally and I are going shopping all day Saturday so I may pass. You go though. Then, you can tell me all about it on Monday.”
“You’ll miss all the fun.”
“I know, but work is about all the fun I can stand right now,” she laughed.
She and Jim had become friends about three months ago. He was studying to be a chef and often practiced on a small group of friends, which included her. She enjoyed those get-togethers, especially since he was really a terrific cook. Turning back to the window, she mused at how routine her life had become since accepting the job with Stewart and Samisen. Work, TV, and an occasional evening at the Grove pretty well summed it up. Somehow, she had always pictured her life turning out a lot differently. She thought that she would be someone important, doing exciting things. During her Catholic phase, she had even considered becoming a nun—which was before her missionary phase and after her actress phase. Right now, anything sounded more exciting than what she was doing at her current place of employment. If only…be careful what you wish for, her mother had always reminded her. She sensed that it was a warning she would do well to heed.
Nicadea opened her eyes. At first, the piercing light of the candle was the only object visible in the inky darkness. What had awakened her? Was she in danger? As her eyes adjusted to the dim light she turned her head to examine her surroundings. Just when she was about to attribute her imaginings to a fitful dream, one large shadow detached itself from the others. She tried to shrink back into the wall as the shadow became a man and moved toward her. A priest? Was she about to be sacrificed? No. As the man made his way across the room, she could make out his weapons and his Roman uniform. Oh Lugos, no. Not this way.
Mikelle walked toward the wall of the cave. For on closer inspection he could see that this was a young woman—not a young girl as he had first thought. The light pulsating from the flickering candle made the long, white garment she wore almost transparent, clearing revealing the body it was supposed to hide. The outline of her full breasts jutting against the light material of the gown stirred his longing as much as her predicament stirred his curiosity.
“What is your name?” he asked in perfect Celtic.
“What is yours?” she retorted in equally perfect Latin.
She could not have seen the lift of his eyebrows in the darkness of the cave or the speculative look that came into his eyes. He moved a step closer. Educated? Not a peasant, surely. What then? A priestess? Seemingly unafraid of him. Arrogance or stupidity? Her irreverence angered him.
“You’re not afraid of me?”
“I am a high priestess of Lugos. I answer only to him.”
He turned to look around the cave. “Your Lugos seems to have deserted you. I, however, am close enough to touch you.” Lowering his head, he covered her mouth with his. “See what I mean?” Smiling at his obvious victory, he was unprepared for the sharp kick she delivered to his shin. The vehemence of his oath justified her effort.
Mikelle forced himself to smile. So, she still hadn’t realized the gravity of her position. Her show of spirit intrigued him. Lifting his hand he cupped one of her breasts, holding the weight of it against his palm. Her gasp of surprise was a balm to his ego. Now, she was beginning to understand the situation. At least he thought so until a spray of spittle hit him across the face. His reaction was immediate. Without thinking, he struck her hard across the face. Damn the woman. He wanted to beat her. He wanted to take her. The spot of blood at the corner of her mouth was sobering. He had never struck a woman before, at least, not in anger. Using the back of his hand, he wiped the salvia from his face, turned on his heel, and left the cavern.
Cassandra smiled at the receptionist. “I need to see Mr. Samisen.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“I don’t need one. Just tell him that Cassandra’s here.”
Jean Scarlett looked at the haughty woman in the black, tightly fitted knit dress with misgiving. “Mr. Samisen doesn’t see anyone without an appointment.”
Cassandra smiled knowingly “He’ll see me.”
The girl at the desk pushed the button that opened the intercom, lifted the receiver to her ear, and began to explain the situation. Before she had time to finish, however, she looked up to see that Cassandra had vanished.
Niki watched the smartly dressed woman enter the computer room and walk boldly into Michael Samisen’s private office. Seeing a beautiful woman enter her boss’s office was not unusual, although they were usually escorted by Ms. Hammond instead of being chased by her. The whole scene was straight out of a 40’s comedy, and Niki fought to hide her smile as a titter passed over the room.
“Michael!” Cassandra’s one-word greeting sounded clearly from the open door.
“Mr. Samisen, I’m so sorry. Would you like for me to call security?”
“Thank you, Ms. Hammond, but that won’t be necessary. Would you close the door on your way out?”
The office manager’s look was dark as she exited the room. Niki lowered her eyes—not anxious to be on the receiving end of Marge Hammond’s temper.
“What can I do for you, Cassandra?” Michael asked as the door closed behind his unwelcome guest.
“Just wanted to surprise you. Thought you might like a little break in the afternoon,” she added, unbuttoning her jacket.
From the tapped edge of her three inch spiked heel shoes to the top of her salon tinted auburn hair, Cassandra Le Brock was a package of perfection. She knew it. Counted on it. He should been flattered, titillated, or at least, interested. Her perky breasts, now fully revealed, urged him to come closer, the strawberry nipples arrogantly demanding his undivided attention. Even her tits were aggressive. He walked around the desk. Reaching out to Cassandra, he placed his hands on her silk jacket lapels and pulled the two sides together, removing her bare bust line from view. “Nice of you to offer, but I like to be the one to ask. You might remember that in the future.” He smiled to soften the edge of his words, but knew by the flash of her eyes he had failed. The look she gave him was hard to read, but he realized he had made a new enemy. With a toss of her head, she turned and left.
“Where do you think we should start?”
Tony looked around the country club, taking in the hushed, smoky atmosphere. “I’ve already started,” Tony said, lifting the pitcher to refill his glass. The beer was foamy and dark, strong without being bitter. “I’ve hired a private detective to see if he can turn anything up, starting with Marge Hammond.”
“Do you suspect her?”
“No, not really. Not any more than I suspect anyone else.”
“She doesn’t spend a lot of time on the computer that I can see.”
“True, but she has access to all of our codes.” Tony looked around the room. “I’m calling in a system’s analyst. There should be a paper trail a mile long.”
“A paper trail?”
“There has to be some evidence somewhere to indicate a funds transfer.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it under control.” Michael followed Tony’s line of site. “Is that a new waitress?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t looking at her. I was looking at the girl sitting at the back table. I think that she works for us.”
“You mean that girl with the long brown hair?”
“At work, she wears it up,” Tony supplied, trying to remember her name.
“What would she be doing here? Our employees don’t usually frequent private clubs.”
“Maybe she’s with a member. She’s spotted us. Now, she’s leaving. Strange.”
“You’re probably right. She must be someone’s guest.”
“Jacko open up, it’s me.”
A small peep window opened and closed before the carved veneer wooden door swung open. “Damn, Cassandra. What are you doing here at this time of day?”
She flicked the end of her cigarette down on the sidewalk, where its red glow would burn a black char on the pavement. “Since when did the time of day matter in your business?”
“Since I worked all night, that’s when,” he explained, stifling a large yawn.
“I’ll pay you extra.”
“How much?”
“Double.”
He smiled, picturing the crisp green bills. “When could I ever refuse you? Come on in. Got any smoke?”
She pulled a package out of her purse and tossed it in his direction. “I want you to get dressed.”
Jack Braun looked up, his pretty-boy face crinkling in surprise. “Won’t that be counter-productive?”
“No, not at all. A business suit. Black.”
“What are you going to wear?”
“Nothing,” she said fumbling with the top button of her jacket. “Now, get dressed.”
By the time he had buttoned the last button on his white shirt, she was already stretched out face down on the bed. Except for the black high heels and diamond earrings, she was naked. Jack sat down on the side of the bed, trailing his fingers over her fleshy bottom. “What’s next, sweetheart?” he asked, beginning a more intimate caress. He looked handsome in the expensive clothes—an apt foil for his dark good looks. Aristocratic nose, jet-black hair, high cheekbones—he could have easily passed for a New York model.
She answered him without turning her head. “Handcuff me to the bed posts.”
“Sounds good so far. When can I get out of these clothes?”
“The clothes stay on.”
His eyes narrowed. “Shit, woman. What have you got in mind?”
“Just do it. Okay?”
He shook his head and manacled her to the bed as she had requested, the restraints spreading her wide across the double bed. “All right, what now?”
She raised her head, turning to gage his reaction to her next demand. “Get the riding crop out of the closet.”
“God no, Cass. No. No way,” he said, eyeing her smooth unblemished skin.
“I thought I was hiring a professional. This is what I want. Are you going to do it, or do I need to give my money to someone else?” Her tone was cold—serious.
“But why? You know that I don’t like that sort of thing.”
“I want it, that’s why.” She paused as her thoughts turned inward. “Need it,” she breathed, scarcely louder than a whisper.
He leaned over, brushing his lips across her cheek. “I could make you feel good in other ways.”
“No. There’ll be time for that after. I want the pain.”
He paused, weighing the promise of money against the small of scrap of dignity he had left. Then, he shrugged. “Whatever. You want the full treatment?”
“That’s what I’m paying you for.”
He walked to the closet and removed the whip. Ninety-five minutes later it was over. He was tired—caught in a cross between sickened and aroused by what he had just done. He had outdone himself in abuse, humiliation, and pain. She had seemed to crave them in equal measure, biting down on the pillow to keep from crying out, while demanding more. He had introduced a wooden paddle, hoping to avoid the crop, but she was insistent. With buttocks red and hot to the touch, she had still insisted on having the stripes cut into her by the whip. He was baffled, but the money was too good to resist. The shiny black-handled crop was cool and smooth to the touch—a graceful and beautiful instrument of torture. With a deaf ear to her gasps of pain, his muscles flexed time after time as his arm bent slapping the stinging leather across her tortured back, legs, and buttocks. After he had finished, he removed his clothes while she lay waiting, her body jerking in pain, and took her roughly from behind. He was surprised at the intensity of her arousal. Even at that point, she demanded that his intrusion become a violation—a punishment, rejecting any attempt he made to gentle his actions. His entry was hard—invading her with pounding brutality until she screamed her surrender. Only then, did she seem sated. He left her then, ashamed of what she had asked him to do—ashamed at how much he had enjoyed it. She paid him in cash—scattered over the crumpled bed—much more than she had promised—much less than he deserved for the thoughtless rape of his soul. He stuffed the money into his pocket and went back to bed.
Niki looked at her watch for the eighth time that morning. Would this day never end? She glanced over at Sally who was typing faithfully at her computer. “Sal,” she whispered, “Don’t you ever take a break?”
Sally glanced around to locate Ms. Hammond before answering. “I can’t afford to take one. I’m behind as it is. Are you caught up?”
“Yes,” Niki lied. The truth was that she had barely started, not that she was concerned. She would catch up that night, as usual. She turned back to her typing as The Dragon Lady moved in her direction. Just like test day at school. No talking—no chewing gum—eyes on your own paper—teacher walking around giving everyone the evil eye. She had the wild impulse to throw a spit-wad. Only thirty more minutes and she could go home. As Ms. Hammond neared her desk, she flipped to the last page of the report and began to type. That would keep the old lady guessing. By the time the five-o’clock buzzer sounded, Niki had slipped all of the paperwork into the large bag that she carried as a purse. Tonight in front of the television she would finish her work, and no one would be the wiser.
Mikelle traded the darkness of the cave for the bright sunlight and mounted his horse. Plenty of time to deal with the woman he had left behind. Riding down the hill he joined his men who were grouping to make camp. The reek of death permeated the air—spilt blood and burning flesh bravely competing for dominance on the cool autumn breeze. He spotted Anthony pitching his tent, his clothes bloody from the skirmish.
“That’s not your blood, I hope.”
Anthony looked down and grinned. “No, I was lucky today. Tripped just in time to evade the sharp point of the sword. On the whole I would have to say the battle went well, and our losses were not as great as I had expected.” He cocked his head giving his friend a shrewd look. “Will you be making camp with the men?”
“There’s a cave at the top of the hill. I will spend the night there.”
Anthony looked toward the group of women at the edge of the camp—camp followers intermingled with a few comely captives. “Nice spot for some company.”
“No, I think that I…”he paused, his look thoughtful, and then continued. “Yes, maybe that would be a good idea.”
Nicadea struggled against the chains, chaffing her skin, but was unable to free herself. Why had she antagonized that man? For she had no doubt that he would be back to make good the unspoken promise in his eyes. Her mind flooded with unwanted images causing her to pull even harder against her restraints. Minutes passed and ran together, as she watched the candle burn lower, and she knew that soon he would return.
When she finally heard the footsteps echoing through the cavern, she started, and realized she must have been asleep. Tensing against the wall, she prepared for the worst and prayed to Lugos for a quick death. She watched the room entrance, and detected the pale glow long before source of the bright light came into view. The torch was huge—lighting the area like a bonfire—throwing dark shadows where the light didn’t reach. It didn’t reach her.
The man holding the light was the same man she had seen earlier, but he seemed to have forgotten her. All of his attention was centered on the woman under his arm. When the man and woman reached the wall opposite her, they stopped, and the man hung the torch on the cave wall. The woman giggled when he pulled the blanket out of his pack and spread it across the floor beside them. Nicadea had no doubt as to what the man’s intentions were. Neither did the woman. Nicadea watched them interact as if she were attending the performance of a play, sickened, but mesmerized by what she knew was to come.
The woman smiled as the man stretched out full length on the blanket at her feet, swaying a little to a beat only she could hear. As she swayed, she began to tug suggestively at the bodice of her gown, inching it down until Nicadea could clearly see the tops of her breasts. She blushed in the darkness, but the woman seemed unashamed. She bent down low to give the man a brief peek at the covered mounds, before yanking the entire top down to her waist. Nicadea gasped in surprise, but no one noticed. The man smiled, and the woman increased her movements to the dance, bouncing her breasts in rhythm to her graceful steps. Nicadea was horrified at the display. She watched in shock as the woman moistened the tips of her fingers and began to rub and twist her nipples so that they jutted out to taunt the man below her. Nicadea turned away, but looked back almost immediately, drawn to the forbidden scene in spite of herself.
Throughout the woman’s exhibition the man had remained passive. Nicadea watched him stand to his feet with misgiving. Then, he reached out to touch the woman—his hand large and brown against the soft whiteness of her breast. The woman moaned as he worked the nipple and slipped his hand under the waistband of her skirt. If Nicadea wondered what he was doing, she was to be made sure when the woman dropped her skirt to the floor. The revelation frightened her, as did the strange tightness in her stomach. Her breathing became rapid, causing her to feel faint. The man kissed the woman before moving his head further down her body. The last thing she remembered was the man’s mouth sucking on the woman before her world became black.
Marge Hammond slipped into her apartment, locking the door behind her. Without turning on the light, she moved to the window and peeked through the shade. She knew it was silly, but she just couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being followed. The street was quiet. She reached over to turn on the light, and the room sprang to life. Indirect lighting softened the harsh lines innate in her black and white décor. The only touch of color was the oriental plate hanging centered behind the couch that her father had brought back from the war. Dear old dad—war hero—defender of women—a man’s man. What a disappointment she must have been. Could anyone blame him for drinking himself to death?
She walked to the kitchen to put on a kettle for tea. The day had been long and trying. Between meeting deadlines and keeping the computer running smoothly, she was exhausted. Kicking her support shoes under the edge of the table, she reached into the cabinet for her favorite cup and poured in the sugar substitute. This first cup of after-work tea had long ago been elevated from habit to ritual. Her entire life seemed to be a series of rituals—coffee in the morning, shower—cool, not hot, followed by fifteen minutes of CNN. The little ceremonial practices that made up her life and kept her on this side of sanity. Or maybe that should be insanity. She smiled at the ceramic doll hanging on the wall—her red hair and formal green dress at odds with the sterility of the unadorned kitchen. The doll was her inspiration—her confidant—her friend. The ringing of the telephone interrupted her. She set the scenic mug on the counter and lifted the receiver with reluctance.
“Hello.”
“You busy?”
“I haven’t had my tea.”
“Would you like me to call back?”
“No, just hold on a minute,” she said, laying down the receiver to retrieve her cup. The hot liquid steamed above the rim, wetting her cheeks and fogging her vision. She loved the sensation of the wet heat.
“I’m back.”
“With your tea, I suppose.”
“Of course.”
“In your mountain scene cup?”
“You know me too well.”
“Want some company?”
“Not tonight sweetie. We’re having an audit tomorrow, and I need to be really alert.”
“We could be quick.
“I’ve heard that before. Better wait. Call me tomorrow, I’ve have something special for you.”
Niki twisted around on the barstool, smiling automatically at the end of Sally’s story.
“You’re not listening to me are you?”
Niki looked up. “I’m sorry. I just had the strangest feeling—you know, like I was being watched.”
Sally looked over her friend’s shoulder into the crowded room. Tiny round tables dotted with people filled the smoky room. “I don’t see anyone staring.”
“Maybe it’s just me being paranoid.”
“Or maybe it’s the man of your dreams, and you sense him through some kind of physic bond.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Sure, Sal.”
“Uh oh. Don’t look now, but I think I see the source of your weird feeling.”
“What?”
“Not what. Who. I just spotted Michael Samisen.”
“You’re kidding. What would he be doing here?”
“He’s with a date—a model type—real looker.”
Niki gave her friend a look. “I didn’t mean why is he here? I meant why is he here? Slumming? I thought his type only hung out at private clubs.”
Sally turned back to get another look. “I don’t care why he’s here. I just like to look at him—not that he’d ever look at someone like me.”
“Oh, Sally, you’re cute, and you’re too good for him. He’d be lucky to date someone as nice as you. Besides, I don’t think he’s all that great. From what I’ve heard he just uses women—a new one every night.”
“God, I wish he’d use me.”
“Not me. I think he’s a whore.”
“Damn, Nik. What’s got into you? Is there something you’re not telling me? Has he hit on you?”
“No, I’ve never even talked to him, except for the initial interview.”
“Then, why the attitude?”
Niki shook her head. “I don’t know. Just a feeling. Something about him just gets to me. Let’s get out of here. I need to get home soon anyway to catch up on some paperwork.”
Selena cleared her throat, searching her mind for something interesting to say. She realized that she had lost Michael’s attention and needed to get it back. Something or someone had distracted him. She should not have insisted that they come here. Truth was, she thought she would have less competition away from the country club set.
Michael looked back at the woman sitting across from him. She was beautiful—pretty name too, as he recalled. Wished that he could remember what it was. When had they all begun to run together—same names—same faces—same bodies? Was this a symptom of old age or just boredom? Even the sex was boring—well, except for about thirty seconds. The rest was predictable—almost mechanical.
“Michael, I’m ready to go.”
He smiled, hoping that he didn’t look as relieved as he felt. “Sure you wouldn’t like another drink?”
“I’ve got an early location call. I thought we might have a nightcap at my place.”
“Sounds good,” he answered, reminding himself that he had asked for this. He was about to say more, when his attention suddenly drawn to two girls walking toward the exit. Both of them looked familiar, but it was the second girl who peeked his interest. He had noticed her a few minutes ago, but couldn’t place where he’d seen her. Now, he knew. She was the same girl he’d seen last night at the country club, the one Tony had said worked for them. Running into to her two evenings in a row was a huge coincidence—except that he didn’t believe in coincidences.
“Earth to Michael.”
He turned back to his date and her name came back to him, Selena—an exotic name for an usual woman. She was a model with a passion for cats—big cats. At one point early in her career she had performed in the circus as a cat trainer. That fact had always stuck with him because during the act of love-making she often seemed to purr. He smiled at the memory, and she was flattered, mistaking his amusement for affection.
“I thought I’d lost you there for a minute,” she cooed, keeping her voice low and sultry.
“Not a chance,” he shot back, leaning forward and falling easily into the role of charm he had invented for himself. He had envisioned himself becoming the most-sought after bachelor on this side of the Atlantic. What he had not expected were the feelings of loneliness and alienation that came with the position.
She took it all in, soaking up the ambiance that was Michael Samisen. “We can be at my house in less than ten minutes.”
He reached over to squeeze her hand across the table. Several tried and true lines came to mind, but he rejected them. There was no need. She had made her compliance a foregone conclusion and anything he might add could only be redundant at this point. He downed the remainder of his drink and rose determinedly to his feet. This much self-analyzation couldn’t be healthy. He had decided on this life-style several years ago and he wasn’t about to give it up now.
Nicadea opened her eyes. She was alone—or so she thought. The candle had burned down until only a faint glow remained to challenge the darkness. She pulled at the restraints holding her—but it was from habit—not because she had any real hope of working herself free. A faint sound caused her to turn. Mikelle Saturnus stepped into the dim light.
“Awake already? Good, because it’s time we were breaking camp.”
“Breaking camp?”
“I hope you paid attention last night.”
“You were disgusting.”
He stepped closer. “She was a slut. I’m hoping that you can do better.”
“What do you mean?”
“You weren’t saved because you were a priestess. I saved you for me. And just in case you were a virgin, I brought Tasha to show you what to do. Hope you watched closely.”
“I’ll never make love to you.”
He laughed at her. “You will. You’ll love me, and you’ll like it.” He took her neck in his hand, forcing her face toward his. His lips covered her mouth in a long, slow kiss. By the time he lifted his head, her breath was coming in sharp painful gasps. “I will look forward to tasting the rest of you,” he said as he turned around and left the cave.
“No wonder, you wanted to sleep with Tasha in the cave. Two of them. By Jove, Mikelle, you have really outdone yourself.”
“See that she is placed with the other captives.”
“Not going to tell me about it, are you?”
“Are the men ready to move out?”
“They’re ready, sir.”
Anthony stared after his friend and leader, wondering what he would find inside the cave. Mikelle, well known for his romantic interludes, was not usually so reticent about giving out details. His puzzlement grew when he found Nicadea chained to the wall of the cavern. The light was dim, but even by the faint glow of the candle he could see that she was a beautiful woman, and he noted that she was still wearing all of her clothes. Stranger and stranger.
The day was gray—dreary—the sun hiding its face as if Lugos could not abide looking upon the destruction of his temples—his people. Nicadea spent the next several hours being tossed about on the back of a nag who had seen better days. Hot, hungry, and miserable, she tried to find some way to lesson the bump, bump of the horse’s bony back against her increasingly sore bottom. The man who had freed her had been nicer than the first man, but she could tell he wasn’t in charge. Not that it mattered. She hated them all—every living Roman. They had killed her people and burned her village. The site of broken bodies littered the trail and Lugos’s temples were stacks of rubble. Her thoughts turned to her family living thirty miles to the south. She knew they would assume she had died along with everyone else. When she had been chosen to serve Lugos, they had been proud. Now, they would never know that she had been selected as the special sacrifice. Would the gods punish her for living through the attack? Why couldn’t she have been killed along with the other believers?
Suddenly, she was thrust forward into the back of the woman in front of her when their mount was brought to an abrupt halt. How long had they been riding? From the position of the sun, she assessed the time to be just after midday. She hoped they were stopping and would be fed. She looked across the sea of Roman soldiers. They seemed much bigger than the men of her country—more threatening. When surrounded by the camp women, she had felt safe—anonymous—but they had fallen much farther back. The female captives were few. In the circle that was forming, she felt exposed and vulnerable.
“They will draw lots for us,” the woman in front of her whispered, turning her head toward Nicadea.
“What do you mean?”
“They will draw to see who will get to own us.”
“Does it matter where we will be forced to live?”
The woman laughed at Nicadea’s naiveté. “It does not matter to you which Roman takes you to his bed?”
“I would never agree…”
“Agree? Your feelings won’t matter, you stupid girl. Get smart. Do whatever they ask and smile.”
One of the soldiers was coming toward them. Nicadea held her breath. He was dark, bearded, dirty—she would never let him take her to bed. Her kick was hard—immediate—propelling the horse forward toward the armored man.
Nicadea’s horse reared up as it neared the Roman soldier, unseating the woman sitting directly in front of her. Nicadea wrapped the reigns firmly around her hands, hanging on for dear life. Taken off guard by the sudden lunge, the soldier was unprepared for his horse’s defensive reaction and was knocked ignominiously to the ground as the horse shied away. Before he could recover, Nicadea prodded her own mount toward an opening in the wooded glade just beyond where the army was beginning to make camp. Once she was under the canopy of branches, she felt safe, unaware of the mounted posse who would soon be after her in pursuit.
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