My Spartan Hellion (26 page)

She wanted Thanos to know he had nothing to fear.

Thanos held Lamia’s gaze, her beautiful eyes blazing with an emotion that startled him, that terrified him.

He could feel the heat creeping into his cheeks but he furiously tamped it down. He had not blushed since he was a boy. But here he was beside this enigma of a woman who made him do things that he had never done before, things he’d never dared to do with anyone but her.

He turned from her to stand, shrugging on his
chlamys
with jerky movements, his hands trembling.

There was no room inside him to feel what he was feeling for this woman, but, damnation, he—

He
loved
her.

He’d practically blurted it out the eve of their bitter fight. He’d never expected to feel for his wife what he felt for her and was not prepared for the intensity of his emotions—the feelings she aroused deep inside him. He was a Spartan. It was weakness to crave the presence of this woman so deeply. And yet he constantly ached for her whenever she was away from him. Even when she was beside him, a second could not pass before he had to touch her.

She was his obsession, and he loved her.

He glanced at Lamia.

And she loved him. It was there in her eyes, but he did not trust it.

How long would she love him? Until he admitted the intensity of his own feelings, and she decided his love was simply too much to bear? Too overwhelming? Too much of a burden?

Just one moon ago she’d told him she’d planned to leave, that she was determined to turn her back on him and the life he’d made with her, and for what? Revenge? He had the power to bring Atallus to justice, but he knew she would accept nothing less than that man’s blood on her hands. He understood her need for revenge, but didn’t she see that, if she pursued this to the end, it would destroy her? It would destroy
them
? It had already consumed her—already cast a shadow over them. And now he had her love, but he wondered how deep it ran? Did she love him enough to abandon this obsessive need for vengeance? He doubted so.

He struggled to clothe himself, now desperate to escape from her presence.

“Thanos?”

He jerked away from her when her fingertips brushed against his back.

“I must go,” he murmured, tilting his head over his shoulder, yet avoiding her gaze. “I have to meet with Cleomenes
and I am already late.”

With angry strides he left their bedchamber without another word or a look back, closing the door behind him harder than he’d intended.

He stood outside his chambers for several long moments, drawing in a long, ragged breath as he argued with himself.

I should return to her.

I should simply reveal myself to Lamia and talk to her
.

A storm of conflicting emotions jostled within him, fighting for dominance, and every time he thought he would go back inside he found he couldn’t.

What would he say to her? He had no answer, for the emotions brewing internally were far too intense, much too raw. He’d never expected to fall so deeply in love with his wife, nor had he been prepared for the doubts and uncertainties that came with this love.

No, he could not go back inside and talk with her because he knew not what he would say. At once, he felt both foolish and helpless, emotions he had not felt in many
annos.

With a curse, he shoved a hand through his hair and stalked off, hating that he now doubted himself. Not until Lamia had he ever known the weakness of such feelings since becoming a man.

But not until Lamia had he ever known the deep completion of an intimate love.

Chapter Seventeen

Carthage, 185
BC

Lamia was seven annos when she lost her parents, her tribe, everyone she knew in the war. Those who survived the attack, and weren’t captured and sold into slavery, retreated deep into the shadows of the city, where few would notice a beggar child.

For one anno, she lived on the streets with other orphans of the war, moving constantly, trying to avoid Roman soldiers who would pick them from the streets and send them into the far reaches of the empire as slaves. Food was scarce and their existence was hard, living in abandoned homes destroyed in the war, but which had not yet been torn down.

Lamia was one of the youngest, but she was particularly skilled at pilfering from city dwellers walking about empty roads and busy markets. The dawn the Romans raided her home, taking all of her friends where she would never see them again, she’d been out roaming the market looking for someone to steal from.

Darius had not been her first choice. She usually liked to stay away from big, scary men, but he wasn’t Roman and he appeared to be wealthy, so he was more ideal than some of the other targets she’d selected.

She was young and unassuming, a dirty little street child whom no one noticed, her hands so small and her touch so light that she could easily make off with their purse of coins and be safely home long before they discovered it was gone.

That dawn in the agora, she should have had no problem. His purse was tucked lightly in his ballooning
sherwal, the full pants worn by the men of Arabia and Persia. He should have never felt her between the heavy material of his garments and the bustling market as people were jostled about.

She hovered near him for several moments, eyeing the gold-embroidered sack of coins. He stopped to talk to a merchant and that was when she reached for it. She closed her hand around the bundle and she tugged lightly, pulling it from its owner. She twisted around, but never even took one step when her head snapped back as something, or rather someone, jerked on her long braid.

“Owwww. You are hurting me,” she cried out, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes from the pain shooting through her skull.

“Good. You deserve it, you little thief.” He easily snatched his purse from her hands then wrapped her braid around his other hand, pulling her from the market.

She had no idea where they were going as he shuffled her down the street until he said, “Where do you live? I am taking you home to your parents.”

“Don’t have any parents. Died in the war,” she gulped out past trembling lips. If he turned her in to the Romans, she would be sent somewhere far away—to Briton perhaps, where she’d heard it was cold the entire anno and freezing white grains fell from the sky.

“Well, where is your home?”

“Don’t have one,” she said quickly, maybe a little too quickly when he glared down at her.

“Look, you can either tell me where you live so that I can take you there, or I can leave you with the
Praetorian Guard. I am sure they would know what to do with a thief like you—”

“I am not going to tell on my friends so you can bring the Romans back there and send us to strange lands as slaves.”

He drew up short, and she winced in pain when he jerked her head violently, although she quickly realised he hadn’t meant to when he apologised. “I am sorry. I forgot I still had you by the hair.” He released her braid. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I am fine.” Not really. She had a pounding headache now.

He grasped her frail arms and stooped down on his haunches to meet her gaze. “I promise I will not tell the Romans where you live. I only wish to take you back to your home and caution whoever watches over you that it is not safe for you to be on the streets stealing from strange people.”

She studied him with narrowed eyes, searching for any small granule of deceit. His grey eyes seemed earnest and she sensed he was telling the truth, but she’d learned never to trust anyone.

“Look, the next time you try to steal from someone, he may not be as lenient as me. If you allow me to escort you to your home, I will give you the coins you sought to steal.”

Her eyebrows snapped up. She wasn’t sure she should trust him, but they really needed those coins. They hadn’t eaten in three dawns
—
they could use them to buy several loaves of bread. If he was lying and he came back with soldiers…well, they would just do as they had always done—slip out through the tunnels beneath the city and roam until they found another place to settle.

She nodded slowly and turned in the direction of the old abandoned house where she lived. They walked in silence side by side through the winding streets. She glanced up at him, thinking he was awfully tall and still really mean-looking, although, with the exception of pulling out her hair, he seemed like a nice man. She was so engrossed in her task of studying him that she did not realise she’d been about to walk into a trap.

She let out a tiny yelp when the man’s strong hand clamped around her arm and he pulled her back against him.

“Where are you going?” he reprimanded. “You were just about to walk into that raid.”

A raid? She glanced at the hollowed-out building she called home, her eyes widening as she watched her friends, one by one, being dragged kicking and screaming into the streets by Roman soldiers.

Instinct propelled her forward, but the man’s hands around her arms held her back.

“There is nothing you can do. Come, before they see you, too.”

She knew he was right, even as tears stung her eyes and she fought against his words, feeling so helpless, wanting to do something for the friends who’d been her family for the past anno.

“Come, let us go—”

“You! Over there! Come here!”

The man beside her stiffened, and she froze as they turned towards the voice that called out to them.

A young soldier jogged towards them, his gaze roaming over her, before snapping to the man at her side.

“Where are you going with her?”

“Excuse me?”

“The girl,” the soldier said, pointing to her, before jerking his head in the direction over his shoulder. “She’s one of those street kids.”

“I am sorry. You must be mistaken.”

The young man’s brows knitted together as he stared between the two of them, and she knew he was taking notice of the impeccably dressed man, and her filthy garments.

“Ahhh, I do not think so. We were told there were twelve kids. We only have eleven and the one child we’re missing happens to be a girl about what looks to be her age.”

“Well, I am sorry, but you have the wrong girl.” His arms tightened around her shoulders, as he inserted his body between hers and the soldier’s, shielding her from the boy’s view.

“But she fits the descript—”

“I am sorry that you are missing a child, but she isn’t one of them. This girl is my daughter.”

Before the soldier could say another word, the man grasped her hand and tugged her back down the street, holding her by his side. From that dawn forward, she became the daughter he’d spoken of, just as he became her father.

* * * *

Lamia felt a shadow fall over her as she sat with Armine on a marble bench in the outer courtyard of her home. She looked up with expectant eyes, hoping it was Thanos, knowing it was foolishness to so openly pine over a man who’d rejected her, but she could not seem to stop.

It was not Thanos, but she smiled anyway, recognising her visitor.

Well, she smiled, that was,
until
she saw his right eye. She opened her mouth to say something, but Armine beat her to it.

“What happened to your face?”

Adonis scowled at Armine before he turned his eyes—or
eye
rather, since one was swollen shut—on her.

“Your husband decided to tamper with the perfection of the gods.”

She swallowed a smile at Adonis’ arrogance. His eye may have been bruised but obviously not his ego. “I am so sorry, Adonis. I tried to stop him—”

He held up his hand to halt her words. “Do not apologise. It is not your fault.” He grinned. “Besides, I know you tried to stop him. I heard you yell for him to halt just before he knocked me out, but we both know your husband is an ill-tempered bull. Not even the gods could have stopped him once he decided to charge.”

She chuckled at the vision Adonis described. That was one of the things she liked about him—his good humour. “You know, if Thanos returns and finds you here, you are a dead
hoplite
.”

He winked, taking a seat on the ground at their feet. “I shall take my chances. Besides, he is at my father’s home for the moment and I expect he shall be there for some time. They are plotting a campaign to Athens using some error in the constitution to supersede the directive of the council.”

She frowned. Thanos had mentioned needing to meet with Cleomenes, but he hadn’t mentioned anything about a campaign to Athens. “When are you expected to march out?”

He shrugged. “I honestly do not know, but I imagine soon. There is word that Roman ships have already been spotted in the Aegean.”

Lamia did well in masking the alarm now roiling in her belly. She knew Thanos was a soldier and this was his way of life, but it still did not make it any easier to hear that he could soon be leaving for war.

“What are you doing?” Adonis asked and she was grateful for the interruption. She did not need to succumb to the hysteria Basha had warned her about, she thought wryly.

“Armine was recently accepted into the
agoge
under Thanos’ sponsorship.” She glanced down at the sketch tablet in her hands. “So we are now working on a special design for the sword she shall use for her blade instruction.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Congratulations. It is not easy for a foreigner to be accepted into the
agoge.
I am impressed. You must be very special.”

“Thank you.” Armine nodded as she blushed very prettily for Adonis, and Lamia thought it amusing that no matter the age, no woman, girl or newborn babe seemed to be unaffected by Adonis’ charms.

She stroked her daughter’s hair and smiled down at her, remembering the first eve she’d spent in Darius’ home after the raid and how he’d lovingly stroked her hair while she’d cried in his arms. The bittersweet memory brought tears to her eyes, but she smiled through the sharp pain as she glanced down at Armine, vowing she would be to this child what Darius had been to her.