Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me.
Rating: R for a sexual situation.
A/N: This story changes one scene from the aired version of A&C, but the change does not affect the final outcome of the episode. Thanks to LadyKate for beta reading once again!
Huntress
by XenaAmber
You know the exact moment when your brilliant plan stops being so brilliant.
Until now, you've been having a fine time playing the tease with Anthony, making the most of Egypt's many sensual delights. You are supposed to be Cleopatra after all, and you're playing your part to the hilt. Three Roman generals, all vying for your navy, and you need to decide which one of them deserves your trust.
Cleopatra's trust, that is. Because Xena knows Romans far too well to trust them.
You keep your distance from Brutus – he may have killed Caesar in the end, but before that, they were friends, and you haven't forgotten. And Octavius is unproven, just a kid playing at war games, trying to carve out a place in his adopted father's shadow.
Anthony, however, intrigues you. In all your dealings with Rome, you've never met him, so all you know is his reputation: once Caesar's second-in-command, but no lackey, and at best an uneasy ally. Now in power, he compensates for his lack of diplomacy with brute force, and rumour has it he's no stranger to the whorehouses and gambling dens around the Mediterranean.
Easy prey for someone like Cleopatra.
She, no doubt, would welcome the protection that Anthony's support would give Egypt, and would go to any lengths to save her people. Or so you tell yourself as you wrap the chains around your naked body, snap the locks closed and slide the key inside your mouth.
You are unprepared for the power emanating from him as you tumble out of the carpet onto his cabin floor. Confident, arrogant even – he is a Roman, after all, and your hackles are raised – but warm and solid, and your gasp as he takes his time unlocking your chains is quite real.
You know he will make for good hunting.
The words, the glances, the kisses come to you effortlessly after he arrives at the palace – your palace. You sense Gabrielle's unease, but her disapproving gaze does nothing to quench your thirst as you feed honey-dipped strawberries to Anthony; and when he abandons the fruit and pulls you down to meet his lips, you let him.
She doesn't understand. You might have swapped your battle leathers for Egyptian gowns that reveal more than they cover, but you are still at war. You are focused, alert, you pounce when you see the slightest of openings. Cleopatra would do no less.
But everything stops when you approach him under the pyramids that night, when Gabrielle is safely tucked up in bed back at the palace. He has built a fire, and the glow flickers over his face, creating familiar shadows.
Blunt, hard, direct, this you can handle. Romans and their destinies leave no room for questions. You've faced too many questions lately: a daughter you need to protect; gods chasing you everywhere you go; a best friend who has become more like you than you ever wanted. A god of war whose love stabs you deeper than any weapon could.
You have no answers.
When Anthony tells you he no longer cares about your navy, but wants your love instead, you know. This Roman speaks the truth. The hunt is over, your prey awaits, blind to your trap.
Anthony's words may be meant for Cleopatra, but he and Ares are not so different. Both know how to play the game; both are worthy opponents. Both have willingly surrendered to you.
You must strike now.
You and Ares have been circling around each other for years, but Eve's birth has destroyed your wary understanding and replaced it with – something else. Another answer you don't have. Despite your efforts not to hear his soft words or see the hurt in his eyes, your dreams betray you, and you melt at his voice and his touch far too easily. Before, you didn't trust him. Now, you want to, and you hate him, and you hate yourself for it.
Never trust a Roman. This is deeply ingrained into you through cold experience. It was a Roman that taught you how to hunt. You know better.
But as you turn to face Anthony, opening your mouth to him, and letting him guide you gently to the ground, it doesn't matter.
This is a question you can answer.
With Ares, there is a constant battle for dominance. You share so much history that there could hardly be anything else. You know his weaknesses, which insults will hurt, where to attack. The spots on his body to kiss, touch, stroke. And he knows yours.
But Anthony is not Ares, and his love for Cleopatra is simple enough. His weight feels good above you. He explores your body slowly, surely, and you are content to take the pleasure he promises you. The sand shifts beneath you as he nudges your thighs apart, and your hips arch when he caresses you under your thin dress.
Cleopatra trusts this Roman, and for tonight, that is enough.
Anthony thrusts into you, and the look of bliss in his unfocused brown eyes reminds you of Ares. You hope you won't see the pain you cause reflected there too. You wrap your arms and legs more tightly around him, matching his movements as the urgency grows. When you reach your climax, you cry out, and you have to close your eyes as you feel him shudder inside you. You're not sure who you're clinging to anymore.
In the days after, you spring your trap. He rejects your proposal to work with Octavius, and unknowingly consigns himself to the scrap heap of defeated Roman generals, along with Brutus and Caesar himself. He makes the mistake of trusting Cleopatra – trusting you. Anthony might love Cleopatra, but you will finish what you started. Whatever else you may be, you are a hunter.
You couldn't finish what you started when you held a knife at Ares' throat after he killed Eli. Sometimes, you wonder if you should have. The answer to this question scares you so badly that you pretend you never asked it at all.
You have no such hesitations as you drive your sword into Anthony's stomach and watch as his body rolls down the steps of his ship. His blood soaks your dress and chills you despite its sticky freshness. His dead eyes bore into you, an expression you know too well, until you can't look any longer.
Acrid smoke from burning ships nearby swirls all around, hiding him from you forever, but it can't hide you from yourself.
Cleopatra killed the man who loved her without feeling a shred of guilt. Xena could not.
You'll keep hunting. Someday you will find your answers.