"You are early," Marcus grins when Caius walks into the granite-etched room where the councils of a triumvirate take place, sunrise staining sandstone rose. "To what do I owe this turn of events?"
"I live to surprise you, brother," the pale man says with a sharp-toothed smile. It is a humourless gesture but the dark-haired immortal is accustomed to flaring tempers and barbed words.
"And you succeeded," he admits, attention drawn elsewhere. The dawn's tawny glow catches the edges of a heavy torc around Caius' throat, the patterned gold doing a poor job of concealing wounds in the shape of a delicately eager mouth.
"I see you endeared yourself to the lovely Athenodora," Marcus laughs, not bothering to examine bonds. If his brother permits a lover to mark and maim him, there is little more his gift can uncover.
"As always, I have proven myself useful. Nothing more," Caius snarls, his voice rubbed raw. He does not look at Marcus for the remainder of the morning.
[-]
Athenodora slips into Caius' chambers in darkness, her feet damply bruised with grass and the hem of her tunic tucked too high for comfort. She is a creature of inversions, he notes, her feeding turning feral, not easing into elegance with time. Traces of rust on her wrists and chin serve as mementos of crimson-slashed madness; he wants to press his selfish mouth there, tasting only iron and her.
Wordless, she straddles him where he sits, warm knees digging bony crescents into his thighs as lips carrying the shade and scent of old blood catch him in a kiss. She feels fine as spider-silk in his arms, but he clasps her too tightly regardless, palms heavy on the fishbones of her spine, and allows himself to burn against her. Images of blistered flesh enter his mind far too easily as his tongue savours salt and silver, the strange sweetness of skin.
Caius cannot stop a proprietary snarl before it leaves his throat, but Athenodora's irises become inky stains and her spine curves into a cat's shivering arch. Perhaps, he dares hope, she does not mind being his for a finite and gasping moment.
"You are not happy," she murmurs, ending a bloody press of mouths and teeth with an observation that sounds both abrupt and Marcus-inspired.
There is something distinctly unfair about her lucidity, the way her words thrum clear and cool when he can barely calm his breathing, Caius thinks, roughened fingers claiming a steadying grip upon her arms. "I did not know that my happiness was a consideration." His voice carries an acrid aftertaste, reminiscent of scorched things best left unsaid.
Every time she ghosts to his side, barefoot and starving for touch, he feels chilly nails carve half-moons into his insides; this night is not unusual. Exquisite hurt intersects him, an acute awareness that she only longs for an alleviation of boredom, some diversion from a monotonous forever. Whatever he wants from her, it is not that.
"Your ability to avoid brooding is admirable," she grins, a teasing, padding kitten once more. "Besides, I like playing the role of the tortured lover, and you are beginning to ruin that for me." The statement's maudlin draping amuses her, striking sparks in her eyes and drawing her smile into something mischievous, maddening, molten.
One could fall in love with that gesture alone and he will gladly tell her half-truths if it will please her.
"Ignore what Marcus told you. I meddled when he courted Didyme, and good brother that he is, he feels obligated to return the favour," he says, a sickle smile appearing upon his features.
"Very well. Keep your secrets," she sighs, sweeping a snowy kiss across his forehead though laughter quirks her lips. He does not know how to identify tenderness's tracks, but Athenodora's voice has smoothened from thistles to honey in the still space between words.
Nothing is said about the clumsiness of his evasion, and Caius wonders whether she is trying to be kind. Minutes patter by in stillness, as she contentedly breathes delicate kisses upon his collarbones. Then, as though the passing silence wards her away, she uncurls herself from him and secures the pins in her hair, tidying waves and seafoam into coils.
"If you had any need of my heart, I would give it to you," she murmurs, an inscrutable staccato of speech tossed over her shoulder. "But you do not."
He plays with that handful of words, taking them apart and examining their facets, for the better part of the night.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I apologize for the lateness of this update, and as always, thank you for the reviews of the previous chapter :)
This story's rating will rise to M in the next chapter or two, as a handful of you have requested. I'll post warnings when warranted.