Author's Note: This chapter was exceedingly difficult to write, as I am not quite adept at constructing love scenes. I do hope it turned out all right. *looks worried*
As always, I must thank everyone who took the time to read/review. You guys are the best!
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Stephenie Meyer's work.
Chapter Ten
"When and where you are Gaia, I then and there, am Gaius."
Sulpicia observes him with detached interest, raising her thin fingers to her lips. "Roman marriage rites?" she questions. "Would it not be more appropriate to send for a priest so that he might sing a Mass?"
Aro laughs. "I thought you were a traditional creature."
"As long as tradition carries," she parries. "But ah, I can remember little of Rome now."
He does not respond, but leaves her space to meditate.
They are sitting in a dark room, in a dark, decaying house that he has kept for centuries simply because his family owned the land on which it was built. The fields outside have long been depleted of their fertility, the orchards felled and the purling streams diverted to greater rivers. There is nothing left in this ancient place save memory.
And the memories are naught but ghosts.
Aro, however, cannot help but be delighted by Sulpicia. He senses that his Dido is willing to be wooed, though he still approaches her like a startled horse. She might shy and bolt at any moment.
"How then, should you like to be married?" he asks her at length.
Sulpicia is quiet now. All restraint and reserve. She lays her hand upon the surface of the table between them and traces the grain of the wood with her palm. The upholstery of her chair is faded…a mirror image of her own weary expression.
"How would you have me?" Despite her coy turn of phrase, there is no lust in her words. Sulpicia is plain and practical. A woman of measures and means. So utterly agreeable to his tyrant's senses.
Aro does not touch her this time. No, he is saving that particular pleasure for later, letting the tension mount steadily within him as wasted minutes haunt time and the wind stirs beyond the shuttered windows.
He wonders if Caius is angry with him. Certainly, his brother must accord him some leniency, some discretion to handle an affair as sensitive as this.
Marcus alone seemed to understood the nature of Aro's quest. In fact, he had previously confessed a certain resignation towards it.
But the worries of Volterra are distant now and Aro wishes to be merry. To enjoy his mate and perhaps, yes, perhaps, unwrap a bit of the mystery that has kept her so aloof…so cold.
Insecurity, however, nips at his conscience.
"Do you think I am forcing you?" he asks.
Sulpicia raises her eyes to him. Twilight is swift descending, slipping through the slats of the shutters and rendering her gaze colorless. "I do not think so," she says at length and her voice holds none of the music he longs for.
Aro hides his frustration. "Do you believe that I love you?"
"I think there are other reasons."
"Other reasons?"
"Why you should want to marry me."
"What are they?" His is curious. Leaning forward in his creaking chair, he forgets himself and extends his hand. But ah, he'd rather save her secrets for later.
"Tell me," Aro asks, carefully returning his hand to his lap.
Sulpicia flicks her tongue along her teeth and focuses her eyes on the tiled floor. Beneath the layers of dust, a vibrant mosaic slumbers. "I do not know what they are."
He is startled by her admission, but manages to find a crafty grin for her. "I should think, then, that there are none."
She is quick to defend herself. Feral and fierce. "I cannot read the minds of others," Sulpicia says, a certain undertone to her voice suggesting that she is cautious of his talent. "But I am beginning to understand you, Aro."
The sound of his name, falling so melodically from her lips, elicits a soul-stirring reaction. He knows then that he has made the right decision in choosing her for a mate. Her words are an exquisite torment and he revels in their perfect dance. Ebb and flow.
Unwilling to fight instinct and restrain himself, he slides his leg towards hers and under the table, their calves touch. Flesh grazing flesh in sinuous delight.
But he is not prepared for the thoughts that rush at him.
Sulpicia. A precious newborn. A thirsting, miserable creature. All trembling limbs and wonderment.
She is sitting in her family's villa, perched on the reclining couch so favored by the decadent Romans. And a child runs to her. A darling cherub. Tunic loose. Hair tumbling in charming elf knots.
Her niece. The child of her sister.
Sulpicia takes the girl, pulls her on her lap. Sings and cajoles and coos. But the pain, ah the pain…and the thirst.
And suddenly, the child is wailing. And suddenly, there is blood.
All this in an instant. Aro recoils from Sulpicia's touch, then masters himself once more. He finds her eyes across an inviting distance and sees in them wistful memory.
So this is what she remembers of Rome.
Aro is reminded of his own turning and how he had vented his lust on hapless strangers…not his own family.
Sulpicia, it seems, was not quite so lucky.
Poor, pitiful woman.
Perhaps, he thinks, she does not hate him as he once believed. Perhaps, yes, perhaps she hates only herself.
And as time stretches by, Aro begins to understand her at last.
He cannot get the image of the child out of his mind. It stays there, a fresh wound reopened every time he shuts his eyes. And always, he hears Sulpicia screaming…screaming.
They are lounging on the bed, a great, canopied thing with tapestry curtains. The headboard is carved ebony. A dark scene of the Garden of Eden, with Eve holding out the sinful apple to her loving Adam. Serpents crawl up the high posts.
Sulpicia is uncomfortable and she keeps her arms folded over her middle, turns her head away from him.
Gently, he strokes her upper arm. The flesh is smooth and enticing. His kisses her shoulder, closes his teeth to her ear lobe and tugs.
Her face is a portrait of agony.
With some difficulty, Aro controls himself. He knows he must not force her. Not tonight. Not ever again.
She is his wife.
He slips an arm underneath her and cradles her body against his. Sulpicia resists, tenses and twists her lips.
She is afraid.
Aro rests his head on the down pillow next to her and tries to hold her gaze. "Sulpicia."
"Yes?" Her reply is instinctual, the response of a servant to master.
He grimaces. "What was her name?"
"Who?"
"Your niece."
Shock. Then utter sorrow. Her eyes widen to accommodate the tears that will not come. "Claudia," she says at length, her mouth struggling to form the appropriate syllables. "She had green eyes and she screamed when I killed her."
"I know." Aro is surprised when his gut clenches, surprised at so visceral a reaction to something that should be meaningless.
"My sister cursed me. She asked the gods to destroy me, to inflict upon me every shame and torment. I only wanted to be forgiven."
"A mother's reaction," he says softly, although in truth, he could scarcely judge human nature.
"Her green eyes," Sulpicia mutters, "they were beautiful. And she lay in my arms like a doll. I sang her a lullaby."
Aro swallows. His muscles are coiled and aching beneath the weight of her pain. But why did it disturb him so?
Because, a voice whispers, because you love her.
"Are you still frightened of me?" Aro asks. "Do you think I will hurt you?"
A nod. "Yes."
The carved serpents watch over them, guard them with protruding tongues and faces of grotesque lechery.
"I never would."
Sulpicia raises a hand and covers her face. "Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"No." She looks askance and her features are made wild by sudden fear. "Are you certain you want me?"
Aro raises his hand to her cheek and is surprised to find it shaking. "As you are."
"As I am."
Sulpicia stays still for a breath, then raises herself up on the bed. Her legs come to rest on either side of his hips and she drops her arms across his torso.
A faint pulse bursts to life in Aro's core as she shifts her weight on top of him. Her body, he realizes, is deliciously intricate. A landscape of curves and valleys, all blanketed with snowy flesh.
She presses her forehead to his chest, directly above his breastbone where his phantom heart sleeps. And with her mind, Sulpicia speaks to him.
"When and where you are Gaius, I then and there, am Gaia."
And then he dives, straight into oblivion, into the colorless infinity of want and need. Sulpicia sighs when he comes to her, when he nests his long fingers in her hair and presses his lips to hers. He feels the sound muffled against his mouth, inviting as her tongue which has begun to probe past his lips.
The ache grows in Aro's loins, demanding he seize her at once and claim her for his own. Blindly, he fights desire with patience. He must let her guide him now…if only for tonight. He must win Sulpicia by granting her victory.
Sulpicia seems to understand this and gently, she guides his hand past her bodice. His palm cups her breast, rubbing against her hardened nipple. A soft noise erupts from the base of her throat. Her fingers find the hem of his tunic and deftly, she pulls it free and over his head.
Aro grunts, cold air striking his bared skin. Teasingly, Sulpicia runs her teeth along his shoulder, leaving a tingling trail of tenderness.
She is testing him, setting his nerves on fire in a careful dance which she will control. Aro smiles…and joins her.
He slips his hands beneath her plain, grey mantle and strokes her sensitive thighs. Sulpicia is still and he increases his ministrations, moving upward, upward, until his palm comes to rest on her fleece.
He kisses her before she can cry out.
There is a certain hint of cool indignation in her eyes, something of retained majesty as she writhes under her ministrations. But Aro is distracted. He lifts her unto her his lap, her legs easily spreading to accommodate his stiff manhood.
And as the wind rises, sighs and rises to a fever pitch, Sulpicia settles her hands around his throat.
He realizes, then, that his life is in her hands.
"It is strangely exciting," she says, her voice a muted trill, "to watch the stoic squirm." [1]
And then she releases him, returns his life and his heart.
Lust provokes his discipline until Aro is wild and Sulpicia along with him. His seizes her waist and pulls her down, his fingers dancing across her creamy belly.
Thoughts sift into rising music.
She shrieks.
When it is over, Sulpicia leans over him, her hair a curtain, a veil to obscure their congress. And of her own free will, she kisses him.
After their union, Aro takes his new mate to the decadent city of Venice. Together, they gorge themselves on the blood of musicians and artists. Poets and priests.
Dawn paints the canals as red as the Nile and Sulpicia dances with him in forbidden courtyards, tucked between ancient, echoing buildings.
[1] This line comes directly from "Uninvited", written by Alanis Morissette for the City of Angels soundtrack, 1998.