Chapter 12
"Make Me Forget"


Recommended Songs: "Ghosts" – James Vincent McMorrow & "After the Storm" – Mumford & Sons


"What is it that love does to a woman? Without she only sleeps; with it alone, she lives." – Ovid

"I wonder what sort of man comes to a brothel, sits in a corner, and keeps to himself all evening," an audacious voice wondered from across him, and Haemon lifted his head from where it hung exhausted between his shoulders to consider the buxom brunette who had helped herself to the seat across from him. Realizing she gained his attention, she quirked one eyebrow invitingly, and a sinuous smile curved her lips. For hours it seemed, he had watched the same woman maneuver about the room, stopping from table to table to join the men in conversation and at times disappearing with one of them, only to return again a while later.

Haemon couldn't restrain an amused smile to see her sights had settled on him, and her own widened as if encouraged by him.

"Are you shy, love?" she wondered while leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table, expertly arching her back as a result and propping up the shapely curve of her breasts for his eyes to feast upon.

This gained her a chuckle though he still kept his thoughts to himself, entertained for the moment by her act and perhaps even willing to let her feed his ego as she attempted to wile herself closer to him, and he drew another sip from his cup.

"Or perhaps only quiet," she murmured, tilting her head with intrigue, and she played her part well, looking neither too desperate nor too aloof.

He kept his silence but dared her with the slight narrowing of his eyes.

"Fortunately," she continued, her voice a bit low and throaty as though they were conversing confidentially, "you don't need to speak. I am well-versed in reading a man."

"Are you?" he asked at last, interested and amused enough to encourage her.

"Very," she promised and straightened slowly while rearranging the lines of her body as only a woman aware and comfortable of her sex could. Though her brown eyes glittered mischievously in the candlelight, her face sobered as if to set about an important task, and she sat upright and squared herself toward him. "May I?"

His cup was lifted to lips once more, and so he merely nodded his assent, chestnut eyes smoldering above the bronze edge as they watched her performance.

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing purposefully and thoughtfully on the full flesh, and made a show of how her brown eyes scanned him from toe to nose taking in every available inch that she could and very slowly drawing her eyes along his arms and shoulders, his neck and finally his face.

His eyes were waiting, possibly darkened to show she had aroused his curiosity, and he prompted, "Anything?"

"Oh yes," she assured him as a kitten smile hiked up her lips. "You're not from Apulia," she began tentatively, waited for him to contribute, and pursed her lips slightly to see him silent and stolid. "But you don't relish in carrying your gold about you, so you're not a merchant. A traveler, perhaps, though for what purpose I'm not sure."

Haemon said nothing, only his dark eyes shone in interest, and she grinned with abrupt haughtiness to know she was right.

"The ring you wear," she continued, "was your father's or some other older man who was like a father to you. I doubt you ever take it off."

He lifted his fist to cover his mouth, resting his elbow on the table, and ran his thumb thoughtfully along the grain of his beard.

"I imagine you come from wealth as only a man from wealth could be so comfortable and arrogant with one gold ring to his person," she let tongue toy with the final two words, curling around each of them to annunciate clearly and curtly.

His eyes sharpened, so subtle, yet she felt them chasten her daring tongue and grinned devilishly.

"You're neither shy nor quiet, but you're used to having women approach you and so you enjoy the game."

"I'm playing a game?" he wondered and drew his thumb idly along his beard once more.

Her eyes followed the movement like a hungry little animal nipping at anything to sustain it, and they swelled with promises when they traced his straight nose to find his gaze again. "Forgive me… Have I given you too much credit?"

Here a smirk bloomed behind his fist, and he rewarded her with a chuckle at her brazen and her wit. He dropped his hand and confessed, "You could convince any of these men to empty their pockets for you."

"You as well," she assured him and smiled sweetly though it had the effect of a lioness licking her chops.

"No, not me."

Her smile dropped almost taking on a childish pout of disapproval, and she warned, "I like the occasional challenge."

"You are a good tease," he revealed, "but you're a poor judge of character."

Her pout evaporated so that her mouth could stiffen and her brow could crease in a frown of confusion.

"The sort of man who comes into a brothel, sits alone, and keeps to himself is a married one," he explained and then tilted his head back to finish off the last of his wine.

How many cups he had consumed, he couldn't venture a guess, but the alcohol soothed his tired body, emptied his head of its heavy thoughts, and made him yearn for bed. The prostitute's teasing had effectively complicated that sensation, causing him to desire it for reasons beyond sleeping. He had nearly forgotten the last time he enjoyed a woman, since war with Umbria and then this engagement had preoccupied his thoughts, and the stirring of his arousal was that much more persuasive and commanding as it uncoiled deep in his gut from its slumber.

"Hm," she hummed and only looked further fascinated, "and why would a married man come to a brothel if not for company?"

"Because he is a traveler and needs shelter from the storm."

"And not someone to warm his bed on these cold nights?"

She was a determined one, he would admit, and he found that the more inspiring seeing her try to charm and then outwit her way into his bed. It was a rare find, a woman as persistent and brazen as this, and for a moment he was tempted by those hungry, chocolate eyes daring his darker desires.

"I have my wife waiting in my bed," he decided brusquely, continuing his lie, and looked away to count out his payment for his meal and wine, "and I don't have to pay her."

"Nothing is free," she challenged. "Even with a wife… You can't fuck her and leave her, and every night is the same, boring repetition."

He shook his head slightly, both piqued and riled to hear such a mouth on a woman, but what was he to expect from a whore? As he stood, he thumbed a coin toward her.

She caught it easily in her palms and curled her hands to her chest, her smile reinvigorated by his clemency.

"For your company," he said. "Go prey on another drunk bastard."

"If you change your mind," she replied with an impish grin, "my name is Aella."

He couldn't withhold his chuckle as he realized the connection and understood more now how one woman could catch two men in her spell and tangle them beyond reason. It was better he retreated and allowed her to cast her magic on dumber men. As it was, their conversation had awoken a fresh hunger in the pulsing warmth of his belly, that sinuous carnal ache, and it guided him down the corridor and to his borrowed room where he silently opened the door and stepped inside.

A lone candle flickered and burned on the table alongside their cloaks and the pitcher of drinking water, and its light poorly illuminated the space, so that his sights strained to adjust to the dim space. After scanning the interior, he found her silhouette lying upon the bed though her position warned it had been an accident of her weariness more than a conscious desire to sleep. Her body was twisted, her shoulders and back lying open toward the ceiling of the room, while her hips faced the wall with her knees, calves, and ankles hanging off the edge of the bed. It almost seemed as if sleep had overcome her with such force that she collapsed onto her side without the chance to situate her legs atop the mattress as well or delve beneath the wool blanket.

"Stubborn woman," Haemon growled beneath his breath, aggravated and amused, "I told you to sleep."

Many times he had warned her how she would fold under the severe exhaustion, but it was pitiful almost to see her like this all the same. Exhaling, he bent to find her feet, now clean and free of their sandals, and gently place them on the bed, and he sat on the edge beside her ankles and considered her sleeping as deeply and soundly as a babe, so that she neither stirred when he adjusted her position nor when he sat beside her.

"If I had known…" He stopped himself and shook his head. No, he wouldn't have eased their pace, and if he had, they would be out in the storm rather than sleeping in a warm bed. Still, he was frustrated with her silence. Always this silence between them when she could have expressed the level of her weariness. Did he intimidate her so much that she couldn't tell him when she hurt or when she was too tired to carry on? He couldn't live his life beside a mute!

An indistinct groan interrupted his thoughts. He frowned through the darkness to better make out her features, thinking for a moment she was waking to him, but her eyes were closed and clenched tightly beneath her growing frown. The thin skin trembled as her eyes moved restlessly beneath them, seeing something within the deep recesses of her mind, and her arms flinched abruptly as a soft whimper fell from her lips. She faintly shook her head, her arms jerking unnaturally again, and he smoothed his palm along her cheek, felt the tender skin shudder in his grip. These nightmares… How could a woman hold so much fear that even sleep would not appease it?

"Shhhh," he whispered to quiet her.

Her pale features flexed and quaked, and her face pushed against his hand to break the grip trapping her in place.

Stubborn woman, his mind echoed once more, and he held her tighter, fanning out his fingers to grasp her neck and her cheek at once.

She groaned, agitated, her hips rolling clumsily back onto the bed, but as soon as her weight settled, she was still and quiet as he had found her. His hand lingered there while his gaze drank in the pale, dimly lit curve of her cheek, and he sensed it better when his fingertips drew along it, over her jaw, and down her neck. They traced the collarbone as he had done earlier that evening, but this time she was relaxed and at ease beneath his touch. He allowed his hand to fall lower and follow the fabric along the swell of her breast, enjoying the smooth, soft skin and warm curve. His fingers dared down the gash in her dress that he had caused until he felt her stomach and nearly reached her navel. The fabric of her dress interrupted his journey, and he flattened his palm now across her to better feel the bow of her hips and long lines of her legs. When he reached her ankles, she still had not stirred, but that unfed desire was sifting like a hungry beast inside of him, his heart beating more forcefully inside his chest as he felt the blood gathering at his waist and sinking toward his hips.

He took the hem of her dress and guided it across her ankles, up her calves, over her knees… Her pale skin came into sight, the milky texture that glowed in the night, barely visible and yet tangible, and he bent to find the small, circular bone on the inside of her ankle with his lips. It was so delicate that even his lips seemed too rough for it, and he tried again to find a better place for his mouth, agitated and aroused with how soft her skin was beneath it. He kissed the inside of her knee, savoring how the heat of his breath swept across her skin and back into his mouth, and he planted his hands on the mattress to balance his weight so that the only touch to graze her where that of his lips in the steady assent up her body. He nestled his lips into her inner thighs where he could feel the heat radiating from between her legs though her dress still shrouded her from his sight, and at last, her leg awoke under his kindling, her knee straightening subtly. He kissed higher up her thigh, bringing him closer to the essence of her beauty and her womanhood where he yearned to taste her lips, and a soft, groggy groan emitted from her throat as if to encourage him.

Later, he promised her and reluctantly tore himself away.

The rest of her body called for him, untouched and waiting exploration, and he kept his pace, then finding the small sliver of skin at the lowest part of the gash in her dress and working soft, languid kisses up her stomach and between her breasts. She groaned again, louder, and rolled her head atop the mattress to the other side, her features flexed subtly in her sleep. Even as her mind slept on fitfully, her body warmed to his touch and his kiss, and that knowledge was a heel in his side to drive him on. He kissed each of her collarbones in turn, enjoying how they framed her chest, and then he reached the crook of her neck and followed her slender throat to her jaw. He mapped out each piece of her he could, and yet he wasn't satisfied with his incomplete assessment. His teeth found the tender skin beneath her ear, nibbling lightly as he felt her body writhing beneath him, and his arms shook with the effort to hold his chest still above her. His teeth sunk in deeper, and all at once, a low moan tumbled from her lips so raw and earnest it electrified the hairs on the back of his neck and traveled down his spine to settle in his loins. Her head twisted once more this time her cheek resting against his face so that he could hear the unsteady, hushed breath he was causing, and his body ached to his bones with the sudden need to touch and feel her. He abandoned his game as he added his weight to still her beneath him, thinking she might be calmed and restrained and forced to lie motionless again. Her hips rocked without purpose, as insistent and blind as her face, and he winced when she collided into his arousal, making him bear down until she was pinned to mattress under him. She fought on even becoming more desperate as he restrained her, and he felt too perfectly the restless flexing of her hips and her waist, the twisting and arching of her chest. His eyes closed to douse him in the cool, calm of darkness, but it only drew the whole of his attention to her writhing figure, those soft curves rotating and squirming around him. His heart drummed inside his chest to answer her siren song. She was seeping through his skin, intoxicating him with her scent, so much stronger than any drink. Each toss and turn of her pliant figure had his body pulsing, and his head ached to contain it. She taunted the surface; his skin burned at her teasing; he needed to bury his hips in her, to feel, possess, and consume her.

He opened his eyes to her as witless and tangled in her sleep as he had found her, and frustration flamed inside him. It was wrong for him to be provoked by a sleeping woman, but she was beautiful. She was his. His hips parted her knees and sunk into the embrace of her thighs where her dress yielded to him and gathered around her abdomen. He could feel that heat searing him even through the material at his waist, and it was torture more than pleasure to feel her so close and not completely. Her mouth parted with a breathy exhale, her neck stretching abruptly even as she frowned, and his thumb caught her lower lip, massaging that peachy, soft flesh. He remembered the night he had taken hold of her and thought he would teach her a lesson, but how she had crept beneath the cracks in his armor, deceiving him with that timid kiss.

"Please," her drowsy tongue slurred, and she writhed and turned her head when his palms cupped her cheeks again. Beneath the oppression of her sleep, she couldn't seem to separate the dream and reality, and he released her lip to stroke her cheek. Without his thumb, the tender flesh trembled before his eyes and whispered, "Don't leave."

The two words hammered through thin wall of his will, and he crashed over her as unyielding and all-consuming as a wave on the sea. Her lips were velvet to his mouth, so soft and sweet and tender, that they sent him crumbling to her, his body crushing her beneath him, and he bit, sucked, kissed from one corner of her mouth to other, attending to each swollen piece. Then he seized them more desperately and kissed her so hard he expected those plump lips to break, but he couldn't mediate his assault. The rush of need was too unexpected and too strong, almost crushing his bones with the way it snaked around his every inch, and he drove his hips forward until he felt his length embed in her and pushed himself deeper as if he could tear through the material and find her.

Without warning, a shrill shriek was muffled inside his mouth, and small fists beat at his chest and his arms, then opening for the palms to push at his weight, her arms trembling with the effort to force him away. Her hips writhed against him, her legs kicked blindly, and for a moment, his brow knotted, feeling her buck her hips into him, teasing him… Her forehead knocked his brow dazing him slightly, and he shook his head free from those persuasive thoughts and drew his attention away from his groin to her panicked face where her eyes were pinned closed as though too fearful of what they would see. Even from their prison tears slipped out the edge, glistening in the dim candle's light against her pale temples, and the sight pierced through the dense cloud of lust and alcohol, deep into his head.

"No," he said as he took her wrists in his hands to hold her from attacking him and pinned them by her head. "Open your eyes. It's me."

She fought him still, those tears falling down her temples, like his words landed on deaf ears. He tried to still her body with his, pressing more of his weight on her to pin her to the bed, but this only seemed to panic her more.

"Aurora!" he commanded sternly. "Open your eyes. Look at me."

Her lips were shivering, though he only noticed when her body suddenly stilled beneath him. Tentatively, one eye parted to glance at him followed by the other, and for a time, she blinked again and again, trying to penetrate the heavy fog of her sleep and find him. At last, her mismatched eyes latched onto his features and focused to make out his face from the dim lighting of the room.

"It's me," he repeated again, but rather than recognition, her face tangled in confusion.

Her eyes frantically darted away from him to his body atop her then to his hands gripping her wrists tightly by her ears and tried to understand his purpose. She felt it more than she saw: his hips crushing her beneath their weight where his body was wedged between her thighs. A fresh alarm stained her face, and he waited for her to begin fighting once more, but her damp gaze found him, looking suspicious, anxious, and… something darker. It was a trick of the candlelight flickering in her eyes, and he struggled to see her clearly and chased after that glimpse. Her hands curled to fists, subtly flexing the thin muscles and tendons of her wrists captured by his palms, and he released them only to ground one of his hands at her waist, sinking his fingers through the material and into her skin. Her features twitched, but even with her hands free, she didn't move. Her mind and head and eyes felt too heavy with fatigue, the persuasive pull that was drawing her deeper toward sleep even as she struggled to fight it off, and she couldn't understand if she had woken in a dream. She couldn't remember falling asleep, but how else could he be here –like this? How could her mind feel so sedated and her body so alive, pulsing through to her fingertips, and only the pressure of him on her to still it? She wished to have him crush every piece of her, and still it could not calm the rush of heat between her thighs blazing, warming a flush in her cheeks and interrupted only by the unyielding weight of him… It was too much. Frowning, aggravated, exhausted, roused, she closed her eyes thinking she could banish this dream from torturing her.

Instead, his hand crept up her side, past her waist and ribs, and to the curve of her breast. His fingers felt rough to the tender skin as they curled around the edge of her dress and drew the fabric back, freeing her only to mold his palm around the swell. His touch was a shock of pleasure and fear through her. Her eyes burst open to find his face but met the dark emptiness of the room above her, and the tender touch of his lips brushed her throat beneath her ear, his rough beard scratching at the skin and magnifying the feel of his mouth. Hot, moist breath tumbled lower across her neck, his thumb circled over her pillowy flesh to brush the hardened skin crowning it, and all at once, her body buckled beneath the combination of sensations like the room capsized from her. Sleep evaporated with such force that the realness was a sharp pain. Her head rolled to the side, unconsciously offering him the full length of her neck, and her heartbeat was a dizzy clamor of panic and need too tangled to unwind. The shock of his lips on her sternum startled her whole body, and she swore she felt those teasing lips pull into a smile against her skin before they left her again. Her fingers knotted in the coarse wool sheet beneath her as though preparing herself for the soft brush of his mouth on her, but she couldn't anticipate his touch for the renewed clenching of her eyes which kept her blind and in the darkness. Yet it was more stimulating somehow, not knowing how or where he would touch her. She yearned for it, even as his thumb distracted her by rolling the hardened skin of her breast beneath it, and she gripped tighter to the blanket until her weary shoulders and arms flexed to complete stillness. His thumb retreated so that he cupped her fully, and he ruptured her resolve with one, searing, moist embrace of his lips around her. Her breath hitched in the abrupt tensing of her throat, the instinctual need to hold herself and keep that wild rush of pleasure and desire from running through her. His stubble scratched her breast with the opening of his lips only to close a moment later, taking her between his teeth and biting, and a torn, desperate moan tumbled out of her lips faster than she could relax her neck, making it rough as sandpaper on her throat and ending far too loudly in the silence of their room. Her cheeks swam in a flush of blood, and she faintly shook her head, turning it to the other side where she pressed her face into the rough fabric and inhaled its musky scent. He tugged then, pulling against the gravity and biting down harder on her, and unconsciously her back submitted to an arch so that he would not pull so insistently. He tore back the other side of her dress to fully reveal her naked chest, and he threaded an arm through the space below her back to hold her as thrust his face forward, burying into her breast and capturing her between his face and arm. His teeth released her from their prison, and the blood throbbed the more severely there like a sharp ache which made the caress of his lips and tongue the harder to bear.

"Please," she mumbled, jaw tensing, and he couldn't tell whether she was begging him to stop or to continue.

He rose abruptly and tugged with the arm around her so that she collided with her bare breasts into him, feeling the tender skin kneading into the fabric of his shirt and through to the barrel chest behind it. Her eyes flung open to focus on his strong neck rather than facing his eyes, and her hands planted onto the mattress behind her, too afraid to touch him and too shy and inexperienced to know how, while his pushed her dress across her shoulders and down her arms. One hand after the other supplicated until her arms were removed completely from the gown and the upper portion hung slack around her hips, her chest exposed down to her navel for his hungry gaze. His hand gripped her hip, guiding her bottom off the mattress, so that he could pull the crumpled dress across its curve and down to her upper thighs. They pressed together as much as they could for the narrow amount of space, and he removed his hips from between them, making room for him to draw the fabric down her thighs and off her legs. Exposed, her milky skin seemed to radiate through the darkness, etching out the smooth rolling waves of her figure, a woman with all soft arches and no hard angles to interrupt her shape. She remained curled in toward herself, head bowed, as though ashamed and embarrassed to be seen this way before him. She was too thickheaded to realize the rush of desire burning through his insides as he craved to explore her like his eyes were.

He tossed aside her gown and charged her, causing her to break her stance and tumble back onto the mattress to keep him from colliding into her chest, and she unconsciously clutched to his wait to steady her fall. His teeth laid siege on that painfully sensitive little crook behind her ear, and her fingers crumpled in his shirt, tearing it from the material at his waist with a brazen burst of courage and exposing a strip of bronze skin that she couldn't appreciate for her eyes had taken refuge behind her lids again. Her knees ached with the tension holding them tightly together, for her modesty emerged with her nakedness, and her body was trembling to know what fate awaited it even as she dragged his shirt higher off his waist toward his ribs. One hand found her knees, and she clamped her eyes shut even tighter, twisting her head once more as if to hide her face from him. Her legs shivered in his grip when he parted them with his hand and wedged them open to fit his hips once more. He eased over her, pressing himself between her thighs where the feel of him sent a fresh current of need and panic up her spine, and his naked abdomen lay atop her and burnt her with the same force of his lips falling lower down her neck. Her fingers dared to touch his ribs, shaking as they went, but an overwhelming ache to touch him struck her –to feel the contact of his skin on her. She drew her fingers cautiously and blindly across his back, slowing from time to time as she noticed uneven protrusions and depressions in his skin. Confused, she allowed the tip of her finger to trace one and recognized the thin, long sweep of an incision. Scars. He was riddled with them, and her hands took refuge on his shirt once more to avoid them and the reminder of the killer whose rough, callused hand had found her hip and now massaged down her upper thigh.

He buried his fingers in mercilessly deep, and she groaned abruptly with the pain of her muscles reawakened by his hand. Her knees bore into his waist, aching to hold him in the same way she had held to the horse, for she was too timid to relax beneath him, but his hand on her thigh forced one leg to submit, shuddering and shaking under his ruthless touch.

"You're hurting me," she gasped and tried futilely to pull her leg away from him, drawing it in toward herself, but it opened her in an entirely new way and gave him room to bury his hips in deeper against her pulsing core. Her eyes nearly rolled into her head with the sensation of that rigid length between her legs, stealing all the moisture from her mouth, so that her dry lips parted in thirst for something she couldn't understand to quench it.

He groaned into her ear, voice so low and raspy, her skin prickled to life all over just to hear it, and her heart rose into a crescendo as if it were a warning howl. His hand left her only to grasp onto his shirt and tear it over his head and next to reach between them and unknot the material around him. It fell away so that there was nothing to withhold him, but she could not open her eyes to understand the sound of his movements, less anticipate them. He found her knee where her legs had begun to close again without his hips to hold them and eased it back up toward her where she had mistakenly placed it before, and the brush of his naked waist inside her legs broke her conviction. Her eyes burst open, so wide they hurt, but she could not prepare herself for the sight of him as exposed as she was yet his tanned skin against her made her seem even paler, like the moon to his howl. The shadows crept into the contours of his body, etching out too clearly the sinewy lines of muscle and bone like she had never seen before. She had always thought him a wall of a man and couldn't realize how those massive shoulders narrowed to a slim waist and hips and long, athletic legs. She nervously wet her lips as her eyes drank him in, distracted and hungry, and he gripped her hip in one hand, the other still cupping beneath her knee. His weight funneled into his hands, holding her and making her feel that her bones might crush in his grip, and his blistering gaze briefly met hers before he took her in one, sharp, hard thrust.

It felt like he collided with all the blood and breath inside her and drove it from her mouth as a choked cry of shock. He tore through her virginity as if he were charging his enemies at battle –no mercy, no prisoners, no remorse. The pain bloomed a dizzying shade of red behind her eyes, so deep in her, throbbing around the unyielding length of him. She could make no further sound. She tried to rock her hips, to shift them, to ease the fresh searing pain, but his hands were pitiless and pinned her in place to take and feel it all. Her palm met his shoulder, trying to push him back so that she could have the space to breathe, but he was still, holding her down, making her face the ache. Her head rocked blindly from side to side like her chest squirming as much as it could under his firm grip. Her lips were trembling, the throbbing reached her eyes, and fresh tears fell down her temples to tangle in her hair. She focused on the dark ceiling rather than look at him. She was afraid to see him, thinking he would appear unsympathetic like she were just another victory to be won, but he watched every little flicker of movement from her, trying to give her a moment to adjust to him, not knowing what else he could do for he had never been with a virgin –not a true one –not like this. She fit him so tightly, he felt it in his lungs, this pressure keeping his breaths shallow, and his muscles clasped to his bones like she were consuming and crushing every piece of him. She felt better than anything he had ever experienced, and the need to remember that first explosion of nerves was too persuasive. He could hold no longer, even for her sake, and allowed himself to withdraw slowly though she shuddered in his hands.

Hold still, he commanded her feeling every tremble of movement from her stirring his need like a fan to a flame and making it that much more difficult to keep his retreat steady. He paused at her entrance to draw a steadying breath, but there was only the hunger and the ache for her. It was all lost the moment he thrust forward again, as harsh as the first time, and she cried out in the same barren, raw voice. He grit his teeth at how she made him succumb. His muscles shook with the effort to be gentle, but he had never learned how. It was impossible with her, not when it had been so long, not when she collapsed around him hot and heavy as the sea at noon, not when it was her beneath him. He tried and failed again, but she made no sound when his hips resonated inside her thighs. Her lips and eyes were clenched closed again, making her look as though she wished to be blind and deaf to him, and it singed him to see her block him out. Always this silence. Always this apathy. He found her harder than before, and she groaned loudly, rolling her head under so that the arch of pain extended to her chest. Her fingers knotted tightly in the sheet, and when he thrust again, swift, hard, sharp, she collapsed onto the bed defeatedly though her eyes flickered open through her tangled and matted lashes.

He pulled away, and she frowned as the pain swarmed in his absence, making her yearn for him to take it away. His hips sunk into her thighs, filling her completely, cutting through that pulsing fire, and calling on something so much deeper and unknown. There was no room for fear. Just him. Her temples were sticky from tears, pieces of her hair clung to her, but her eyes were clear and staring at him. She could see the ripple of muscles flexing to bring him into her, letting her see and feel at once, and the pain ended with a note of pleasure sinking into her gut. She bit her lip hungrily to muffle the low moan in her throat and watched him pull from her again. He abandoned her to the throbbing emptiness. She had never felt empty before him. She had never let anyone near enough to touch, kiss, or make love to her. He terrified her more than she could express: she watched the sheer brawn of him kill a man and now those same perfectly carved muscles were bringing him into her –again and again and again. The tides twisted in her, exchanging pain for pleasure, but the pleasure was so deep, so carnal it hurt as much to sustain it. A low, loud moan charged through her defenses and out her mouth, nearly echoing inside the empty room, and she curled her chin toward her shoulder, frowning heavily, trying to hold her body still in the same way she had tried to hold back the pain. But this was different. Her body submitted to him, and yet with every powerful thrust into her, she was fighting his hands to free her and let her move with him. She wanted him to make her forget her pain, her fear, her past...

She sprung forward with mindless desperate need, catching his neck and shoulders in her hands, but his grip on her knee pinned her from reaching up to meet him. She dug her nails into his flesh to hold tight to him, her arms shook pitifully to pull her to him, and he yielded, abandoning her knee to wrap his arm around her back and catch her. She clung so fiercely then, rushing forward with the elegance of a blind woman, and her hands wrapped, clawed, demanded of him with such force she forgot him buried inside her and wrenched herself up, causing a fresh blade of pain between her legs. Her eyes pricked with how deep it stabbed, but she held to him, groaning at once in frustration and suffering. His hooded, dark eyes were torn with bewilderment to see her so distraught, reaching incessantly for him, and all at once he lost his balance, his arm collapsing and sending them both tumbling back onto the bed. Her arms caught him at last in their embrace, one looped tightly about his neck, the other curled under his arm and gripping to his shoulder, and she claimed his lips in the way she wanted him to claim her, savage, passionate, and unforgiving. One of his callused palms found her cheek as if to hold her steady like she were charging too quick into battle, but she wouldn't be moderated when she needed him so severely in this moment. Her lips were the fault in his armor, driving past his defenses and to assault him mercilessly, and never had she attacked him. It was exhilarating and torturous realizing she wanted him as badly as he wanted her, and for a moment, he was wound in her spell, in feeling her searing heat trap him inside her, her moist lips kissing him like a final wish. Both commanding and ordering his body, and the soldier didn't know which to obey first.

Her hips rocked without his hands to imprison them, and every subtle pitch of her waist, flexing and releasing to guide hips, was amplified inside her until she groaned subtly at her own teasing, how it fed the fire but would not consume it. He drew away, making her hips tilt back to hold him longer, and found her again in his unyielding way rushing to the brink of her limits where the angle of her hips accepted him. Too far for her to bear, and she cried out into his lips, moaning next when he struck her again, and held tight to his neck for the pressure kindled between their brows. They shared the same heated breaths, their sweaty skin sliding as he collided into her, and their lips had stilled as their desires focused below their hips. Still she clung stubbornly to him, finding some solace in grounding her body to him when his movements grew rougher and took more of her. He couldn't breathe with their faces so close and tore her arm away, pinning her wrist above her head, and she had less bearing to prepare herself, causing the force of his thrust to drive her up on the mattress and then recoiling back to meet him. She moaned at their collision, digging her nails into his shoulder as if she could grip herself better, but she was too exhausted and too weak and too hungry for him. Even the pain was pleasure because her body was on fire and her mind was numb. His hand relaxed from her wrist, slipping up toward her palm, and she tangled her fingers between his though his palm was spread, fingers burying into the mattress beneath them.

He shuddered over her, and she was amazed to discover his limits. But he wouldn't stop. His body laid siege to her, growing more reckless and yearning for that sublime satisfaction to calm the restless, angry pit of need in him. Growling through his teeth, he buried himself into her until there was nothing more to take, hearing the impact of their flesh colliding, and she threw her head back to cry out. His chest pinned her beneath him, holding her steady to meet his merciless charge, and the tension was kindling between them. The sweat on their bodies wouldn't let him hold her, and each time he penetrated her, hitting her thighs, she rocked on the mattress beneath him, her soft breasts drawing up and down his chest. She whimpered at the severe tenderness of her chest, rubbing against him, almost painful with how sensitive their were from his diligent treatment, and she only held tighter to his shoulder trying to force more of his weight on her to still their movement. She was not strong enough to make him yield, and he needed to space to breathe, sucking in one thick gasp of cool air through his lips after the other, yet the blaze remained, growing wilder as he felt more of her sweet, moist heat taking him in deeper and harder. He groaned, low, haggard, the same tone that had sent chills burrowing across her skin, and she felt its bass resonate in her belly where the muscles were knotting one over the other as if desperate to keep something at bay. Yet every impact of him so unyielding, so rigid, so ruthless made her want to release it. She wanted to succumb. She wanted to lose control.

As he drew away, her hips angled again to withhold him, and when he rushed forward, they rocked back to accept him, all of him, feeling him blade through her and strike deep within. So close. He was the key, and she needed him. Her hips moved with him, clumsy and unsure at first, her sweaty skin stuck to the coarse wool blanket beneath them, but she learned his rhythm. Her knees opened wide until they touched the blanket as well, and she moaned to feel him like this. So much she thought to push him away, but she wanted the pain. She wanted the numbness.

"Make me forget," she commanded in a breathless exhale yet it sounded so desperate as if she were begging.

His chestnut eyes searched her face without seeing, but he understood –like he understood her nightmares of being left. His nightmares of Hector leaving… He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, allowing all of his focus on those wet folds accepting him, and he dug his elbows into the mattress, flexed with every muscle of his waist, and drove into her, hearing her cry out again. Swallowing thickly, he repeated the same rough, unforgiving assault, abandoning those failed attempts to be gentle. He captured her lips, knowing how their tender flesh taunted him, and he tasted her, molded his mouth to her, felt the hot gust of her breath when he thrust sharply into her, and massaged his tongue into her own where her guttural moan was consumed by him. Her nails buried into his shoulder and in between his knuckles, and his fingers curled around her small palm as well, holding as tightly as she held him for the same sensation snaked around his ribs and waist. His breaths were short through his nose, his muscles shuddered with exhaustion, his body was covered in sweat, but that end was in sight. His hips chased it between her legs, burying so deeply into her walls and feeling them tighten around him as she clutched from far within. He groaned faintly, kneading his fingers into her palm, and he found her again and again, increasing his pace and losing control. Her lips trembled against him, her mouth had stilled even as he continued to kiss her swollen lips, but she couldn't move. Every muscle in her body was aching and contracted and wrapping around her bones like she were a prisoner to her own desire, and she wanted to break through. She moaned, insistent, commanding, begging, and he rose to her expectations. He struck into her like he might tear through her, and she supplicated as if that passionate violence were what she wanted. Days of frustration, exhaustion, withheld words manifested in their harsh encounter. Like a final battle, they charged at each other both eager for the end, but the sheer desire had stripped away their armor and weapons, leaving them naked and barren to be crushed and consumed. She writhed under him, her hips could not stop their motions, but she couldn't stand it. The pressure was too much. The weight of everything was tangled and holding her down. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. Her nails drew blood from his shoulder, and he growled through his teeth, her savage soldier come to take all. His hips collided into her, his length cutting through the tension like a knife to her binds, and it crashed over her as if a river had swept up to consume her. So powerful, she cried out, craning her neck back for the space to stretch her scream, and it was pleasure and pain that tore through her and left a shuddering, weak woman in its wake.

A vivid warmth spread through her feeling too hot in her abdomen, and she realized he had collapsed beside her on the narrow bed, barrel chest heaving. Her inner thighs throbbed with the emptiness and little after shocks trembled across her body. The chill of the room permeated their sweaty, dense haze, and she felt it creeping along her skin. Shuddering, she drew her knees together but whimpered subtly at the blade of pain between them. His hand found her arm and drew her against him where her exhausted body limply rolled to his side. Her face barely rested on his chest, but she was too weary to care. His skin was warm though damp as her own, and the brief strength brought on by her desire had fled with her release. Pure satisfaction and calm crept into its place so that her eyelids hung languidly across her eyes and distorted the angles of his chest from her vision. She groaned agitatedly when he lifted her from the bed slightly to tear the wool blanket from under them and draw it across their naked bodies, and she was quick to settle against his side once more for her muscles could scarcely hold her up. He reached down to right one of her breasts caught against his side, and she flushed as much as her weak body could manage, a slight warmth of pink in her pale cheeks. He smiled, nearly as exhausted as she, and amused by her reserve around him –after what they had done.

"I didn't believe that a woman at your age could be a virgin," he muttered while lightly tracing his callused tips across the curve of her breast, and she kept her gaze away from his, unsure if she should feel insulted or otherwise.

"I've never been married or betrothed," she said uneasily and wished his fingers would cease torturing her weak skin, but she couldn't find the will to push him away.

"That does not stop most men and women."

Her flush renewed, even seeming to exhaust her further for the effort it caused her body to sustain it, and she kneaded her forehead against his chest as if to bury it away. The comment, however, nipped at her begging to be acknowledged, and she softly confessed, "I never let anyone near enough to…"

His hand abandoned her breast for the moment to trace her waist, massaging his fingers deep into her flesh as she realized he was prone to, and the same deep, burning ache was roused.

She was too weary and aggravated to sustain it, and she hissed, "That hurts."

"You don't listen to me," he grumbled, and his hand moved lower toward her hip and to her thigh once more. Her legs were the worst for wear from days riding bareback up the mountainside, and her body jerked to feel him bury his thumbs in her. "If you slept and ate, you would not hurt so much."

"I was sleeping," she snapped breathlessly for his rough touch stole the air from her lungs, and she tried to wile together the strength to move away from his hands. Her limbs would not respond. Everything ached mercilessly, and yet she had never felt calmer. Pure silence in her mind, and she wanted to sleep…

He chuckled lightly to hear her speak to him so sharply, like she had the first time they met, and he eased his grip on her thigh. "In a few days, this pain will subside. You'll be stronger."

She closed her eyes and nuzzled hear face into his skin as if to hide away, and one palm flatted against his torso to steady herself since his rugged ministrations on her thigh were jostling her slightly. The promise of her future strength in turn made her feel weaker now, and she gritted her teeth to bear his attention but couldn't take it this moment. Unthinking she placed her hand atop his to still him, and she was only mildly to surprised that he obeyed and released his clutch on her muscles to flatten his palm on her skin. Her body visibly sighed, her leg thumped with radiating soreness, and her attention was drawn to her hand atop his where her fingers noticed the touch of something hard and unusual cropped up from his flesh. She circled the tip of her forefinger across it and realized it was the gold ring.

"You always wear this," she noted as though speaking aloud, but it seemed everything had been stripped from her –fear, strength, and her guards.

"It was my father's," he explained a beat later, and she enjoyed the way his voice rumbled inside his chest against her face. It distracted her momentarily from the content of his reply, and then she found herself frowning in confusion and recalling the night he had vocalized his dreams, calling out for his father.

Chewing on the inside of her mouth, she tried to withhold the question, sensing it was too much too soon, and she feared he would abruptly turn on her like a beast lulled to sleep who would awake in a flurry of claws and gnashing teeth. Cautiously she wondered, "Is he not in Alba Longa?"

She heard the keen exhale and the felt the muscles of his chest contract sharply, but she couldn't tell if it were a bluster of hot air snorted in frustration or a good-natured puff.

Rather than answering, he wondered, both wry and amused, "Do you think my brother and I favor each other?"

She envisioned Ascanius and Haemon standing side-by-side as she often found them. Ascanius did not quite match Haemon's height, and the latter was of thick, dark coloring from his untidy chestnut curls to his similarly dark eyes and beard and tanned skin. Ascanius conversely had light brown hair, almost sun-kissed in the daylight, with cool, crisp blue eyes and smooth handsome features. The differences were so obvious when she allowed herself the time to consider them jointly, but knowing that they were brothers, she had never thought anything amiss. Sometimes siblings did not favor each other, and she wondered if Haemon were trying to trap her in some trick question though then she wondered why he would ask at all.

Wetting her lips, she timidly admitted, "No."

"Aeneas is his birth father, not mine," Haemon explained, and as if anticipating the question cusped on her tongue, he added, "My father died in battle when I was eleven."

The realization was too much for even her weariness to dampen, and abruptly she lifted her head to gaze at him, mismatched eyes wide and taken off guard. One corner of his mouth drew back in a lopsided, cynical smirk, though his dark eyes were humorless and solemn.

"I was the same age…" her voice trailed off for his expression did not shift before her eyes.

He'd already known that –most likely since he met her.

Her head bowed to that knowledge, allowing her to search his skin to unravel the numerous implications for it seemed to shed fresh light on every encounter they had ever shared. She understood acutely, to her chagrin and shame why he seemed so pitiless. Look how tall he stood. Look how he shouldered his past with silent resolution. She limply laid her forehead on his chest and swallowed her pride. She was a scared, little girl compared to him, and she couldn't anticipate how bitter that would taste. All these years she thought she was strong, but beside him, she was as fragile and weak as a shard of glass.

"I'm sorry," she confessed at length for she felt the need to fill the void in silence and to sound at least more contrite and mature than she felt. She was such a fool…

"All the armies of Greece came to our shores a year after I was born," he continued whether to complete her shame or merely to legitimize his strength by showing all that he had endured. "My father was the Crown Prince and Commander of our city, and he held back their forces for ten years…" A sudden rush of agitation overcame him, making his body twitch against her, but she did not move nor speak to interrupt him. Shaking his head, he said, "'All my life,' my father would tell me, 'I've lived by a code: Honor the gods, love your woman, and defend your country.'" He ground his teeth briefly and unconsciously gripped onto her thigh, drawing a soft chirp of pain from her that he didn't seem to hear. "Odd that he forgot to include his four children in his code… When one of Greece's best came calling at the gates for him, he left us –his wife, his three sons, and his infant daughter. He knew he would die, but his code told him dying in battle at the hands of Zeus' bastard son was more honorable than defending his family. My father's body burned on the pyre to find peace as a hero in Hades and abandoned us. We lost everything… Our father, our city, our home, our people… That was the cost of his code and his pride."

Haemon grew silent suddenly, torn with these deep memories and long tortured thoughts, and Aurora peeked at him both intimidated to see him so aggravated and sympathetic to his tale. The latter prodded her courage from its cowering position, and she gently commented, "You survived. You prospered—"

"Prospered," he scoffed and chuckled cruelly, fingers burying in deeper into her flesh, and she winced and bit her lip to withhold the sharp pain like knives to her leg. "I was born to inherit the greatest, richest, most powerful throne in the East and that was stolen from me. Now I fight back ruthless tribes with an army of peasants, and at every turn, my legitimacy and my authority are questioned. You all look at me like I'm the nameless bastard come to steal your lands when I have more royal blood running through my veins than those sons of bitches who tear down our walls!"

She whimpered faintly at the final jab of his fingers into her flesh, and her hand curled around him, pulling to make him release. He seemed to push aside his flush of rage to realize the desperate tugging on his hand, his fingers pinned into her soft flesh, and he abruptly released his hold. Five half-moon indentations flared red across her pale skin radiating dull pain, and she exhaled the pent up coil of tension knotting inside her, sensing the cool sweat on her brow.

Temper mediated for the time, he groused distantly, "You see I understand better than any. I've been thrown from my lands when an imposter claimed the throne and forced to flee by boat and on foot to find safe harbor… I was only boy then, but I'm strong now. I can take back your lands. I can protect you."

Her breath uneasily shuddered through her lips, and she lay motionless as his promises seeped through her thin skin. How could this killer, this pitiless prince, this wall of a man be so benevolent –to her of all people who had repeatedly disappointed, enraged, and failed him? Timidly, she found his gaze, and he was stolid, resolved, completely determined, and committed. Was this her battle or his? She blinked uncertainly and felt her fingers still curled around his palm.

"Who protects you?" her soft voice broke the silence, and his brow knotted harder, darkening his blistering eyes beneath them.

She didn't feel the power driving her back onto the mattress but only recognized to heat of his skin and weight of his body pinning her beneath him. He seized her mouth aggressively, teeth biting down on her lower lip, and that dull sting bladed through her sympathy, her soreness, and her exhaustion deep into her belly where she remembered the pervasive ache drumming between her legs. It was denser with her wounded inner thighs still pricking from his last siege, yet she knew how to fill the emptiness and stave off the pain. Her thighs cradled him even as she winced and whimpered into his kiss, but she held him, knowing what he needed. Though she cried out when he pierced her in one, sharp, hard thrust like the first time, though fresh, raw, hot tears tumbled out of her eyes, she held him close. She wanted him to forget.


Author's Note: Hey my loves! I know I promised to continue with Iliana & Damian's plot line in this chapter, but it ended up being so long that I figured it was best to let it stand on its own. Were you guys surprised? :) I also know I added the Recommended Songs to this chapter which I used to do in Girl in the War, and I figured I'd add into this chapter as both an ode to GitW and because I really listened to those songs while writing it.

Thank you to AmyLNelson and klandgraf2007 for the super sweet reviews!

Amy: One surprise down! If it were even a surprise since you always seem to pop into my head and know where I'm going! :) However, I doubt you're anticipating what I have planned for Iliana and Damian, and you'll have to wait a little bit for that to play out. Hehe I'm so evil! I'm glad you like Aurora. Sometimes I find myself frustrated with her, which is sad because she's my character, but I wanna shake her and say, 'Stop crying, lady! Buck up!' But I was pleased, and I hope you were as well, with how she behaved this chapter. There's more of a mutual understanding between she and Haemon now, and they have something to distract them from their frustration. Nothing like a good romp to make them momentarily forget they want to strangle each other haha I wonder what you thought of Haemon's account of Hector? It was almost hard for me to write because I love Hector so much, but I adore Haemon too and have to see things through his eyes. So I hope you enjoyed, and by the by, how is school going? I remember how excited you were about that. Hopefully you're still having a blast, and the holidays are around the corner! xoxo

klandgraf: OMG you kill me! Leaving reviews for each chapter :) Thank you so much, girly! I'll try to address them all. Ahem, first, yes the metal thing with Damian. Major ouch. I was actually reading back through that, and I was like I didn't make that sound nearly as gruesome as I saw it in my head but admittedly I was impatient for the kiss haha I'm such a girl! Aurora now somewhat knows about Hector and Troy, but Haemon will explain it more to her later. They're a bit -er- preoccupied at the moment (grin). Second, awwww I'm glad you feel bad for Aeneas. I do adore him so much, and I know he's not his young, quipping, rowdy, womanizing self but still... Yes it must be very hard for him, but if nothing else, he has five kids who would die for him :) I do love the tension between Damian and Iliana too! Damian kinda makes me laugh with how he bosses her about but for her own good, and Iliana has a little bit of Myrina in her, don't you think? She's like, 'I want you idiot. Don't tell me no!' haha Third, yes I was intentionally giving Aurora and Haemon the same sort of past :) Admittedly, when I was first writing this out, I hadn't given her that back story purely to reflect Haemon's past, but it ended up playing out in my favor thankfully! They both share deep scars and complicated histories with their families and have lost everything, but that will allow them to heal each other. I've got much in store! What did you think about this chapter? I hope you enjoyed it, and thanks so much for the reviews, lovely xoxo