...In an attempt to loosen the knots in his muscles, Adeno hunched his shoulders. With a grimace, he remembered his first night spent as a slave nine years ago. He recalled the wonder and relief he’d found in his own space, the dread that had come when he realized his father’s cruel hand would never touch him again, but in its place were sabers and whips that never showed mercy. Having no desire for one last night filled with nightmares, he tilted his head back and licked his lips.

“You’re no longer on me, Nas,” he murmured weakly. The Yarin root he’d been forced to drink made his throat raw, which would prevent him from screaming in the arena. The slave masters had realized long ago that it disturbed patrons to hear terror accompany a blood bath. “No longer with me,” he continued with the dreaded realization that the essence of her breast and lips had faded from his mouth.

Yet it had existed, he reminded himself, and her unique flavor belonged to him alone. Perhaps in twenty years another man would fondle her breasts, but he’d claimed her first, however briefly. Possessive male thoughts allowed a smile of satisfaction, but pain and regret quickly swallowed it up.

“But I want you. Now.”

Each silky caress of her hand, the tight grip of long fingers around his cock, none of it had left an imprint on his mind. No matter how he’d touched her, he maintained his lowly place. Still a slave, still a prisoner, still a piece of property bought, sold, and destroyed.

With a growl of frustration, he pushed to his feet and stalked the width of his dark, musty cell. Need pulsed through him, invaded his blood like sweet poison. When he’d awakened upon her table, the spear still jutting from his chest, he’d promised himself he’d hold her once, only once. But now once wasn’t enough, and perhaps a thousand times still wouldn’t sate this sudden hunger, this awakening he’d found with her hands in his hair and his lips sucking her nipple, tongue laving her throat.

An iron door opened and shut, and he stood stock still in his cage, eyes trained on the cell bars. The torches along the wall flickered as a gust of urine-scented air wafted through the lower corridors.

“Deno.”

Nasora spoke his name in barely a whisper, but she beckoned him to her. He stood, hands gripped tightly around the bars, and shook them hard to guide her forward. The men around him fell silent, their interest piqued by something soft and warm.

Footsteps cushioned by leather sandals padded along the stone and damp straw until she stood before him, her dark colored gown billowing around her, face pale as the moon he hadn’t seen in nine years.

“Where are the keys?” she whispered.

He shook his hand and pointed at his throat. “Turvo,” he rasped.

With a frown, she wriggled her hand through the rusty bars where it stopped at her elbow. Bowing, he drew her fingers to his lips and closed his eyes. The scent of her perfumed skin filled his lungs, lifted him momentarily from his prison cell and nestled him in her grasp.

“How?” he questioned, the single word almost indiscernible.

“I walked here,” she answered. “Eleven streets.” She smiled faintly and clutched his hand. “My governess sleeps deeply. She didn’t wake when I climbed through the window and landed in the bushes.”

“No,” he said. If his voice still existed, he would have told her to return home. Agony burrowed into his heart as he thought of someone discovering her here, now.

“I won’t let him kill you,” she promised.

He reached through the bars and touched her cheek and chin, ran his finger along her lips. With his eyes trained on hers, he caressed her, promised her a night spent far away from this place. Bodies naked and trembling, hair dampened with the rain like sugary mist on the meadows as they lay together, joined as they both craved. He looked her over, imagined his hands cupping her hips, thought of his fingers tangled in her hair grown long once more. Immediately his gaze focused on her belly and the empty womb he wished to fill. He needed her more than ever on the eve of his death, but more than need, he loved her and feared for her.

“Don’t die,” he forced himself to say. He squeezed her hand harder than necessary. “Nas, don’t die for me.”

“Deno—”

“It’s not worth it.”

She squeezed his hand, then pulled away. “You think it is worth living if I see you die?”