The Triumvirate

I: Misplaced

Quintus stood in the bedroom doorway and stared in at the two lovers asleep on the bed. The scarlet blanket fell away to reveal the curve of Lucia’s hip, her pale shoulder. The Gaul slept beside her on his belly, one arm stretched out to her so that his fingers were sunk deep in her red-gold curls. Early night moonlight slanted through the open window and pooled across the Gaul’s back, highlighting the blue knot-work of his tattoo—three running wolves tied in a circle, nose to tail.

A taste of bitterness sprang to the back of Quintus’s mouth. They were beautiful together, more beautiful than anything Quintus had ever seen. He would have given anything to ease onto the bed and crawl up between them, bury himself in Gwynn’s warmth and Lucia’s sweet rosewater and lavender scent. Anything but his pride.

It was his own fault he had been replaced. He should have left the Gaul in the north where he belonged, should never have brought him back to Rome. He should have kept him as far from Lucia as possible. But it was too late for all of that.

“Lucia.” He called her softly. “Lucia.”

Gwynn stirred first. Quintus watched the heavy muscles of his shoulders work as he turned to lie on his back. One corner of his mouth twitched upward when his heavy-lidded gaze found Quintus, and his hand drifted down to rest low on his flat belly, just above the place where the blanket gathered at his hips.

Quintus ground his teeth against a memory—on his knees in the mud with his hands bound behind him, the Gaul’s flesh hot and salty on his tongue—and turned away. “Lucia,” he said, sharper.

“Ita, yes…” She drew herself up slowly, clasping the blanket to her naked front. Like cat’s eyes, her gaze shone golden-green in the dark as it settled on him. “What are you doing in here, Quintus? What do you want?”

“Very many things, but none that you can give me.”

She stared at him without blinking. Gwynn shifted closer to her, his hand resting on her hip the same way Quintus’s hand had once done. Their scents had tangled, so that an animal musk laid over the smell of sweet herbs. Quintus felt both infuriated and frustratingly aroused.

“Did you actually want something, Quintus?” The Gaul watched him through lazy blue eyes that glinted wickedly. His arm circled around Lucia, and he bent to press a damp kiss to her shoulder. “Or did you just come to… watch?”

Anger swelled in Quintus’s throat, so hard to swallow back, but now was not the time for petty jealousies. “Bad news, Lucia,” he said tightly. “Pompey’s fled the city.”

The well-fed flush bled from Lucia’s cheeks as her face went ashen. “No...” She shook her head in denial, her hair spilling across her white shoulders like heavy coils of red snakes. “Quintus, if this is a jest…”

“It isn’t, I assure you.” He felt himself softening a little, the old desire to protect her rising up. “Meus amor, I’m sorry. We must go.”

A muscle in Lucia’s jaw twitched, and Quintus knew she was trying not to cry. He wanted to put his arm around her and draw her close, but the Gaul was already there on the bed, already holding her, rubbing his big hands over her back and murmuring into her hair, promises Quintus couldn’t make out. Quintus didn’t know who he was more jealous of, Gwynn or Lucia.

“We should leave as soon as possible,” he urged. “I’ve arranged for transportation to the coast. If we travel all night, we’ll should arrive shortly before dawn.”

“And then?”

“Most of the Sanguine are making their way to Egypt. I’ll charter a ship for you.”

“For me. What about you? Won’t you be coming?”

He clasped his hands behind his back and avoided her gaze. “I’ll come for you once things in Rome are more settled.”

“Quintus. Where are you going?”

He hesitated; but it was his choice, just as it had been her choice to share her bed with the Gaul and not him. “Pompey goes to Asia Minor to prepare for battle. He welcomes allies.”

“You’ll die,” she said flatly. “You’ll die like you should have died in Gaul.”

“Perhaps. We can discuss it later. For now we must put as much distance between us and the city as we can before Caesar arrives. I’ll give you a few minutes to gather anything you think it necessary to bring.”

“What about my home? I can’t bring that.” Lucia’s gaze drifted around the bedroom, the mosaic floors and walls, the canopied bed, trinket boxes and perfume bottles and polished silver mirrors. “What about my life here?”

Quintus turned on his heel. “It cannot be helped.”

It was ridiculous, he thought as he left the bedroom. Two vampires and a werewolf fleeing the justice of a would-be king. Probably none of them would survive.