Igasped for air, one hand at my throat where Septimus's thumbs had nearly crushed my windpipe. The pressure of his fingers lingered like a phantom touch—intimate and violent in equal measure. My vision cleared slowly, the red edges receding as oxygen returned to my starved lungs. Across the room, Septimus stood trembling, his face a battlefield of conflicting emotions. The killing rage had faded from his eyes, replaced by something worse—a hollow, haunted look that cut deeper than his hands ever could.
Livia moved first, grabbing her discarded tunic from the floor and pulling it over her head. Her movements were quick, efficient, her face set in lines I recognized from the arena—the expression she wore before facing a particularly dangerous opponent. She positioned herself between us, though whether she was protecting me from Septimus or him from me, I couldn't tell.
"Sit down," she said to Septimus, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Both of you."
Septimus didn't move. His eyes were fixed on me, as if looking at Livia was more than he could bear. I recognized the emotion twisting his features—it was the same expression he wore after our encounters, when the pleasure faded and the self-loathing took over.
"I said sit down," Livia repeated, and this time there was a crack in her voice, a thin thread of desperation that made both of us respond. I sank onto the edge of the bed, while Septimus took the chair near the window, his posture rigid, a caged animal ready to spring.
"How long?" he asked, the question directed at the floor between us. His knuckles were bleeding from where they'd connected with my jaw, little drops of crimson falling unnoticed onto the worn rug.
Livia and I exchanged a glance. "Since the ludus," she answered softly. "Before we escaped."
"Before we—" Septimus's head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief that quickly hardened into fury. "All this time? While we were still in the fucking arena?"
He laughed, a harsh, broken sound that held no humour. “All this time,” he repeated, shaking his head as if to clear it. “You let me warn you about him. You let me tell you he was a monster. And you were fucking him.” The accusation hung in the air, aimed at Livia but stinging me just as sharply.
“He’s not a monster,” Livia said, her voice low and fierce. “He never was. That’s just a lie the Empire fed you, a lie you were too afraid to question.”
“Afraid?” Septimus shot to his feet, his chair scraping violently against the floor. “Do you know about the dark, depraved things he likes to do in the dark? He’s a sick, twisted monster, Livia.”
My control snapped. I surged to my feet, fury blazing through me like wildfire. "Say what you want about me," I growled, "but don't you dare speak to her like that."
Septimus whirled on me, closing the distance between us in two quick strides until we were chest to chest. "Or what, half-breed? You'll show me what you really are? The demon beneath the skin? Go ahead. Prove me right."
For a heartbeat, I felt the change begin—the familiar heat rushing through my veins, the tightening of my skin as scales threatened to emerge. But I forced it back, refusing to give him the satisfaction, refusing to confirm his worst fears about what I was.
"I know what I am," I said instead, my voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. "The question is, do you know what you are, Septimus? Because from where I'm standing, you look like a man so afraid of his own desires that he'd rather destroy everything around him than face the truth."
"Don't pretend to know me!" he shouted, shoving me hard. I staggered back a step but held my ground. "You don't know a damn thing about me!"
"But I do know you," I countered, refusing to back down. "I know how you sound when you come apart under my hands. I know the way you beg for more even as you hate yourself for wanting it. I know the man you could be if you'd stop letting hatred define your heart."
His face paled, then flushed a deep crimson as his eyes darted to Livia. The shame and horror in his expression would have been comical if it weren't so tragic.
"You told her?" he whispered, the words barely audible.
"I told her a few days ago," I confirmed. “I wasn't going to keep secrets from her anymore. Unlike you, I'm not ashamed of who I am or what I feel."
That was a lie, of course. I had kept our relationship secret for months, had hidden it from Livia out of fear—fear of her reaction, fear of her rejection, fear of being forced to choose. But in that moment, my anger made the lie taste like truth.
"You son of a bitch," Septimus breathed, his body coiled like a spring. "You had no right—"
"He had every right," Livia interjected, stepping between us again. "Just as I had every right to know that the two people I care about most in this world were keeping something this important from me."
Septimus's head snapped toward her. "You care about—" He broke off, disbelief written across his features.
“So all those warnings, all my attempts to keep you away from him… you were laughing at me the whole time.” It wasn’t a question.
“No,” Livia said, her voice shaking slightly but firm. “I wasn’t laughing. I was trying to protect you both. I was trying to—”
“Protect me?” His laugh was a raw, ugly bark of sound that filled the small room. “By fucking a half-breed? By lying to my face for years? You’re a whore, Livia. A filthy whore who likes to rut with animals.”
The words struck Livia like a slap. I saw her flinch, a flicker of pain crossing her face before being replaced by a mask of cold fury. A low growl rumbled in my chest, a sound more Talfen than human.
“Don’t you dare,” Livia said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. She took a step toward him, and for the first time, I saw genuine fear in Septimus’s eyes. Not of me, but of her. “You don’t get to stand there and judge me. You don’t get to talk about filth.”
He flinched. “I was trying to keep you safe!”
