Page 58 of Thawed Gladiator: Lucius
“Mine,” he growls, his rhythm becoming erratic as my orgasm triggers his. “All mine, forever.”
He drives into me one final time, his cock throbbing as he fills me with hot spurts of his essence. The sensation of being claimed so completely, of feeling his cum marking me inside and out, triggers another smaller climax that has me gasping his name.
As we collapse together, both breathing hard, the painted symbols continue to flicker with residual energy. The herbs keep sending aftershocks of pleasure through my oversensitive body, making me twitch with each small movement.
“What happens now?” I whisper against his chest, feeling fundamentally changed by what we’ve just shared.
His arms tighten around me possessively. “Now you belong to me, as I belong to you. The binding is complete, Rosemary. What the gods have joined, no mortal power can separate.”
As sleep finally claims us, still intimately connected with his softening cock inside me and our mingled essence sealing the ancient bond, I know there’s no going back. We’ve crossed a threshold tonight that changes everything—bound ourselves with forces both sacred and primal in ways that will echo through eternity.
Whatever tomorrow brings, we’ll face it as one—marked, claimed, and irrevocably joined by powers older than time itself.
Chapter Twenty-Six: Epilogue
Rosemary
The cool autumn breeze carries the scent of fallen leaves as I step through the cemetery gates. Two years have passed since that night when a pale figure emerged from the shadows to correct me about the local miners’ screams. Two years since my world shifted on its axis and I discovered that some boundaries are meant to be crossed. The weathered headstones stand like old friends welcoming me back, their familiar shapes comforting against the darkening sky. I clutch a basket filled with marigolds, candles, and sugar skulls, my heart racing with anticipation rather than the nervousness that once drove me here hunting paranormal content.
“This is where everything changed,” Lucius says beside me, his fingers intertwined with mine.
The moonlight catches his white hair, creating that ethereal glow that first made me think I’d encountered an actual ghost. Now I know better—he’s flesh and blood… and mine, impossibly and completely mine. He wears modern clothes with ease now—dark jeans and a light sweater that complement his pale coloring. He doesn’t need his translator anymore, his English is deliciously accented but perfect and effortless.
“It feels like another lifetime,” I reply. “Back when I was still just Raven, chasing validation through views and subscribers instead of chasing you through cemeteries and across continents.”
His smile holds a depth of understanding that still catches my breath. “And I was still hiding at the sanctuary’s edges, uncertain of my place in this century.”
We make our way to a quiet corner of the cemetery, a spot I’d chosen for tonight’s ritual. The small altar we establish combines traditions that span millennia and cultures—marigolds from our Mexican journey arranged in the pattern of Roman offering vessels, sugar skulls with intricate designs placed alongside coins for Charon, candles that blend Catholic tradition with ancient temple protocols. The mingling of our worlds creates something entirely new.
“My grandmother would have adored you,” I tell him as we arrange each element. “She was the only one who believed me after my accident. She always said some people see deeper than others. That death wasn’t an ending, but a threshold.”
“A wise woman.” Lucius places the final candle, his movements carrying the precise grace that years of temple service instilled.“In Rome, we would have called her one who walks between worlds.”
Tonight we honor her memory—the woman whose pendant I wore for years, whose belief in my near-death experience gave me permission to trust my own truth. The ritual feels fitting, a way to connect the journey that began with her understanding and led, through unexpected paths, to Lucius.
As we complete the arrangement, I can’t help but reflect on our journey—how skepticism transformed to trust, professional interest to genuine connection, and finally to love.
The documentary that began everything eventually aired, but not as Norris had envisioned. Our controlled interview sparked academic interest and emphasized the humanity of the gladiators. More importantly, it gave us back our story. Norris never forgave me for refusing his million-dollar follow-up deal, but some things aren’t for sale. Some connections transcend commerce.
The pharmaceutical companies still occasionally make overtures, but Dara’s legal team ensures those attempts remain merely annoying rather than threatening. The last time Hammond tried his “revised collaborative opportunities” routine, Lucius didn’t even need ritual preparation to face him down in a quick Zoom call—an impressive change for the man who once required protective paint just to leave the sanctuary.
The sanctuary has expanded, eventually welcoming carefully vetted visitors and researchers while maintaining strict protections. Lucius found unexpected purpose as a liaisonbetween ancient wisdom and modern knowledge, teaching historians and anthropologists what textbooks could never capture. The pale priest who once existed at the margins of two different worlds, now serves as a bridge between them.
“Remember what you asked me that first night?” Lucius says as he lights the candles with practiced hands. “About communicating with the dead?”
I smile at the memory. “You said they speak through stillness and patterns, not dramatic apparitions.”
The ritual Lucius performs combines elements from his temple days with Mexican traditions we learned during Día de los Muertos. He sprinkles herbs around the altar’s perimeter, murmuring Latin phrases that no longer need translation—I’ve learned enough to understand their meaning. Protection. Invitation. Acknowledgment.
I join him, adding my own words—modern English mingling with ancient Latin in a prayer that transcends time. The breeze stirs the marigold petals, sending their spicy scent swirling around us. For a moment, I feel the same expansion I experienced when my heart stopped beating—the sense of connection beyond physical boundaries. Grandmother’s presence seems to envelop us, approving this unlikely union.
When the ritual concludes, we sit together on the small blanket we’ve brought, sharing cookies and spiced wine as families do in Mexico—celebrating continuation rather than ending, connection rather than loss.
“Do you ever regret it?” I ask, leaning against his shoulder as moonlight bathes the cemetery in silvery light. “Agreeing to leave the sanctuary that day? Everything that followed?”
His arm wraps around me, pulling me closer against the October chill. “Never.” His voice carries absolute certainty. “Though the path proved more complicated than either of us anticipated.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I laugh softly. “From cemetery meetings to viral videos to pharmaceutical companies hunting us across international borders.”
