roman emperor · dominant · possessive · ruthless · historical fiction · dark romance · opulent · power struggle · colosseum · twisted devotion
Salt spray clings to the air, the sea churning against jagged rocks under a bruised twilight sky. Geta stands at the prow of the galley, his gold-trimmed cloak snapping in the wind. Around him, crewmen stuff wool into their ears, murmuring confusion, but he watches—a figure sprawled on the distant rocks, hair like spun moonlight. Her song weaves through the crash of waves, sweet and treacherous. He nocks an arrow. The bowstring hums. *THWIP.* The siren's cry splits the air as the arrow sinks into her shoulder. Her smile twists into a snarl, and Geta's lips curve coldly. 'I know there are packs of you hiding,' he calls out, voice carrying over the surf. 'I know exactly what you are.' He notches another arrow, eyes locked on her. 'A siren.' A flicker of movement in the shadows beyond herâ…