From the Ashes

Shivering, soaked to the core, and covered in mud, Roman and I both stand in the doorway of the upper cabin as we wait for Sage to return with towels.

"You put up a good fight, Revora," Roman smirks through the mud streaked across his pale face.

"You bet your ass," I mutter with a fierce smile, using my hand to wipe a clod of mud off of my arm and onto Roman's chest. He stops me mid-swipe with a grin, shaking rainwater out of his hair as he tries to force my muddy hands back on my face. I curse at him as I push back.

"Enough with the mud, you're gonna get this place all gross," Sage's voice echoes through the huge room as he joins us on the strip with a bundle of towels. We dry our feet of water and mud before breaking off to wash in a well-needed shower. Roman takes the one upstairs, and I take the one on the little kids' level. It doesn't take me long to shower, and on the way to my room, I can still hear the water running through the upstairs bathroom door as I pad by it, clean and barefoot. I roll my eyes as I continue down the hall toward my room, towel-drying my hair. Boys. They take so damn long in the shower.

Sage knocks lightly on the frame of my open door, and I look up from where I sit cross-legged on my bed, reading a book. I smile, and flick my head to motion for him to join me. He took a shower before we even came inside, and smells of Axe body wash and Suave Professionals for men. He plops down on his stomach next to me, chin buried in the fluffy duvet as his arms and feet dangle off each side of the bed.

"The kids are all in bed?" I say, making a face shortly after as I realize that I sounded like a mother. Sage laughs at the expression as he turns his head to lay the side of his cheek down on the bed.

"Of course, dear. The kitchen's also clean, I did the laundry, and I finished the bills."

"Good husband. I'll take a foot rub now."

Our laughter fills the room, and when it dies down, he asks me what I'm reading. I show him the cover of the first book in the Song of Fire and Ice series, Game of Thrones.

"You like fantasy?" he asks. I give him a wide-eyed look.

"Obsessed," I grin, adding a crazy hint to my expression for his amusement. He agrees on the genre, telling me that those are his favorite kinds of video games to play.

"Have you seen the HBO series, too?" he inquires as he sits up to flip through the first few pages of the book. I give a shrug.

"Not yet. I kinda want to read the books first before I watch the show." He chuckles.

"Good plan."

The thunder continues to rumble outside, the rain beating against the window in sheets, when Sage says goodnight and retires to his own room. I crawl to the end of my bed after switching the lamp off, pushing the lacy curtains out of the way to watch the storm outside. Through the trees, I see the flashes of lightning and listen for the powerful thunder that follows. Thunderstorms always keep me up, but not for the conventional reason. They excite me, the loud crashes that shake the ground and the flashing lightning drawing me to watch like an action movie. The various patterns of lightning that light up the sky and trees for only milliseconds fascinate me. Then, I count the seconds that stand between the light and the sound. I love the thunderclaps that crash the loudest, the ones that you can actually and physically feel shake the ground. Tonight holds an exciting show.

I watch the storm rage for about an hour before wondering what it looks like from the giant windows and skylights in the huge front room and den. I crawl off my bed, rubbing my chilled and sleeveless arms as I tread silently out of my room and down the hallway in the dark, using my hands to guide me down it. I can already tell this is an awesome idea when the whole hall is lit up for a moment with the flashes of lightning from the huge windows in the room beyond.

Reaching the balcony with careful steps, I lean against the railing to gaze in awe out the giant windows. Not many trees block this view, and I have a definite show from the skylights. It all almost seems magical as I grip the railing and watch the spectacle in awe. The thunder booms and murmurs as I look down into the den to watch the lightning light it all up for brief moments. Revealed by the flashes of light, I give a slight start as I notice someone seated on the floor down in the lowered den. After another flash, I recognize the broad shoulders, lean arms propped on his knees, shaggy charcoal hair hiding his face from this angle. My heart skips a beat before I have time to stop it. I step quietly over to the spiral staircase as the thunder echoes through the room, and climb carefully down it.

"Storm keeping you up as well?" his low voice carries as I step down from the last stair. I look over at him from the strip in the darkness.

"It's too exhilarating to sleep through." The lightning lights up his smiling face. I walk carefully to the stairs to the lowered den, and in another flash of light, Roman has stood to meet me and guide me down them. We settle on the floor, leaning against one of the couches rather than using it as we watch the storm through the large windows. I sit with my legs curled up to my chest, Roman with his legs straight out on the floor and crossed at the ankle. He glances over at me as the room lights up.

"You look a little cold," he says, and I feel his hand rest on my arm in the dark to test his theory. It's warm, and I notice I am a little chilled. I don't like sleeping in a lot of clothing, my normal sleepwear is a camisole and cotton short-shorts.

"This place is well air-conditioned," I chuckle, rubbing my bare legs. My hand bumps into Roman's as he places it on my shin as well, the warmth seeping into my flesh to the delight of my chilly skin.

"You poor thing," he teases as thunder rumbles. My fingers find his in the dark, seeking his warmth. He slides his hand off of my shin to hold my hand, sucking in a breath.

"Shit, your fingers are like ice," he murmurs, and I sit up straight as his other hand glides across my back to pull me against him. His scent is warm, clean, and I relish it as he leans back against the couch with me half laying across his chest. Hesitantly, I place my head on his shoulder, folding my arms to keep them warm between our bodies.

We rest like that for a long while, Roman giving me his warmth as we simply listen to the sound of the storm as the flashes and rumblings become less frequent. My heart shudders as I feel the curve of Roman's warm lips brush over my forehead as he tilts his head down to look at me, one of his hands moving to push strands of slightly damp hair out of my face.

"I'm glad you're here, Aleithea," he whispers against my forehead, snakebites shifting against my skin. His hand stops to cup my jaw and neck, ever warm. I swear, he can feel my heart pounding close to his. I push myself gently off of him, still facing him in the dark from where he leans slumped back against the couch. I can feel his breath on my face, and almost make him out in the darkness now that the lightning hasn't flashed for a while.

"Me too, Rome," I say, my voice barely a whisper as my heart pounds and pounds when I use the nickname with a tender note. Guided by the hand on my cheek, my forehead comes to rest on his. My hands fall to his chest, propping me up against him as I lean over from where I sit beside him. My breathing quickens as one of my hands floats up to touch his face, caress his chiseled jaw line with my fingertips, feel his fragrant black hair run between my fingers. He sits straight up, then, capturing me against him as he becomes taller than me where we sit against each other, his head declined to keep his forehead against mine as I look up now. My pulse rockets, and my face flushes at the sudden move, and his other hand comes up to join the first as he buries both of them into the hair behind my neck. His thumbs gently trail over the tips of my reddening ears. I can see him now that my eyes are adjusted to the darkness, see that look in his eyes, desperately searching mine for something as my nose bumps his. My eyes fall to his lips. Right. There. My hands are on his wrists, half holding him back, half keeping him there. His lips are parted, his breath gracing mine with that question.

Thoughts fill my brain in an instant, hitting me like a freight train as the acid of fear fills my stomach to corrode it. How many? How many girls have been in this exact position with Roman? Much farther? The thought makes me sick.

Pain hits my chest like a shot, and I jump away from him. With a sudden urge to cry, and the acid eating at my gut, I choke on an explanation.

"Thea?" he whispers, utterly confused and worried as his hand finds my shoulder hesitantly. "Are you okay?" I nod numbly, resisting the urge to recoil from the hand that I so longingly want to trust. The one that could be tainted by so much. Why? Why was I plagued by these kinds of thoughts? Why couldn't I just not worry, not care about the possibility of any of them, why did they consume my heart and my mind so much? Why do they hurt so much?

"Aleithea, what's wrong?" Roman says, his voice thick with worry. I blink, my eyes clearing of tears in the dark room.

"I'm really tired," I whisper, afraid that my voice might give me away. Roman just stares at me in the dark, moving to his knees, one hand raised slightly as if in mid-motion. "Goodnight, I'm heading to bed," I say, my voice breaking at the end. In a rush, I scramble up to the strip, and around the corner to the spiral staircase, clamoring up as tears that I can't hold back begin to spill down my cheeks. Taking one last look down into the den from the top of the balcony, I see Roman gazing up at me, having watched my entire ascend steadily the whole time. His look is no longer confused. It's pained.

I shut myself in my room, praying that he doesn't try to come and comfort me as I cry and cry and cry my emotions out into my pillow, trying to be as quiet as possible. Thinking of Kaitlin and wishing she was here to console me, I cry harder at the thought of my isolation. In one instant thought of emotional need, I think briefly of finding Janie's room downstairs to seek innocent comfort. But it's not a long-lived desire. I'd never find the strength to get up, nor would I find her room without disturbing the children. It takes quite a while, it feels like, but I eventually cry myself out, and exhaustion hits me as my breathing starts to regulate. I fall asleep quickly.