Lost to Fire: Book Two

"Be happy."

That's all I could say, "Be happy,"? My last living thought and speech to the man I love was so fucking cheesy! Granted at the time, I had a sword sticking through my chest--compliments of Achilles. The Greeks are sacking Troy. It still sounded stupid!

I thought it was a brilliant idea to run into the final battle between the Trojans and the Greeks to save my husband, the Trojan Prince Braxius, from the infamous Greek warrior Achilles. I even sliced the warrior's notorious tendon to help Braxius. However, I got myself killed in the process.

Isn't love grand?

Blood was filling the air because I'm bleeding out, and Braxius is holding my hand. Tears are streaming down his cheeks because he discovered his wife instead of a random soldier. Exhaustion is taking over, and I am having trouble keeping my eyes open.

Right before my eyes close, the last thing I see is Braxius's blue-green eyes filled with love and sorrow. Except, I somehow know everything will be all right with him. That only thought is making my leaving easier, and I stop fighting the darkness.

I am floating away towards total oblivion. I am having a few brief flashbacks of my short life of twenty-two years and growing up in New Jersey with Meena, my younger sister of nine months. I accepted my entry-level position at a prestigious marketing firm and graduating from college with honors as a business major with a minor in history.

"Do you believe in magic now?" A childlike voice disrupts my reverie, singing around me in the darkness. The singing is filling my soul with intense apprehension and dread. Uh Oh.

A sudden wind hits me, tossing me around wildly. It reminds me of the vortex that tore me away from Meena on the fairy hill in Ireland. We were watching a solar eclipse until an unnatural gale tossed my ass into ancient Troy.

The wind suddenly stops; my stomach is hitting my throat as I'm falling through space.

Shit! Not again!

"Oomph!" My ass is taking the brunt of falling on a hard surface. Just like my last trip through time, I sit up and place by spinning head between my legs. Ugh! Don't puke! Where the fuck am I now?

A second later, the world stops tilting. Lifting my head, I am staring incredulously around the room. What the fuck?

Painted on the walls around my room are murals of erotic scenes with men and women having sex in different positions. They are painted in extraordinarily vivid colors, bringing a sort of realism to the images. But there is something familiar about the technique.

Sunlight is flowing through a window, the wooden shutters flung open wide. An earthen basin and pitcher are sitting next to me on the floor. I then realize I landed on a bed. Similar to the servant's pallet, I slept on when I was a cook in Troy. The room is tiny, with one wooden door. And there is a primal smell. A musty scent mixed with sweat?

Looking down at my body, I am wearing an almost sheer-like tunic, dyed in red, fully covering my body. I can barely view my nipples and the outline of my vagina through the fabric. On my feet are sandals, reminding me of what the ancient Romans used to wear. Uh?

Without warning, the door bursts open, and a man stumbles in. "You ready whore? Because I am," he slurs while undressing my body with eyes. The man is drunk and is having trouble taking his toga off his body.

Swiftly getting to my feet, I have a sickening feeling that I landed into a brothel. The lewd images and the lingering perfume of sex kind of makes sense to the situation. Really? A whorehouse? Couldn't be tossed back to my own time?

I'm in fight mode because I will refuse to let this drunken pig touch me! The floor beneath my feet starts to shake. The walls are swaying back and forth. What the hell is happening?

It dawns on me that I am in an earthquake, and there is a soft rumble from outside.

The earthquake took my attention from the "John" who was too drunk to notice the swaying floors and walls. The swaying is helping him walk in a straight line towards me! I don't have enough room to escape the bulk of the man. Instead, I switch tactics, where I am allowing him to pin his disgusting, sweaty body against mine, which is against the wall. Why me?!

"Undress now, whore." The stench of the man's breath hits my nostrils, forcing me to calm my gag reflexes. Holding my breath, I give the man a bright smile and gently push him back. I start to deliberately slide one of my sleeves down from my shoulder, watching as the drunk's eyes begin to light up. Once I knew he was distracted by me undressing, I took a step forward and kicked up. Putting all my weight and momentum into my foot, making contact with drunk man's balls.

Drunk man's eyes are bulging, and he collapses to the floor, rolling and crying on the floor. Just for good measure, I break the earthen jar on the man's head to knock him out. It works!

I walk to the open door and stick my head out into a dimly lit hallway. Looking both ways, I see the hall is empty, and I leave the room, heading towards the only end with a wooden door at the end.

Reaching the door, I pull the wooden handle, and slowly open it, seeing a small wooden staircase is twisting down. Taking a deep breath, I lightly walk down each step, trying to avoid making a sound.

What feels like ages, because I'm scared that I will be caught, and not knowing how long drunk man will stay knocked out, I finally reach the bottom floor, covered in beautiful marble. There is light coming through to what I can only surmise is the front door because of the double doors; I start walking quickly. Almost free!

"What do we have here?" I feel an arm yanking me from nowhere, pulling me roughly into a hard body. Struggling to find my footing, I look up, and all the air leaves my body. Braxius!

Time freezes as I'm staring up into Braxius's beautiful blue-green eyes. His features are the same, except instead of perfectly sculpted black eyebrows and hair, they are a light brown color. The straight nose, high cheekbones, and kissable lips all belong to my husband that I loved in Troy. "Braxius," I whisper longingly.

The moment is lost when a high-pitched female scream shatters the air. "Who gave you permission to leave your room, whore!"

Turning towards the sound, I stare at what I can only assume is the madame of this establishment. She is fat and ugly with an obvious wig on that is the color of red. Her clothes are of the upper-class Roman style, with luxurious fabrics also in the color red. The woman painted her face white with red circles on her cheeks in an attempt to hide her age. It didn't work.

The mistress looks like a clown. Fighting to keep my composure and prevent my bursting laughter at the comedic sight, I glance back up to the face of Braxius.

"What is your name?" The voice of Braxius washes over me, making me relax into his body.

"Jessa," my mind is already made up that this man is Braxius.

I study my husband's twin, noting that he is wearing a white toga with a red sash draped over his left shoulder. Remembering my Roman History class elective from college, the sash means that he is a member of the Roman Senate and a high ranking official.

"My lord, Brixtius," the clown is trying to intercede. "We have more suitable girls for you to examine. Please pay no mind on this lazy whore. She will be dealt with at once. Capio!"

There is stomping on the wooden floors, and without looking, I somehow know that Capio is a brute who doles out the punishment at the command of his female master.

I stare up at Braxius--er Brixtius, silently pleading. "There is no need to punish this girl," he commands. "I will take her home with me straight away. How much?"

"My lord, I cannot allow you to have such a careless whore underneath your great roof. I have better, more refined girls that you enjoy. This girl is not the best from my stock," the mistress states with some desperation.

"How much, madame? Or I go elsewhere," Brixtius's voice holding the threat of finality. It was like watching a sales transaction at a car dealership, except I am the car. Times were so barbaric!

The madame sighs, knowing she has no choice. "Five denarii."

"Done," Brixtius states, reaching down into his belt and removes the five denarii from the coin purse hanging on his belt. "Send her ownership papers to my house. Always a pleasure Madame Corydon." Brixtius releases my arm and turns towards the door.

Once at the double doors, he pushes on the dense wood, letting in the blinding light of the afternoon sun. Stopping to stare at me because I haven't moved a muscle, he quirks a brow eyebrow in my direction. "Are you coming?" his voice impatient.

Not needing a further reason to stay in Madame Corydon's presence, I walk outside and take in the surrounding landscape.

I am in an ancient Roman city because I am in a narrow cobblestone street with buildings lining the road on either side, built in the antique Roman style. Many smells are filling my nose, a mixture only made in a major city.

In the distance, I can see what has caused the earthquake from earlier today. I have seen many modern-day pictures of the volcano seated near Naples, Italy. Mount Vesuvius is looming over the town like a sleeping monster, trying to awaken to cause mass destruction on the unsuspecting populace. fuck! Please tell me this is not Pompeii!

"My lord," I act demurely, playing the part of now slave. "What town is this?"

"We are in the city of Pompeii," Brixtius informs me. My heart stopped, and fear rattles my chest. Why was I sent here? This is so unfair! All because I said I didn't believe in magic before going to a fairy hill? Bullshit!

"Well, girl? Are you going to ogle at the mountain all day, or are you going to follow? I can always find another girl to suit my needs," Brixtius's patience for me seems to be gone now.

Knowing that I have no choice in the matter, I follow my new "master" through the streets of Pompeii.