Seduced by the Gladiator (2 page)

I looked up to find a dark, dangerous-looking gladiator who I did not know holding my sword back out to me, hilt first.

Swallowing the jolt of lust that ran through me as his dark stare connected with my own, I narrowed my eyes and took the sword as I watched the man with mild curiosity and much hostility.

I had not come this far in my life to fall at the feet of a man, simply because he was as attractive as a god.
Especially
not a man who was stupid enough to undo with a few short words the years of sacrifice, of living on edge, that it had taken me to build up my ferocious reputation.

“Gratitude.” I ground the word out from between clenched teeth. I wanted to shake the man for his actions, and my tone was drenched in anger. I could have handled the situation with Bavarius myself—gods knew I had done so before—and to have a man defend me made me look weak.

I was Lilia the fierce. I was famous throughout Rome not just for being a woman in a man’s world, but for my coldness, my strength, both in and out of the arena.

I could not look weak. As a woman living the life that I did, to appear weak was to invite abuse in all forms—abuse that I had already clawed my way out of once. I had no desire to return to it.

The dark gladiator did not reply with words, but his face showed puzzlement over my attitude. Well, let him be puzzled. I was not some rich
patrician
woman who could afford to lean on a big, tough warrior. I had to defend myself.

My muscles tensed as I turned back to Bavarius and his cronies. I swallowed thickly, trying to bury the anxiety that rose from deep within, and the fury that accompanied it—fury that, no matter what I did, the fear still festered deep within my soul. No matter how strong I grew, I would never forget those first months in the ludus.

I had not been strong then, and I would never forget what had happened to me because of it. Now, with my ferocity undermined in a moment by this strange gladiator, I prepared myself for the violent hands that would try to cup my breasts, to pinch my nipples and invade the heat between my thighs. I fought through the panic that wanted to descend, the memories of the time before I was as powerful as I now was.

“Leave.” The stranger who had blocked Bavarius from my sword spoke again, moving to block my body with his own large frame. “You have no honor, to threaten a woman.”

His voice dripped with disdain.

Infuriated, I shoved at the hard back of the stranger. Though his muscles tensed at my touch, he did not move, not even to look at me. I did sense the slightest bit of hesitation coming through in his demeanor, a hint of uncertainty.

The man had no idea that he was not helping me, not at all.

Bavarius bared his teeth, half of them yellow with rot, then moved to lunge at the stranger. He laughed coarsely when the man in front of me moved to block what turned out to be thin air—a cheap trick from Bavarius, one not befitting his status as a gladiator. However, the man did not look foolish at the trick, as Bavarius would have.

Large and golden skinned, with hair as dark as a starless night, he looked like a god granting the lowest of
plebeians
—the lower class—the merest hint of notice.

Bavarius saw this, too, and spat into the ground at the man’s feet peevishly. The insult was acknowledged with nothing more than a nod from my would-be savior.

“You’ll find out soon enough that this whore is no lady.”

My hands curled into fists, the half-moons of my nails digging into my palms. I could have killed him for what he had once done to me, and he still chose to mock me. It was infuriating, yet I refused to succumb to the anger that Bavarius’ words dredged up in my soul.

“Leave.” Infuriated as I was, the commanding thread in the man’s voice caused something deep inside of me to heat.

Bavarius spat again, then gestured for his group to follow him down the long, snakelike corridor under the arena. “You will regret this once you are in our arena, Christus of the broken ludus. I will make your life hell.”

Then the brute of a man was gone, along with those he constantly surrounded himself with, off in search of someone else to bully, no doubt. I was alone with the big man who, when I spun him to again shove at his chest, I found had eyes as deep and stormy a blue as the sea.

“Why would you do that? Do you know what I will have to do to get them to again leave me alone?” A desperation that I had not felt for years clawed slickly at my throat.

The man hesitated, cocking his head slightly as he studied my face. He ran his hand through the blue-black locks of his hair, then offered me his other hand, studying my face intently all the while.

I felt naked beneath his inquisitive stare, and squirmed uncomfortably. I had worked hard to hide my thoughts, my feelings—my true self—from the world. I did not like feeling as though this man could see all that made me who I was, simply because he took the time to look.

“My deepest apologies, my lady.” I took his hand warily, though I normally would have refused. “What can I do to make amends?”

He looked so sincere, so . . .
honorable
. . . I did not know what to make of it. I pulled my hand back and brushed it against the leather of my subligaculum, trying to erase the burn of the touch, for it disquieted me.

I tolerated another’s touch only when I wanted it, and I wanted it only when my need grew too much to be released completely with my own hand. Then I would find one of the few men in the ludus who I did not consider a friend—Darius was the only one who had my affection that way—but whom I could tolerate. A fast fuck with no tenderness would relieve the tension, and happened so rarely that it did not disturb the balance in the ludus.

A touch of any other sort made emotions that I did not care for well up in my throat, choking me.

“You can leave. I do not wish to ever see you again.” I purposefully made my words harsh. Despite his error in judgment, I found that I wanted to run my tongue over the planes of this man’s chest. I could not give in to such a feeling, and it doubled my need for him to leave.

He shook his head slowly, and I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Apologies again, my lady. But that is beyond my control.”

I backed away slowly, before my fingers reached for him of their own accord.

“I am Christus, formerly of the house of Lucius Quintus Manius. I am now pledged to your
dominus
, and soon to your brotherhood.” He did not seem proud of this fact . . . no, if I had to choose a word to describe him, it would have been weary.

I shied away from the kinship that I felt along with that weariness, startled by the realization. Thoughts of friendship were dangerous—this was my life, the life of a gladiator. It did no good and much harm to long for anything else.

“I am not your lady. I am not a lady at all.” I had no answer to his words, so instead I spat the only thing that came to my head.

Christus stared at me, expressionless. “So said Bavarius. He also said that you were a whore. Is he right in that respect, as well?”

My jaw dropped. Though I was challenged on a daily basis, hearing the term fall from this man’s lips was unexpected and stung more than it should have. I growled with aggravation.

“Perhaps I am.” This was not a lie, though I had no desire to explain my meaning further. “What of it?”

Christus again took my hand, this time lifting it to his lips for a kiss. The touch of his warm mouth on the back of my hand made a shiver skate over my skin. I told myself to pull away and found that my body was not listening.

When he released me, I looked up at him, caution masking my face. This man was more dangerous to me than any of the other brutes in the ludus, far more so.

He did not speak, instead studying my face intently. I grew uncomfortable and shifted beneath the stare.

“You have not answered my question. Perhaps I am a whore. What do you think about that?” My words filled the silence but echoed hollowly regardless.

Christus turned and began to walk away, following in the direction that Bavarius had gone. I thought he meant to leave without answering, but his final words sounded in the quiet beneath the arena even as his feet stirred up the dust.

“I think that perhaps we are not so different.”

D
arius had done more than secure his entertainment and my own for the evening. I stood against the back wall of the gladiators’ eating quarters with my arms crossed tightly over my abdomen, my eyebrows raised as high as they would go as I watched the bacchanalian scene unfold before me.

The room was awash in mulberry wine, fresh fruit, and the naked breasts of whores. The idiots that I was supposed to call brothers were silly with drink and enjoying the unexpected fortune of the celebration.

I was not impressed. Anger making my features stiff, I turned to my friend with disbelief.

“Why would you spend my coin on this? These beasts deserve none of it.” As I spoke, my friend handed me back the small leather pouch that I had given him earlier. Eyeing it suspiciously, I accepted it, noting that it was still far heavier than it should have been, had he spent enough coin to create this spectacle.

“I did not spend your winnings, Lilia. I spent my own.” The look that he cast my way was comically sorrowful and not a little bit reproachful. “You know I would not be so free with your coin. I am fully aware of your opinion of our brothers.”

I did not contradict Darius, though he knew full well that I did not consider myself a part of the brotherhood.

“Why would you spend your own coin, then, when your opinion is not far from my own?” It irked me to see the fools with bellies full of wine and figs. True, some were better than others, but still, those same men had failed to come to my aid when I had needed it the most.

Now I needed aid from no one, and would not offer boons to those who had wronged me in the past.

As he looked down from his impressive height, Darius’ face showed the same hint of exasperation that it had when we had first met, so many years earlier—the face that told me he saw straight through my bravado and bad temper.

He was the only person in the world who was allowed to look a little bit deeper. Had anyone else tried, I would have struck him in the face for his trouble . . . not that many cared to.

I was still unnerved that Christus had. His attitude toward me had left an impression, and I found myself craning my neck, searching for him among the men, for he had said that he was now a part of this ludus.

I found that I did not like the idea of him twined around a whore. I was angry with myself for caring.

“While otherwise occupied with whores who offer freely, Bavarius and his friends will give you peace, which you sorely need after such a physically exhausting day.” Though I would never—could never—let them fall in front of others, I felt the salt of unexpected tears sting the backs of my eyes.

Darius spoke the truth, and saw what no one else would—that I was well and truly exhausted after the arena that day. I meant to stay on alert, for after Bavarius’ unexpected show of aggression and the fool Christus’ inept intervention, I felt certain that the former would come searching for me sooner rather than later, intent on teaching me a lesson.

The man did not play fair. He would bring friends to hold me down while he had his way. I was a better fighter than any of them, but the fact remained that I was smaller and, if caught by surprise, would be at a massive disadvantage. Fatigue would only add to the weakness.

By providing these festivities, my only friend had given me the most precious of gifts—rest. I was grateful.

“You, and you alone, are my brother.” I held my hand out, palm facing him, a sign of respect in our ludus. Darius nodded gruffly, then gestured toward the exit of the dining hall with a jerk of his head. “Now go. Sleep. Do not waste my coin.”

“And what of your entertainment for the evening?” There were male whores among the females, though not nearly as plentiful, and I saw none that seemed to be in Darius’ taste. He shrugged, and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“There were none that I cared for.” I did not care for the pang of emotion that ran through me when I heard the blatant lie, even though it was directed at my friend. Emotions, apart from anger, were a weakness that I could not afford.

What else was I to feel but gratitude to have such a friend, one who would give up celebration of his own victory to stay alert, watching over me?

“Gratitude.” I would not say more, for it would only embarrass us both. Instead I made my way down the long corridor of the gladiators’ living space, my feet in their thin leather padding softly along the dust that covered the floor. As the top ranked in the ludus, I had my own quarters, a room that was small but had the luxury of being mine alone.

It also had a solid wooden door, something gifted to a past champion and a feature for which I was very grateful that night. Though there was no lock on the door, the sound of the thing opening would be enough noise to wake me, to alert me to an intruder, while the soft shush of a curtain moving—a curtain such as those that covered the other cells—might not.

I also had a small basin that one of the girls from upstairs filled with fresh water every day. I might have been a slave myself, but being a winner who brought coin to the house came with some privilege.

The thought had my lips curving up in a bitter facsimile of a smile. I only had to sell my soul to obtain such luxuries.

Closing the door behind me, I peeled off the garments that I had worn in the arena earlier that day. Caked as they were—as I was—with blood, sweat, and dirt, I longed to soak in one of the mineral tubs that we were encouraged to use to soften our muscles. I had no desire to be seen by Bavarius, however, for I knew that it would only incite drunken idiocy on his part.

So instead I stripped and slowly sponged off the layers that the arena had left on me, shivering as the water cooled my skin. As the dried blood softened and trickled in rivulets down my limbs, dropping wetly on the floor, I tried to squash thoughts of the man whom it had come from.