Wild Rider (Bad Boy Bikers Book 2) (39 page)

“I’ll make you pay.” Flamma’s eyes burned with rage. “I’ll make every one of you
pay
.”

There was no way that Flamma could know of Caius’s role in the embarrassment, but a pit formed in his stomach. The easy, mirthful joy of the prank faded into cold realization. There would be retribution for this—and how or when it came would be a mystery until it exploded in the worst way.

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E
vening fell at the ludus, and Aeliana’s heart was heavy.

“Do you know this plant? I found it outside, near the wall. I thought it might be helpful.”

Aeliana turned, heart racing immediately at the sound of Caius’s voice. She had been convinced that he hated her—and why wouldn’t he? He had been hurt, right there in front of her, and she had refused to help. What sort of man wouldn’t hate someone who did that to him?

But as she turned, she saw a smile on his face. That same, winning, open smile that he always had. And was it her imagination, or was there a little less sadness behind it than usual?

She looked at his hands. “That’s wheat, Caius.”

“So you’re saying it’s useful, then? Oh, good.”

Even as she tried not to, she smiled. But after a moment, she pointed back to the door. “Take it to the cook. I can’t do anything with wheat.”

As much as she liked seeing him, the prospect of having him close was dangerous. What if Porcia came by, wanting more drugs to sell? What if one of the other slaves reported Caius had slipped in?

And what if Caius took her in his arms again, and she melted like she had before? What if he kissed her as hard as he had last time, only this time it didn’t stop with a kiss?

His body was nearly naked before her. It was hard to stop thinking of the hard shape of his pectorals, flexing and re-flexing as Caius stood.

For a moment, she thought it was going to storm outside. Then she realized the thunder was just her heart beating.

“How do you think it got here?” Caius asked. “Rufus doesn’t sell wheat.”

“These things happen. It’s...” she waved a hand. “It’s nature. It happens.”

“But how?”

He was goading her. But the explanation was already on the tip of her tongue. “It’s kind of fascinating, actually. The seeds get picked up by a strong wind or a storm, or sometimes birds. And then they get dropped in new, strange places. Once I heard of a senator in Rome who had a poppy garden growing in his atrium. He suspected a storm blew something in through the square in the ceiling. It’s really interesting how...”

During her explanation, Caius had stepped closer and closer. Now one hand wrapped around hers.

“I like to hear you talk,” he said. “You should go on.”

“I...” she stumbled her words now, lost in the deep dark pools of his eyes. Gods, but there was so much
want
there. “I should really enjoy speaking at length about any subject you may choose.”

“I know.”

“But...but. I don’t think that’s what you’re really after.”

“I was right. You
are
intelligent.”

His hand slipped to her hip. He pushed her back, bumping her against a shelf. Her hands came up to protest, but they landed on his chest. The muscles there were so
hard
.

Gods, gods. Help her be strong!

“Caius,” she breathed. “I find you remarkably attractive.”

“Good.”

He had her almost squashed against the surface of the shelf now. It would have been uncomfortable were his weight not so reassuring. How could anyone ever harm this man? He felt invincible. He felt like marble. Her legs felt made of wine, sweet and intoxicating, a pleasant warmth spreading from them to the rest of her body.

“You yourself are remarkably lovely. I’ve heard them call you Faun. I don’t understand it. You are a creature, it is true. But one of surpassing loveliness.”

She was going to kiss him, she decided. She would kiss him just the once and if he kept saying such nice things then really she would have no choice but to continue kissing him until he shut up. That was the only way she was going to get him to stop making her feel this way with all those glorious words—by kissing him as thoroughly as possible. Yes. A perfectly logical conclusion.

It was decided. Her hand slipped up around his neck and she pulled her mouth up to his. She could feel the hardening of his want once again on her leg, substantial and insistent as it pressed ever forward.

And could he feel her own heat, spreading out from her center, aching to know him inside of her?

Footsteps outside broke the rare, beautiful moment. Caius, sensing her sudden fear, stepped back and leaned down on the table, as if being examined. Aeliana struggled not to moon over the thick muscles in his back and grabbed the nearest jar she could—anything that might look as if she administered medicine.

But it was just a guard who passed, uninterested in their goings-on. Fighters visited the medicae every hour of the day for all sorts of reasons. Caius was no different.

The break, though, was enough to return sanity to Aeliana. As Caius stepped back toward her, she held up a hand.

“I like you very much, Caius. But Porcia does not. It appears, for whatever reason, that she hates you. And she is ready to do great harm to me if she knows that we are allied in any way. Even...” she sighed. “Even in a very pleasant way.”

Caius nodded gently, his face slightly pained. “I understand. I only came here to let you know that I understand. I do not hold you in contempt. In fact, I apologize for my words and tone with you earlier.”

“Your apology is very much accepted, Caius, and I hope you will accept mine. But for now, you must leave.”

He did, and Aeliana had to bite her tongue to keep herself from calling him back. All she wanted to do was fall into that chest of his and press her face against him.

Mere minutes later, Aeliana retreated to her small bed, holding herself tight and doing her best to preserve every last memory of his touch.

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I
n the afternoon of the next day, Aeliana ventured down to the city of Puteoli proper for more supplies for the games. They would be traveling to the arena in Capua for the first several days of the celebrations. Later in the month, there would be even more combat and death in the Puteoli Amphitheater that would require fighters from the Varinius ludus.

It was, of course, all very much stupid in Aeliana’s mind, but still it was stupidity that required a medicae. And a medicae required supplies.

She traveled, as she always did in the day, by herself. Even though she was a slave, she was allowed to travel on her own. Most Roman slaves did, unless they carried vast sums of money. The Romans kept immaculate records about who was free and who was not, and it was not as if Aeliana could escape somewhere outside of Rome. She wouldn't even know where to begin.

The trip would be a short one, perhaps less than two hours to arrive at the market, buy what she would need, and return. In all, it was rather routine.

And then, surprising Aeliana totally, her father appeared on the street before her. And it was not just random chance—in his eyes there was expectation. He had wanted to find her. There was little warmth on the face of Vitus Galerius Rutila—and indeed, as ever, he looked as though he had just swallowed something sour. Down the road, merchants called out their wares. A dog tied to a pole whimpered helplessly as two young boys teased it with meat tied to stick.

“Father,” said Aeliana. “How nice it is to see you.”

It truly wasn’t, but there was little use in telling him that. He pulled her out of the center of the bustling street under the awning of a dentist’s shop. He wore an immaculate white tunic with a gold-banded rope around his waist. The hairs of his head were wispy and fragile.

“Daughter.”

She reached in to hug him, but he held up a hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. We can’t have you crying in the street.”

Any act of emotion, in her father’s mind, was something of a weakness. And a woman, therefore, was only about two steps away at any given time from breaking down in tears.

“Your duties have brought you to town?”

“Yes, Father.”

“You received my letter?”

She nodded.

“Good. And I expect the news struck you in a positive manner?”

“I am...” she chose her words carefully. “I am grateful you are looking out for my future, Father.”

“Wonderful.” He clapped his hands together slightly. The old, withered skin of his palms made a soft puffing sound. “You should know that it is possible for me to expedite the process. The General of the Danube legions makes his summer home here. He styles himself after Sulla in that way. I supply his men with more than half of their olive oil and almost all of their fruits. He owes me a favor or two. With a nudge, I could have him buy you before your contract is even up.”

“Sold and bought and sold again,” said Aeliana, voice lifeless.

Vitus cocked his head. “What was that?”

“I...” She imagined her insides as hard. As hard as Caius’s skin. And a pole through her back, forcing her stand up straight. “I would not like that, Father. I don’t want to serve the Legion.”

His laugh was harsh. “You wish instead to remain serving at a ludus? Serving murderers and rapists and the worst of the lot?”

He knew nothing, and would never bother to correct his ignorance. She knew better than to correct him.

“No. I have my own plans. Those that circulate outside of the bonds of servitude.”

“We all serve, Aeliana.”

“Yes, but you do not serve as a
slave
.” Her voice was heated now. Years of holding her tongue in his presence had built a reservoir of anger. “You want
honor
in your family, and yet you put me to this task you find so dishonorable. You were my agent in all of this.”

“For your own good.” Vitus stepped back. “You had to learn the trade. This was the best way to—”

“This was the best way for you to imagine that other sons, other brothers, other versions of Aelianus might not die, Father. But you sold your daughter to do it. You sold your family. And now you will sell me again.”

Vitus straightened now. “I did what any father would. And I do not like this talk from you. You must be feeling ill. You should see a medici yourself. I can send for one, if you like. He’s a good man, thorough. Within the hour, you’ll be right as ever.”

“No, Father.” She shook her head. “I...I hope you will think on what I’ve said. I have. I would like my own freedom. I have my own plans, if you’ll only let the leash off.”

She turned back to the market and continued on her morning duties. It was only much later, when she had nearly returned to the ludus, that she realized that for the first time in her life, she had gotten the last word in a discussion with her father.

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N
either Caius nor Lucius understood why exactly they had been brought up to the house of the Dominus. When they were escorted all the way into his office and sat down across from a somber Rufus and a cheerful Porcia, the situation only became more confusing.

A liquid tension filled Caius, expecting the worst. Porcia's happiness rarely coincided with his own.

“As you know, you will be fighting in three days time in Capua,” said Rufus. “You travel tomorrow.”

Caius and Lucius both nodded. “Yes, Dominus.”

“There were concerns about your readiness, Caius, from many fronts. From myself, from the editor at the fight in Capua, from the other ludi. They all want a good fight. A good show.”

“Did Murus express doubts?”

“No,” said Rufus. “He has been complementary of your efforts. But you and he have ever been close. It is difficult to gauge the truth in such situations. He may have wanted to protect you.”

“If he wanted to protect me,” said Caius, “recommending me to fight in the arena is a strange way of doing it.”

Lucius laughed at that, but Porcia and Rufus remained silent.

“Am I not to fight, then?”

“No, you will fight, dear Ursus.” Crossing from one end of the room to the other, in front of Lucius, Porcia tittered. “You’re going to fight in a great spectacle.”

“The decision was made,” Rufus cast a long, wearied eye at his wife, “that the two of you would fight together, so as to better your odds.”

“It’s uncommon, is it not,” said Lucius, “for a retarius and a thraex to fight together?”

“It is,” said Porcia, her glee barely restrained. “And even more uncommon for them to be chained at the wrist.”

Lucius cast a long eye over to Caius. That would make life difficult for the both of them.

“Who are we to fight?” asked Caius.

“Not who,
dear
Ursus,” said Porcia. “But
what
.”

“Yes,” said Rufus. “The decision was made that you would fight as bestiarii.”

Lucius stood. “You must be joking. I’m the Champion of Puteoli!”

Caius understood and shared Lucius's indignation. Other than the prisoners executed at the arena, bestiarii were considered the lowest of the low in the hierarchy of fighters at the games. Their survival rate was low and their purses light in victory. To be treated as one was an insult.

“A bear and a tiger,” continued Rufus. “Good specimens, I’m told.”

“Do you not hear me, man? I am the Champion, not a bestiarii. You would insult this house with this deed.”

“Sit
down
, Lucius, before I have you shackled and beaten for the next three days and lock you up for the remainder of these games.”

Taking a breath, Lucius sat. “I just...I don’t understand, Dominus.”

“It will be a spectacle,” said Porcia, eyes shining. “One for the ages. The returning champion and the current champion fighting the champions of the natural world. You will be our pillars of civilization, defending all that is noble and good against the onslaught of the wild.”

It was clear something was amiss here. Rufus appeared nearly as unhappy about this fight as Lucius. A lanista for nearly thirty years, and from a family that had run a ludus for generations, he knew exactly the sort of dishonor available to his house if a single wrong move was made in the fight.