by Gordon, Eva
She rushed, not stopping to look over her shoulder. By now the alpha gladiator must know she had escaped his watchful eyes. Though, Ulric’s wolfish sense of smell could easily track her. The thought of him hauling her back home sent an erotic chill down her spine. No, his orders were clear. Guard Macula’s son. Not worth a flogging. The thought of him whipped because of her made her stomach roil. Oh, Feronia why can I only think of him?
Could Ulric be her fated mate? No, it was just a naïve girl’s infatuation for a famous gladiator. It had to be. The heat of her wolf mark belied her rational words. He was more than a passing attraction. Worse, Ulric showed all the signs of being her alpha mate. His feral eyes studied her every move, he flared his nostrils as she came into a room, and he was protective. His possessive kiss claimed her heart. Had he looked for the mark of the wolf as she slept? Dear Feronia, I wish he had. Her mark burned at the fleeting thought of Ulric’s fangs claiming the blessed mark. Had he sensed such thoughts or smelled her wetness? How could a lycan not?
She turned to the market passageway and bundled her cloak about her from the blustery breeze. She stopped to adjust her veil. In frustration, she pulled it off. She was a physician not some rich Roman woman hiding from the eyes of plebian admirers. The aromatic scent of the Forum Holitorium made her sigh with relief. Not crowded as usual, no doubt because of the threatening wind. She enjoyed some semblance of solitude. Time to focus on what she needed. Willow bark and more opium to lessen his pain.
With Lucius now conscious, it was too risky to heal him with her gift. What about Ulric? Would he keep her secret as he had promised? He did after all break his word to Macula when he told Lucius Eco was dead. No. That was different. Ulric told Lucius to punish him for causing her fit. When it concerned her, she trusted Ulric’s word as if he was her mate. An alpha protected his wolf maiden to the death. She shuddered. To be the claimed mate of a barbaric gladiator held as a slave would be disastrous. Macula, known for mating with captured wolf maidens, would claim a Valeria Luperca. Take her as his breeder. Use her goddess touched gift to gain power amongst the packs. She must spare Ulric.
If Ulric claimed her, Macula would have no choice but to kill him. There was nothing more dangerous than coming between an alpha male and his chosen wolf maiden. One could compare it only to a lioness protecting her cubs.
Cassia ignored the hawkers’ shouts and surveyed the stations. One displayed what she needed. Poppy seeds. She haggled for the best price with a stubborn merchant until he finally lowered the price. She needed to return soon. The days grew shorter and the harvest moon tonight would be especially large. A dangerous time to be around lycans. She decided to sedate Lucius for the night and then lock herself in her room. Ulric would be more likely to seek answers from her on such a night when he was more beast than man. Would he force her to lift her tunic in search of the wolf mark or bite and draw blood? The more brutal way to find one’s mate was to taste her blood. The Lupercal forbid the alpha males from sinking their fangs into a woman’s skin to taste blood in order to determine a potential mate. Better to send an alpha female to check for the mark of the wolf. More civilized.
She hurried but it grew difficult to navigate through the now more crowded streets. Slaves dashed into the market in preparation for the afternoon meal. She turned toward a narrow alleyway, a less crowded shortcut near a string of taverns. Places she normally avoided. She covered her face with her veil and walked with haste. Whisperings jolted her nerves. All around her people ran as if danger approached until not one soul remained. Alone. Even the wind stilled.
Her heart raced. Her inner voice screamed, run! She made her way to the busy alleyways.
Too late. A man jumped in front of her. A large ugly knife glistened in his hand. A street thug by the looks of his worn, dirty garments. Two thugs joined him and blocked the only exit.
What have I done? She had walked straight into their trap. The three men were big and had the look of brutality on their scarred faces. The first man, the leader, eyed her sac. “I saw you buy opium seeds.” He extended his hand. “Hand it over.”
She brandished her blade and despite her trembling hand, waved it. “Let me pass.”
They laughed. The one on the left grinned, his front teeth missing. He turned to the leader, “You take the sac. I will take her.”
She gasped. “No.” Her chest heaved and drew their attention toward her bosom. She wrapped the shawl over her body as if naked. The leader leered, tugged at his balls and humped in the air. Rape. A virgin’s worst nightmare. Dear Feronia, no.
The toothless one lunged and grabbed her arm. She slashed his wrist with her blade, cutting him with the precision of a trained surgeon. An artery. His blood sprayed, he stumbled back and squealed like a pig. Another moved in and with his beefy hand grabbed her wrist, holding her blade. She struggled, refusing to release her weapon. He twisted it away, and when she forced her weapon back, he sliced her left arm with it. She yelped, dropping her blade and her sac. He shoved her back and she fell on her rump. He grabbed the sac and snickered, “Bring her over there.”
She glanced at the dark alley. Images of foul men ripping her clothes and digging dirty hands on her naked body, raping, flashed in her mind. She held her bloody forearm and scooted back. “I’m warning you. If you harm me, you’ll be…torn to pieces.”
The leader smirked, “If you die, who will know what we did?”
Chapter 6
Die? She sat paralyzed in fear, too scared to shout for help. Who would listen? Time to evoke the name of the Verspilles, the dread wolf men, yet she had lost the ability to speak. The pain of her cut arm was excruciating. Dizzied, she glanced down to her deep wound. Her garment reddened with blood. With her trembling hand, she hastily wrapped her palla over her arm to slow the bleeding. Though she miraculously healed lycan wounds, her healing powers did not work on humans.
Like hungry jackals, they closed in. All of a sudden they jolted to a stop, their faces drawn in terror as they looked above and behind her. A low rumbling growl warned them of predatory danger. A lycan roar followed. Not in warning but as a call before their demise. Her assailants stepped back, turned, and fled.
Too late. Ulric leapt, grabbed two at once and bashed their heads together. Their skulls cracked with a loud thud, exposing the white of their brains as they fell like cut trees. Despite her anatomy training, she flinched at the horrific sight. The toothless one ran with her precious medicine but did not get far. Ulric’s claws emerged; he sprang, gripped him by the back of the neck and squeezed his claws into a narrow strip of sinew. A mewing breath escaped the bloody purge at his throat as the villain’s final sound. Implausible how his head remained attached. Ulric raised his clawed hand to maul off the head. Ulric looked part human part wolf, a hideous lycanthrope form achieved only by a powerful alpha.
“Ulric! Enough.”
He lowered his raised arm and turned to face her. His feral eyes burned with primal rage. His fangs hung big and curved. The aura of his silver gray wolf head glowed. He narrowed his eyes at her and growled. Was he in such blood lust that he would tear her apart? She squeaked, “It’s me, Cassia. Remember?”
He dashed to her side and she held her breath. “Cassia, you are bleeding,” he snarled. His voice guttural, more beast than man.
Relieved he uttered her name, she attempted a smile. “It’s not deep, a firm binding will suffice,” she lied.
He pulled up her arm and moved the palla she had used as a makeshift bandage. Blood soaked her arm and ran like spilled red dye. His brow creased in concern and he added pressure to the wound with his large hand. His grey eyes widened. He flared his nostrils and inhaled. He sniffed long and hard as if he whiffed fresh bread or in his case fresh blood soaked meat. A wolfish grin twisted and his fangs enlarged. No. He must not taste my blood and learn her secret. She yanked her arm away, but his grip was too strong to break. He ripped the palla off and threw it. Her breathing rushed in panic and she begged, “Let me go. I told you
it’s not a bad cut.”
He snarled, “Lycan saliva has strong healing properties.” He lifted her arm to his mouth.
She shook her head. “Let me go.” No, you can’t find out. Yet his eyes revealed that he already knew.
“You will no longer keep the truth from me!” he commanded, his voice that of the dominant alpha. His smoldering eyes pierced through hers and she immediately averted her glance. No human or lower status lycan could bear to stare at the eyes of an alpha.
He licked her wound, savoring it, then placed his mouth over it and sucked. He groaned in pleasure and her wolf mark burned like flamed embers. She gasped. Her body shuddered and she closed her eyes from the feel of his firm but gentle sucks. His lycan saliva healed her open wound and her pain subsided into a dull throb. She made a purring sound that surprised her. Moisture gathered in her loins. She desired him. Her eyes widened and his smile broadened. No. This cannot happen. She ripped her arm from his mouth. He let her, rather than tear her flesh with his wolf jaws. “Stop!”
His expression looked hurt, but not for long. His lycan nature returned, his voice deep and guttural, “You are mine, wolf maiden.”
She turned her face away and held her wounded arm. “You are mistaken. I am no such thing.”
“Enough lies!” He growled. With his clawed hand, he tore the left side of her tunic, and exposed her wolf mark, now crimson red as if she had already accepted his claim. She had. He uttered a guttural phrase in what must have been his Chattian tongue, reciting it three times like a prayer. Was it a barbarian wolfen ritual prior to the claiming bite?
There was no doubt. He was hers. If not, her mark would have remained a light brownish color. No more lies. “Please, no one must know of my true nature.”
“Why not? I shall claim you,” he half growled. His gaze returned to her exposed mark. He licked his lips as if tasting her. “You will be mine. Any who argues will be torn asunder and their guts hung on trees for the crows.”
Like the bodies that lay around them. “Because if you do, every alpha lycan will bid to make me their breeder.” She turned her face away and whispered, “The one with Feronia’s gift to heal.”
He took part of her torn tunic and wrapped it around her wound. She grimaced as he tightened and tied it. “You are mine! There will be no bidding.” A rustle caught his attention; a red striped cat bolted from some refuse. He snapped a snarl, grabbed her thrown sac, and threw her over his shoulder. A clawed hand landed on her rump to balance her or perhaps as a sign of possession. Her head spun from being upside down and the loss of blood. His voice low but still animal-like he spoke, “We will talk later.”
He leapt over a wall and landed on a field. He adjusted her over his neck the way he had carried her goat. He then ran with speed that felt more like the gallop of a horse than a man’s running stride. He headed in the direction of a vineyard. Good. They must avoid people. The quiet back roads were a longer but more private path to her home. Those that caught sight of the barbarian gladiator who ran at lycan speed with a helpless woman around his neck gasped but none dared stop him. By the morrow, graffiti would depict such a sighting.
In a blur, he reached her villa and set her down. He steadied her and opened the gate. Egidius ran toward them. “Baa!”
Ulric growled at him. Egidius sensed the hidden beast, spun and fled into his shed.
Ferox dashed over. “Cassia, what happened? Nemesis! You look like you’ve been roughhoused.” His eyes widened. “Your arm!”
Ulric gritted his teeth. “Three street thugs attacked her for reasons I care not to discuss without wanting to kill them again.”
Cassia bit her trembling lip, but her brave front melted, and she wept.
Ferox patted her back. “You poor child. You must have been so frightened.”
Yes, scared from her attack, but even more scared about the consequences of Ulric learning the truth. He intended to claim her. Illogical as it was, she wanted him. The man beast that slaughtered the bandits like an avenging demon. Was he really her life mate? She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and looked at Ulric. “Lucius will tell Macula you left him.”
Ferox soothed her head with his gnarled hands. “Before Ulric went to search for you, I added a sleeping potion to the boy’s wine. He still sleeps.”
She frowned at Ulric. “You didn’t threaten Ferox again?”
Ulric gently gripped her shoulders. “No. He was as worried as I was that you might run into trouble. We were both right. Good thing I followed your scent.” He half growled, “Next time you disobey, I’ll administer a dozen slaps on your pretty bottom.”
She flushed hot and glared at him. “Disobey? You are not my master.”
Ferox frowned at Ulric and then returned his attention to her, his voice gentle, “Shh. My lady, let me clean and dress your wound while you tell me how it happened.”
Ulric, his face reddened, inhaled to speak, but stopped as she shook her head vehemently. He understood. His tone laced with anger, he narrowed his eyes, “Yes, best to add healing potions to her wound. Humans are prone to illness from the smallest of scrapes.”
The two guards dashed to the gate. Why had they left their post? Ulric barked at the men. “Leave you useless pieces of ox dung!” Their eyes bulged, perhaps on seeing the gladiator with blood, her blood, still around his mouth.
Ferox shot them a scolding look. “You heard him. Leave!” They bowed and left in haste.
She turned to protest but changed her mind. Tonight would be the full moon. And by the looks of Ulric’s dark expression and exposed fangs, he might mete out his rage on them.
Ferox guided her inside the infirmary where Lucius slept unaware of the drama around him. He took off the torn, bloodied garment and tossed it next to the washbasin. “No need for stitches.”
No doubt because of the curative lycan saliva from Ulric’s attentive mouth. “Good. I don’t want to brave any more pain.” If she cried out, the feral wolf in Ulric might react to his mate’s pain and kill Ferox.
He washed her arm, applied healing lotions, and bandaged it. She gazed at her arm. “Very impressive for a cook.”
He sighed and smiled. “I’ll bring you some lentil soup.” He left after hastily washing his hands.
She would clean later after she rested.
***
Ulric paced in front of the clinic where Ferox bandaged her wound. The taste of her blood revealed the truth; she was not just any wolf maiden, but his. His inner wolf growled, Tonight on the full moon, claim her! The red color of her wolf mark meant she accepted him. Or had she? With the exception of his mother and Floretta, he knew very little about wolf maidens. They did not seem different from any other human woman to him. But Cassia, oh Cassia, something about her made her pleasingly different from other women. Intoxicating from the moment he first saw her in the crowded streets of the Subura, a single flower in a mass of weeds. His wolf howled, Claim her!
Once he knew the truth, he had recited the prayer to Tanfana, thanking her and the Fates for finding his life mate. Once bitten, his scent forever embedded on her mark made her his property. If another alpha dared to claim her once her mark remained red, Ulric had the right to kill him.
He loosened his knot and raked his hair back. His heart drummed. Under the influence of the moon, his primal need to mate would overpower him. He might hurt her. She was small and her scent indicated she was untouched, a virgin. Did she know how crazed an alpha was under the moonlight? He had not prepared to meet his true mate in Rome. He had sex only with prostitutes and before Floretta desired him, with female lycans. Experienced women. His fur prickled. He must remain human. But how, with his mate nearby? He sensed their kiss was her first. When he had kissed her, she had been part surprised and part aroused. A woman awakening.
He narrowed his eyes toward the shed. Egidius stood on his hind legs and stared at him. Did the goat not know the meaning of temptation? Would the beast within him slaughter and eat her beloved pet and then mo
ve in to ravish her? He took in a slow breath. He was an alpha, not a beta forced to shift with the influence of the moon. Yet an omega without the right to take a mate unless his master permitted it. If he disobeyed Macula, what would happen to Cassia, his mother, and his den brothers? He recalled Cassia’s concern about keeping her healing touch a secret. Every alpha would covet such a maiden. Macula for one. His hackles rose. She would be used as his mother had been, as a breeder. No one must know. He made fists and his claws dug in, drawing blood. He shook his hands out and his cuts healed. The miracle of the waxed moon.
He caught a whiff of her sweet aroma. He closed his eyes and imagined her naked. A goddess. His aroused flesh ached. Fangs emerged. His inner wolf encouraged, Claim her! No. Not after her near rape at the hands of street thugs. He ripped them to shreds for her. Yet the fear in her eyes when he had killed them haunted him. An out of control brute lycan. And one that professed to claim her as his.
He must leave before the moon rose. But what about Lucius? Blind with physical pain the boy might shift. He knew him. Like his father, his shift always made him cruel and savage. He entered the domicile. His breath hitched. She lay on the divan accentuating her beautiful curves. Donned in a fresh tunic with her arm wrapped in a clean bandage. Ferox served her a meal of lentil soup, bread, olive oil, and figs. She caught his look and gestured for him. “Sit, we must talk.”
Tempted to pounce on her and claim her, he forced his wolf back into its den. He shot her a wolfish grin along with a rumbling growl. Her eyes widened and her heart beat faster than a spooked filly. He moved his hand to cover his exposed fangs. “Apologies. The moon favors my wolf nature.” He slowly sank onto the divan opposite hers. He grabbed a fig not to eat but to focus on, so as not to suddenly take a bite of her exquisite hip that bore the mark of the wolf.
Ferox came in with a jug of wine. “May I pour you some wine?”
He waved it away. “No, thank you, I don’t drink on a full moon.” Instead of calming him, the wine might embolden him to take what belonged to him, Cassia.
