by Anya Nowlan
Still, the crowds cheered for them the hardest, and Kiya did as well. Especially for Erden.
She blushed again, a pleasant scarlet that made her tanned skin glow, as her thoughts went to his hard muscles and broad back, glinting with sweat in the sweltering heat. The way his eyes shone like gems when he picked a target and advanced. The way his body flexed and bowed like a mighty predator’s, even when he was just a man.
Her reverie was rudely broken by Lucia grabbing her hand and tugging her closer.
“Trouble,” she whispered lowly, as Aurelius Clavius’s sharp, piercing gaze stopped on them once more.
“I believe I would be more than happy to come and visit your father, Aelia Fausta. A man with such excellent taste and strict hand with fighters deserves a visit. And, of course, I will wish to see you there,” he said to Aelia Fausta.
A small voice in Kiya said that the words were not meant for Aelia Fausta alone, though. A lump formed in the back of her throat and she could not swallow it until Aelia Fausta had swapped more giddy pleasantries and urged her entourage to move again, due to louder and louder grumbles from behind them.
Kiya shuffled down the steps behind her mistress, keeping her eyes down. But the cold feeling in the back of her neck of being watched remained until they disappeared behind a corner, out of sight of the young senator.
“My father will be so pleased!” Aelia Fausta announced, tossing the fan back into Kiya’s hands.
“He will, mistress,” Kiya agreed.
I hope I can see Erden soon… I hope he is all right, she thought to herself, stepping out of the relative shade of the arena into the bustling streets of Macavia and starting the short walk toward the ludus and the villa.
Thinking of the bear she so admired was the only fitting distraction to keep her from mulling over the dangerous pierce of the senator’s cold eyes. For the first time in a long while, Kiya did not feel safe. And this time it was not because of the threat of a sword, but because of a powerful man who could get whatever he wanted.
And what little she had to give, she did not wish to give to a man not of her choosing.
CHAPTER THREE
Kiya
A breath of relief left Kiya’s lips as the heavy front doors of the villa fell shut behind her. She escorted Aelia Fausta into her room and helped the socialite change from her now-dusty outerwear to a more casual, but still ridiculously adorned and flashy silk tunic, before being excused. She was the favorite of Aelia Fausta and thus allowed to go first. Kiya figured it was because of the way she could braid the young mistress’s hair and sew gems into her tresses, skills she had picked up from her now-passed sisters.
Kiya walked hurriedly through the complex. It was a collection of vast sandy-colored stone buildings, all interconnected by small walkways and paths and dotted with gardens and pools. Julius Augustinus was at least the fourth lanista in his lineage, and each had done better than the previous. While it was a simple position in most of Rome, Julius Augustinus and his kin had risen to the ranks of the elite in Macavia and his home reflected every bit the lifestyle now afforded to him.
But these riches came from the expense of something else. The ludus was known for its fearsome warriors and the determination with which they fought. Having seen the way they were trained, Kiya had often thought that that drive to live had been beaten into them between the walls of the ludus. The way the men were treated often went above simple training or tough conditioning, and verged on the brutal and inexcusable.
Many didn’t even make it through basic training at the ludus. When new recruits were brought in, a wagon with slain bodies was often seen leaving the grounds. Aelia Fausta had once said that her father’s ruthlessness guaranteed their happiness, and Kiya believed that. Rome was not a kind mistress and the meek did not flourish there. Still, she could not condone the methods with which these slaves were treated.
She chewed on her lower lip as she descended down into the cellars, where the servants’ quarters were located. All she wanted was to wash the dust from her skin and perhaps steal a minute or two to herself, to thank the Gods for sparing Erden’s life. She always prayed for his safe return, though she doubted her own gods listened to her now that she was no longer on home soil, and the Roman ones had never been kind to her.
Kiya was just about to round the corner and pass by the wide halls of the secondary kitchen when masculine voices caught her off-guard and made her skid to a stop. These were the women’s quarters and men were not permitted there. It was rare that even a guard would pass through there, though they were given free roam of the grounds. Kiya’s hands were against the cool stone as she leaned forward, catching a whiff of the conversation.
“That man simply will not die,” Julius Augustinus grumbled.
Kiya could hear steps going back and forth over the polished stone, agitated movements that were marked with a few irate sighs.
“His time will come,” Septimus Tacitus said, yawning.
Septimus Tacitus was the closest friend and confidant of Julius Augustinus. He was often at the villa, scheming and plotting with Julius Augustinus. Kiya was rather certain that both men had come by their sizable fortunes by less than fair means, but that was the way in Rome. Eat or get eaten, slay or be slain. As long as she was behind the backs of the winning monsters, she could not complain.
“The Bear of the North, the northman who will not fall. How poetic. Still, Gods both curse and bless me with this beast. We are now known for little other than this one giant. I get requests for nothing else, only the Slayer of Men! If this continues, I will have no clients at all after he finally and ultimately passes,” Julius Augustinus snarled.
Kiya suppressed a gasp. It was true that the people loved a champion and Erden was a true one at that. But the crowd was also fickle and Erden had been at the top for years now. He was no longer the freshest treat, the bringer of crowds bigger than any other. But he was what the ludus was known for and that, apparently, did not sit right with Julius Augustinus.
“I do not see the problem. You keep pitting him against greater and greater odds. He should not have lived through the fight with the five sagittarii. The way he dispersed the horses and then killed the archers was truly a sight to behold. But, you have noticed, he never got rid of the slight impairment to his left side after those arrows were extracted.”
“Do not remind me,” Julius Augustinus said, spite clearly on his tongue.
“And now, with the four bestiarii… well, who would have seen it coming that they would fall so easily? The bear is aging, yes, but he is no easy target for even the best. He is beloved. You cannot simply get rid of him. It has to be something fantastic. A fight like no other. One that he cannot come out of on his own two, or four legs,” Septimus Tacitus mused.
Kiya’s insides twisted. They were talking about pitting Erden against unbeatable odds, and clearly enjoying the thought. Her small hands balled into fists and she could feel tears creeping up on her, hot and unrelenting.
“Hmm. Yes. But what?” Julius Augustinus queried, the hurried steps finally stopping.
Kiya could easily imagine the flushed face of the lanista, his sunken features creating a mask of irate hate that he only hid when there were powerful visitors in the villa. He was a cruel man and so it was all the more surprising that his daughter was a decent human being.
“The Jade Tigers?” Septimus Tacitus offered.
Kiya had to suppress a gasp, but she could not control the cold jolt that ran through her like a tidal wave. The Jade Tigers were two massive tigers never seen in Macavia before. They were known heroes in Rome and between the two of them, no matter if they fought alone or together, they never lost.
“Yes… all two of them! Would that not be the greatest battle? The Bear of the North against the Jade Tigers… north versus east. If those two cannot wipe him out and make room for my new batch of gladiators, then Gods as my witness, I’ll just let the damn bastard go. The people would love that.”
&
nbsp; “You can’t. He’s a beast,” Septimus Tacitus said, his usually so bored tone replaced with surprise and mild shock.
Releasing a shifter gladiator was practically unheard of. Kiya could maybe remember one case, a pair of wolf brothers who had fought through eighty-five battles, and even with them she had never heard whether they made a life outside of the arenas. Still, hope blossomed like a flower in her bosom. Erden was being threatened with imminent death, but at the same time, his freedom was being offered up as well.
“I can do whatever I please. But that was a glorious idea, my friend. We must go back to the main quarters before my wife returns and finds us dipping into the wine without her blessed presence,” Julius Augustinus said, chuckling.
The footsteps moved further, but Kiya wouldn’t move from the corridor until she heard them walk up the opposite stairs and the door close behind them with a thud. Only then did she let out the breath she had been holding. She peeled herself off of the wall and ran to her room, a tiny hole in the wall she shared with Lucia.
She paced back and forth time after time, her heart beating out of her chest. While Aelia Fausta had teased her relentlessly about her affection for the great bear, she had never so much as shared a word with the man. Her gaze kept seeking him out both at practice and in the arena, and she had once or twice thought she’d seen him staring at her as well, but that was the extent of their communication.
Lady’s maids were not allowed in the fighting pits or the dormitories of the gladiators, and they, naturally, were not allowed out of them unless for a fight. The closest Kiya had gotten to Erden over the many years that they had shared a place they reluctantly called home was when she viewed his practice fights from the balconies, standing by Aelia Fausta’s side.
For a moment, the young senator’s leering gaze came back to her mind and she was left teetering on the verge of hysteria. Erden’s life was hanging in balance, and her own virtue, the one thing she had managed to keep to herself even as a slave, was threatened as well by the appetite of a man her mistress would do anything for. This day was becoming one of nightmares, not of warm sun and happy tidings as she had hoped in the morning.
Quietly, a plan formed in her mind. She could do nothing about the senator, though she tried to assure herself that it was all in her head and the great man would not dare show interest in a lowly slave girl in the presence of Aelia Fausta. But she could try to warn Erden. Just the thought of being close enough to speak to him made her stomach flutter with countless butterflies. Kiya allowed herself a small smile, which she quickly brushed away as she heard the door open behind her and Lucia walk inside, grumbling with annoyance.
“Lucia! I need your help!”
CHAPTER FOUR
Erden
His body was on fire. Every muscle whined and yowled at him in pain and frustration. Erden simply smiled, though it looked more like a grimace than anything else. If he was in pain, it meant he was still alive and that in itself was something to be thankful for.
He stretched wearily, making the combination of dirt, sweat, and blood on his skin crackle and break. It could almost be peeled off like another layer. Back in his quarters at the dormitories, the arena seemed like a distant memory. Though the screams of his foes and his fans still echoed in his ears and he could feel the hot lick of the sun on his back, the cool darkness and silence of the dormitories shook him from his reverie.
He had survived another day.
With a grunt, he sat down on the edge of his cot and for the first time examined the cuts and wounds on his body. First, he looked at the gaping wound in his thigh. If he were not a shifter, it would have been his death for sure. He could see where the artery had been nicked and where it had congealed, sealing the otherwise fatal gash. The beast within him allowed him to pool his energy and focus it, ensuring that he could live through injuries that simple humans would have succumbed to.
But it took a lot of energy, and that was in short supply. His stomach rumbled in protest as he prodded at the cut, already slowly healing itself, but not fast enough.
He was getting too old for this.
Not that Erden was an old man in general. He had no more than thirty-five cycles behind him, but for a gladiator who had been the fear of the arena sands for more than ten of those, it was a long time to be alive. If he were a human, he was sure that he would be long dead by now. Or, by some stroke of magnanimous kindness, allowed his rudus and sent on his way to rebuild what had once been his life.
But, as a bear, there was no such luck. He had won at least a hundred victories and this one was but one of many, yet his only prize was his life.
Still, a prize better than any other. With perhaps the exception of one.
A wry smile crept across his lips as he thought of the cocoa skin and beautiful eyes of Kiya. He chuckled to himself, trying to keep from wincing as he inspected a cut on his left side, thinking of her.
You are much too old to be thinking of fair maidens, Erden told himself.
His bear grumbled within him, arguing. Kiya, of course, was no simple maiden. She was, for lack of a better word, The One. His bear had known the moment she had blossomed into a woman and been brought forth from the back rooms of the villa to stand next to Aelia Fausta as one of her handmaidens. Erden could still remember the first time he had laid eyes on her, nibbling on her lower lip in apprehension as she watched the gladiators battle in the pits.
He’d damn near dropped his sword and gotten decked by one of the new recruits that day. Repeatedly. He’d been a mess for that whole session. One would think that was allowed when a bear recognized his fated mate, but at Julius Augustinus’s ludus, one day of weakness could cost him his life.
Erden had long ago stopped making friends or truly connecting with the other gladiators. If the sands did not see their death, then the hand of the lanista certainly would. It was not worth the heartache to bond. But Kiya, the almond-eyed, unreachable beauty—her he still kept in his heart. Without her, his cold northern heart might just turn into stone, he feared.
A hesitant knock sounded at his door, rudely shaking him from his thoughts. He rose to his feet, standing six feet five inches and having to hunch a little to fit under the dip right in front of the door. The guards never knocked and the gladiators were not allowed out of their rooms of their own volition, so that meant whoever was at the door had to be one of the servants bringing him fresh water and bandages.
With a sigh, Erden pulled open the door and motioned for the hooded figure to come in, her hands loaded with the cleansing products and a pitcher of water dangling precariously from her fingertips. He snatched it from her at just the nick of time, saving it from crashing into a million pieces on the floor.
“Careful,” he chuckled, setting the jug down on the stool that passed for a table in his cramped quarters.
“Apologies,” she said.
Erden stilled immediately. He knew that voice all too well. He’d spent many moments straining his ears, just trying to catch a word of Aelia Fausta’s conversation with her handmaiden in order to hear her lovely voice. It was like silk and honey, impossibly soft and lovely.
His heart started beating wildly and his bear stirred as he inhaled her scent and it seemed to seep down into his very pores. She was here. Kiya was standing so close to him that he could reach out and touch her. For a moment, Erden lost his head completely, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it back if it meant waking from this daze.
She peeled back the hood, having used it to conceal her identity. The guards barely cared who came and went in the halls as long as they dared venture forth. Everyone in the villa knew they had strict areas where they were allowed to go and sneaking to areas not meant for them meant testing the heavy hand of Julius Augustinus. All the more reason to be amazed at seeing a handmaiden down in the pits, where all that passed for light were dim torches, and cleanliness was a notion lost on many.
Her curious, but apprehensive golden eyes studied him, though she did not lo
ok him in the eye. As her gaze traveled over him, Erden could feel goose bumps pimple on his skin. He had never been afraid of anything, yet this delicate woman, standing just feet from him, filled him with a sense of fear like no other. Not for himself, but for her safety. The desire to keep her out of harm’s way and as close to himself as possible had grown to a maddening pitch and it had only taken seeing her up close once.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, noticing the ragged edge of his words.
She sucked at her lower lip and it just about broke Erden. Her eyes still downcast, she scooted past him and set the salves and clean cloths she had with her down next to the pitcher of water.
“Sit, please. Your wounds…” she said, her back to him.
Erden frowned. Had she been sent down into the dormitories as punishment? The ladies rarely allowed their maids anywhere near the brutish oafs that were the gladiators. Even though they knew not to raise their hands against the property of the lanista, sometimes the temptation was too much to handle. They were men with war pounding in their hearts. It could only be expected.
The lanista often treated the men who won great victories to prizes. Women were the main boon of being a successful fighter. But they were always wenches from nearby taverns, women who sold themselves for gold and would forget whatever was done to them if enough coin was given. So why was someone as fair and untouched as Kiya down in the fighters’ pits? With him?
Erden shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, and sat down with a heavy sigh. It hid the wince underneath it. He truly was feeling his age and experience now. Recuperating from the battles was becoming harder and harder. He kept his mouth shut as Kiya wetted a cloth and came to kneel before him. She cleaned the deepest gash on his leg quietly, keeping to her task. He could watch her for hours. The contours of her face that he had memorized so well were never close enough to touch. To kiss.
