by Amy Ruttan
Gladiator’s Atonement
Amy Ruttan
When Eratos gains his freedom from his violent master he has only one thing on his mind—atonement. He chases his former master Thelonius back to Antioch, and a ghost from his past emerges from the shadows, none other than his master’s wife—a woman who hates the man as much as Eratos does.
Helena detests her husband, but thankfully he is never home and doesn’t desire her. Now he has returned home to lick his wounds and Helena wonders what has him so nervous. When she spies a shadow lurking she is thrilled Eratos has returned and realizes why her husband is fearful.
Helena decides to get her own revenge on the man who destroyed her life, and to finally taste ecstasy in the arms of Eratos, the man who stirred her dormant passions long ago. Eratos has thought only of Helena from the moment he first saw her, and having her under his former master’s nose sounds like sweet revenge indeed.
But Thelonius stands in their way, a man who they both want dead.
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Gladiator’s Atonement
ISBN 9781419933158
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Gladiator’s Atonement Copyright © 2011 Amy Ruttan
Edited by Shannon Combs
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book Publication April 2011
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Gladiator’s Atonement
Amy Ruttan
Chapter One
“Destiny waits alike for the free man as well as for him enslaved by another’s might.”
The Libation Bearers—Aeschylus c. 525–456 B.C.
The city of Antioch bustled around Eratos and no one paid him any heed. Why would they? He was almost as bronzed as a Roman now, his long hair shorn away. The only thing which put him apart from the others were his eyes, it was why he wore a hooded cloak. He did not need to attract any attention.
It was his eyes that attracted Thelonius to him in the first place.
Just thinking of his former master made his blood boil. He clenched his fist, focusing his gaze on the rich residential district nestled against the base of Mount Silpious. It rose like steps created by the hands of the gods, seated high above the poorer districts.
Taking a deep, calming breath, he pressed his back against the marble statue of the city’s patron goddess Tyche. The sun was setting, and he had to move quickly to get a feel of Thelonius’ villa before night fell. Antioch was dangerous at night, but then any city was.
He hated cities—the closed-in feeling of them, all the strangers. Eratos longed for the open heaths of Britannia, the small villages where it was safe to walk at night because everyone was family. Of course, it was all gone now.
It had been gone for some time, since Caratacus of the Catellavani had lost his lands along the river. The Romans had built a city there, on the blood of its people.
Focus, Eratos.
He had come here for one reason and one reason only.
Kill Thelonius. Eratos moved along the wall of the city. Keeping to the shadows, he headed to one of the walled-off sections that divided Antioch. It was where the upper class was separated from those beneath them, and where Thelonius lived.
He knew where Thelonius hid. He had been to the villa once when Thelonius first bought him. He would never forget that place. Shaking his head, he tried to pry the nightmares of what he endured there from his mind, but to no avail. It constantly haunted him.
Just like the thought of the woman Thelonius hid there, Thelonius’ wife. Though his former master never touched her, all he did was force her to watch as he took men either with their consent or not. Her sympathy, their shared pain in that moment so long ago still calmed him. She was beautiful, and hurt just as much as he.
In that moment, which lasted eternity, he found solace in her grief and her face got him through many a night when the nightmares came again and again.
Focus.
Keeping his profile low, Eratos strode with purpose toward Thelonius’ villa. It sat overlooking the city, an ominous beacon of pain and torture. Ignoring the beads of sweat that broke across his brow from anticipating his revenge, he opened the gate that was used by the servants and sneaked into the garden.
Crouching down in palm fronds and a small grove of olive trees, he peered through the branches and surveyed the villa. He could see a couple of hired guards pacing on the roof.
So the fool is scared, and well he should be.
Eratos tried not to chuckle, but he was pleased Thelonius was frightened. The guards would be not hard to take down, he could probably bribe them to leave their post—such was the nature of hired men. It was just the opportunity he needed to figure out when to strike.
Shifting his weight so he balanced on the balls of feet, he made mental note of the easiest access points, until a cry of pain echoed across the garden. A shudder went down his spine when he recognized that voice.
Helena.
It took all of his might not to run for her, but he did not have long to wait for she came fleeing from the villa, her hands covering her face as she ran quickly through the garden before coming to stop at the stone wall and slumping against the stone gate at the edge before the drop-off. A steep cliff he often thought of throwing himself off in the earlier days.
Eratos crept closer. He wanted to comfort her, the way she had comforted him after Thelonius was done with him. He could still recall the softness of her skin, the gentle touch as she cleansed his wounds and the scent of myrrh enveloped him in a warm embrace. Eratos could not let her know he was there, even as his heart beat faster at the thought of being so close to her again. Thelonius’ warning about what he would do to Helena if Eratos did not comply still rang in his ears. He was thankful Helena had not been sold to the slave traders upon his escape from Thelonius.
Helena wiped her tears on the back of her hands and let out a frustrated growl, obviously angered by Thelonius’ return. It had been many years since Thelonius had been in Antioch. Eratos knew, because he was forced to remain close to his hated former master.
It was why he fought so hard. He struggled to survive in the gladiatorial arena for this moment, this glimmer of freedom to seek revenge on Thelonius. Taranis and his little Roman had granted him this gift, and for that he would be eternally grateful.
He would kill Thelonius, freeing Helena, and then it did not matter what happened to him. Eratos would be content to die, for his task would be complete and the pain would be over.
Helena sobbed again and he shifted, a branch cracking under his feet. Her spine stiffened and she turned around
.
Merda.
As quickly and as quietly as he could he backed toward the alleyway he had used to sneak in, hoping Helena wouldn’t follow him.
* * * * *
Helena ran from the villa, tears of hatred streaming down her face. Only when she came to the edge of her garden did she stop, leaning against the stone gate to catch her breath.
Why did he have to return?
She had just gotten used to Thelonius being gone. He left five summers ago, and it was the most peaceful time of her life.
Yet her solitude had been won over a terrific pain and just the memory of Thelonius’ departure brought back memories of the brave warrior who had endured the very depths of Hades. She had been enthralled by him in that moment, captured by his brilliant blue eyes as her husband cut his skin with a blade, marring him, taking pleasure in the pain he caused the warrior.
Helena had gone to him and repaired some of the damage. They did not have the same words and did not understand each other but she knew he understood she meant him no harm. They both shared the same burning hatred for Thelonius. She often wondered why he did not strike back at Thelonius during his stay in Antioch, but she could not ask him.
During her five years alone she fantasized about the warrior. Though she did not know a man’s touch, her body yearned to be possessed by his. She longed to know the caress of his hands. If Thelonius dared to touch her she would strangle him with her bare hands.
Even thinking about draining the life essence from Thelonius made her fists clench, her blood boil. She would kill him herself, but Thelonius held something over her, and like the Celt, she was just as much as a slave to Thelonius as he was.
Why could he not have stayed away?
Something had caused Thelonius to run back to Antioch with his tail between his legs, for on his arrival he had shut himself away for days, speaking to no one, seeing no one.
Wiping her tears on the back of her hand, she looked out over the city, down to the river and island where the Imperial Palace gleamed in the waning daylight. Still, the city of Antioch would be full of life, even in the darkness. Antioch was an outpost, a gateway to the vast wild stretches of desert. It was oasis for weary travelers as much as it was a place to hide.
And Thelonius was definitely hiding from something, the question was what?
The rustling of olive branches caught her attention. Craning her neck, she looked toward the shaded part of her garden and saw a shadow flicker through the bushes and duck behind the alleyway that led from her villa to the city. It was the back entrance her servants used.
“Are you well, mistress?”
Helena looked up to see the two hired guards her husband paid to watch out for him. They were men of honor obviously because they were concerned about her safety, though that was not part of their job.
“I am fine, thank you. I’m just going to go into town before it becomes too dark.”
“Do you require an escort?” the guard asked, frowning. It was then Thelonius stuck his fat head out the shuttered window.
“Soldier, you will not leave your post. Helena is perfectly able to go to town on her own. She is not the one who needs protecting.”
A brief look of disgust passed over the guard’s face. “Yes, master.”
Thelonius glared at her before closing the shutter and disappearing back into the dark confines of his bedchamber. Helena just shook her head and continued on her way.
She crept toward the alleyway and carefully peered around the corner. A brief glimpse of a cloak disappeared around the corner of the house. Helena could almost hear her father’s voice warning her.
Be careful. Do not trespass in the city alone.
Usually she wouldn’t, but something propelled her forward. She kept to the wall, trying to remain in the shadows that grew longer as the day waned. Her heart thundered between her ears, drowning out the sounds of the city beyond the walls that enclosed her home from the rest of the city. She saw a shift in the darkness, the sound of shuffling feet.
“Who are you? Show yourself.” The only answer was silence, but she knew there was someone there. “I will not leave until you show yourself and explain your reason for hiding in my orchard.”
“You’re either very brave, or very foolish.” A tall, hooded man stepped from the shadows.
Foolish. I am foolish.
Helena placed her back against the wall to steady herself. She was not prepared for a virtual giant of a man to emerge from the shadows. He was tall and wide, built like a legionnaire.
“Or perhaps you have nothing to live for.” He did not move any further than the edge of the darkness that had concealed him. There was something familiar about his voice, something teased at the back of her recollection that she knew him. Leaning forward, she caught a flash of brilliant blue from under the hood.
“Eratos?” she asked, stunned. “Is it…can it be you? Truly?”
He pushed back the hood, and though he was tanned, the brilliant blue eyes and grim determination set in his strong jaw gave him away. His long golden hair was still shorn away and new scars marred his face, but it was Eratos.
“You remember me,” he whispered.
“Of course I do. I could never forget you.” Helena stepped forward, his eyes piercing into her soul.
“Aye, the same with me, anam cara.”
The heat of a blush stained her cheeks. She did not know what anam cara was, but it sent a thrill of excitement through her. “You have learned my language and I am ashamed I don’t know yours.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “It is all right. It is just an endearment. I am glad to see you are well.”
“Well…as well as can be.” Letting out a sigh, she looked back toward the villa and then turned back to Eratos. “I take it you are the reason Thelonius has returned to Antioch to lick his wounds.”
An evil grin broke across his face. “Aye, he flees from me.”
“How did you escape?”
“It is a long story, but suffice it to say I am here to seek my revenge. I did not count on guards though.”
Helena stepped forward, touching his arm. “You shall not worry about them. They are not loyal to my husband. I will give you access to him.”
Eratos picked up her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. A burst of flames shot through her at the feel of his lips against her skin. Her body seemed to come alive at the intimate touch, especially from the man who had filled her fantasies for the last few years.
“If there is anything I can do to repay you, I would gladly do so.”
Helena bit her lip. She could think of only one thing she wanted from Eratos. She wanted to continue what had almost happened those many years ago, when she had been cleaning him up after Thelonius had beat him, when Eratos had taken her in his arms and captured her lips with his, roughly pressing her against the mat, grinding his hot body against her, and the gods help her, she had been so willing.
Yet it did not happen. Thelonius had discovered them and savagely tore them apart. That had been the last time she had seen Eratos. Thelonius had been so jealous, and it made her pleased she had vexed her husband so.
She wanted Eratos to finish what he started. She wanted Thelonius to know that a mere slave—and man he thought was his—wanted her, not him. Helena wanted Eratos to take her innocence, she wanted his seed.
She wanted her own revenge on Thelonius.
“I will give you access to seek your revenge on my husband, but before you kill him I ask of you one thing.”
“Anything, anam cara. You have my undying gratitude for your assistance.”
“I want you to lay with me for a fortnight. I want you to mate with me.”
Chapter Two
Eratos was stunned when the words came out of her mouth. He couldn’t believe such a beautiful, exotic creature such as Helena desired him. He had often thought of it, thought of that moment before Thelonius had caught them, when he pressed into her softness, overcome
by his desire. For Helena to offer herself to him was something from his dreams.
Resist, there is no time for this. Remember Thelonius’ threat.
Yet he couldn’t stop himself. His cock grew stiff under his tunic, his blood heating. Even through her billowy stola he could see her nipples harden. It was not empty words of offer, Helena did want him.
“Pardon?” he asked.
Helena moved closer to him, the scent of wildflowers and myrrh assailed his senses in a heady, intoxicating way, wrapping him up in a warm cocoon of arousal and want. His plans of revenge were quickly forgotten as Helena pressed herself against his chest, her body soft, warm, melding against him.
“I will let you torment Thelonius, but you must not kill him until after you have lain with me for a fortnight. I will not be left a virgin widow.”
“You are a virgin?”
“Aye, Thelonius has no strength in his rod for me. Even if he did I would not let him. I burn with the same hatred for him as you.”
How can someone so innocent burn with so much hatred? Still, he would not risk her life. He had to kill Thelonius first.
“Helena, I cannot promise you that. I must dispatch Thelonius to Tartarus.” He tried to sidestep her and she blocked his path. She gripped his arms, her fingers digging into his flesh.
“Please, you must not. Promise me.” Her eyes were moist with tears, and her actions bespoke that of a frightened woman.
Why? I thought you wanted him dead as well? But he could not ask the question— instead he only reacted with gut instinct, pulling her tight against him and grinding his cock against her. A sigh of pleasure escaped past her lips, her eyes widening in surprise as he pushed her against the wall.
“I will gladly do as you wish,” he whispered in her ear, hoping he could keep his promise to her, though he seriously doubted it. “I have thought of no one but you since that stolen moment five years ago.” Her lips were so close. He cupped her face and brought them to his own. It felt almost sacrilegious to be claiming such a soft, delicate, refined creature, to meld his dry, cracked lips against something as supple and moist as hers, but he could not help himself.
