Her faithful, useless, idiotic Soren.
“When I am good and ready,” she replied. “Remember your place, peasant.”
“Oh, I know exactly where I am,” Soren said, strong fingers curling tight around his chains. His arms strained again but he could not budge them. He didn’t want to. He merely showed off for her pleasure.
It wasn’t enough. He’d harmed her Gladius against her express orders. By rights she should have him castrated and tossed in with the slaves. She still might if she was of a mind come morning.
“If I had known this was how you would punish me, I would have killed him sooner.” He scowled. “He should be dead.”
Honoria rushed him with a hiss and cracked the back of her hand against his face. The ring she wore left a scratch in its wake. She caught his jaw, nails digging into his skin and forced him to look at her. “Watch your tongue,” she said. “Or I’ll have it ripped out and fed to the dogs.”
Soren strained more, breathing hard, hips bucking toward her. “You would do that? When it’s so much more pleasing to you in my mouth?”
Honoria released him and straightened with disgust.
His gaze swept every inch of her and her nipples beaded beneath it, her woman’s core growing wet. She let him look his fill, tormented him with the sight of what he could never possess. What she allowed tonight was all he would ever have of her. And he would yet come to regret everything he’d done.
“Bold words for someone completely at my mercy.”
He licked his lips.
“You have failed me miserably, general.” He would not hear the gravity of her words past his own unslakable lust for her. Honoria placed one pale knee on the bed by his head, pinning his arm down with her ankle. Soren started panting. Shifting her weight, she placed the other on the far side of him. When he flexed his biceps it nearly swayed her off balance. “Show me why I should let you live.”
He groaned deep when she lowered herself over his mouth.
She would let herself have this pleasure tonight, to nurse the dream of Gladius a few hours more. When the suns rose big and bright over Rome in the morning, it would die.
Along with pathetic, insolent Soren.
Chapter 31
Lucia shoved her into the room so hard Amelia fell forward, landing on her hands and knees. Her hand hit something hard and the impact sent a numbing tingle up her arm to her shoulder. She blinked in confusion at the thin, sharp knife gleaming on the ground.
The door closed and locked behind her, leaving her to the mercy of whoever else was there with her. She could hear people moving around her but didn’t dare look up. Not while the knife still lay unseen in her grasp. How had she not lost it?
Amelia sat back on her heels, sliding the blade beneath her skirt and out of sight. Only then did she look up. The room was vast, with a set of four columns spread out evenly to hold up the floor above. There was no furniture, only piles of worn pillows, a water fountain built into one wall, and a trough of a stream at the base of the other. The woman crouching over it by the window confirmed her suspicion this was the equivalent of a toilet here.
She shuddered. The window was more of a lack of wall. It was barred in a crisscrossing pattern with the holes barely large enough to fit her head through. There would be no escaping that way. It was dark now that both suns had set. The only light came from two small oil lamps and everyone was huddled around them.
Amelia counted twenty-five blurry shapes in all. The ones closest to her were wearing haunted expressions like she’d seen on rape victims in the past. They ranged in age from late teens to late forties and they hardly noticed her, one more addition to an already terrible situation.
While she was still fairly invisible in the darkness by the door, Amelia took one trailing end of the ribbon around her waist and ripped off a long strip, then one more. She hiked up her skirt and tied the knife to her thigh. Without a proper scabbard it was a risk. She could either cut herself on the blade or lose it somewhere if the ties weren’t tight enough. It was still better than not having a weapon at all.
When the ties were as tight as she dared to make them, Amelia pushed to her unsteady feet. This was a harem. Not at all like she’d imagined one should look. There was no opulence here, no lush satin sheets tenting around the room, or colorful pillows where finely dressed women lounged waiting for their master to choose them. This place looked more like an abandoned brothel. The light, though dim, cast harsh shadows. The walls were bleak like some ancient prison, and the floors were rough, uneven, and slanted. She was walking up a slight incline to get to the window and picking her way carefully around the other residents.
Amelia hadn’t been in this much pain in, well, ever. Once as a child she’d broken her arm in a bad fall down the stairs but after so many years she didn’t remember how much it had hurt. Whatever pain she’d felt then had been quickly dulled by medication and all she recalled was ice cream and a bright pink cast she’d been proud to show everyone.
What she felt now was beyond her mind’s ability to comprehend. Her body hurt, bruised and abused. Her throat hurt more, the wound still fresh enough to throb with sharp stings. But it was more than physical discomfort. Amelia’s fear and vertigo had turned inward somewhere along the way. She no longer tripped over her feet, but her thoughts.
She was exhausted and wired at the same time. Heart beating too fast to sleep, mind too sluggish to stay awake. Memories mixed with imaginings that rattled her more than anything Honoria could have done. Blind to everything else, Amelia made her way to the window and sat.
Somewhere out there Gabriel bided his time, waiting for the tide to ebb so he could come for her. Somewhere out there, he might be biding his time to escape without her. Maybe he was already gone. Or maybe he was already caught, imprisoned, dead, and she would live out the rest of her days in this hell.
None of that got a rise out of her. They were the musings of a tired, traumatized psyche trying to make sense of what was happening. She had precious few facts to support any theory and no desire to look for more.
No one had found Gabriel yet, of that she was certain, otherwise they would have come for her already. That meant there was still hope he might find her and get them both out of here. And then there was Tristan. Strong, steady, unpredictable Tristan. He could be on his way here right now. She looked up at the starry sky, searching for a subtle flare of shuttle engines. Gabriel didn’t believe the tiger man would make it here in time.
In time for what?
Time was incomprehensible here. It moved, and it stood still; she never knew how quickly it was passing when one moment raced away and another lasted forever. At some point she might decide one of those was worse than the other but right now all she had was measurements of night and day. It was day when the suns were up, and night when it was dark.
It was dark now.
Amelia blinked. She didn’t know how long she’d sat there, staring out the window at the darkness beyond the bars. It was long enough that full night had fallen and passed, and now the faintest light of day was beginning to cut the darkness. Where had the night gone?
The others were already wide awake. Their whispers jarred her out of the pleasant void her mind had become.
“Fancy lady fell from Caesar’s grace.”
“Look at her clothes…”
“Haven’t seen cloth so clean in ages.”
“Little princess,” someone spat. “Her spine will droop soon enough.”
“She smells like flowers,” a woman said wistfully. But her tone turned sharp when she raised her voice. “What’s the matter, princess? Too good for the likes of us?”
Amelia sighed, hugged her knees to her chest. She kept her gaze outside because it was the safer direction. Out there she could see her freedom and pretend it was within reach. In here, the despair and bitterness was overwhelming.
“Hey! I’m talking to you!”
Amelia should be able to maintain her detached objectivity, r
ise up and rally these women, give them hope, however fragile and fake, that things would get better if they were strong enough to will it that way. People hurt us because we allow it, she would say. If you give them that power, they will destroy you with it.
“Leave her be, Reena.”
It would have been a lie.
The most insidious thing about Rome wasn’t that it was deadly; it was that it made you doubt yourself. It made a strong man feel weak and insignificant, a proud woman feel like a cheap whore.
Amelia had no defense against this. For every strategy she came up with, a dozen reasons why it wouldn’t work followed. Even at the worst of times, in New Alaska, when she’d believed herself in hell, Amelia had never felt this helpless. She’d always had her secret weapons, little exit strategies, and always the knowledge that she had science on her side. The one thing that always worked in her favor and against all others.
And now here she was, in a place where science as she knew it literally did not exist as far as she could see. They might as well have cut off her hands.
Grunts and curses alerted Amelia to a woman coming at her. The threat was audible in every move she made and Amelia felt for the handle of her knife, keeping her face casually averted. Anger made her spine straighten more and her limbs tense for a fight. Hurt, fear, uncertainty, grief; it all blended together inside her, so much emotion she couldn’t possibly shut it out, only mold it into something else.
That something was rage.
“Leave her alone,” someone said and Reena’s progress stopped for a moment as the speaker caught her.
“You’ll get us all in trouble,” another whispered in harsh reprimand.
Amelia swiveled her head to look at the woman who would confront her. In the meager light her eyes glittered with anger fueled by her own helplessness. She needed to lash out, if only to prove she still could. She would get more than she bargained for if someone didn’t stop her.
“Quiet!” an older woman ordered.
Someone gasped. “I hear the guard.”
Reena snarled, fisting her hands. She shook off the one who held her back and advanced again. “You think you’re better than us?” she demanded.
Holding her gaze, Amelia shook her head slowly from side to side,
That simple thing infuriated the woman. “Don’t you look at me!” she screamed and lunged forward.
* * * *
Here they come. Like clockwork. Punctual little ants going about their business. Gabriel lay tense in the shadows, listening to the trainers’ advancing footsteps. He could hear their heartbeats, scent the blood rushing through their veins and part of him thirsted for it. He hadn’t eaten all day; was starved for a hunk of juicy meat. So what if it still had a heartbeat?
The lionesses still watched him. They hadn’t moved an inch, except for their tails. They waited to see what he would do next. You’ll get your show. At one point, while waiting, he’d debated letting all the beasts out, giving them the freedom they craved. He ultimately decided against it. Even if they weren’t crazed from constant confinement, they were still carnivores. He didn’t need more obstacles in his path.
The lights came on, and the beasts came to their feet. All but the lionesses. Whips cracked in the air, signaling the trainers’ entrance and the beasts riled into a frothing frenzy. Their aggression polluted the very air until Gabriel was afraid to breathe and be infected by it. He needed a level head to do what had to be done. Going into a blood rage was not part of the plan.
Time moved in freeze frames. Empty hallway. Lionesses staring.
Trainers with whips. Water troughs in every pen. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
Gabriel closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. He had his paws under him, ready to spring forward the second the door opened but he made himself lie still, while he felt those damn lioness eyes on him. They hadn’t drunk.
The trainers waited for-fucking-ever to do their job. Gabriel counted a good ten minutes after the last animal went down with a groan and a thud. First pen open. The scent of blood intensified, mixed with something chemical. That one had gotten hurt. Second pen open. Nothing in there but shit and rotting flesh. Gabriel wrinkled his snout, almost showing a fang. Third and fourth pens open, first two closed.
Two by two the trainers went until they got to Gabriel’s door. He heard them on the other side. Three heartbeats. He waited.
“These ones are awake,” one of them said.
“Leave them,” another replied.
Key in the lock. Click. Clang. Whoosh.
Gabriel lunged before he’d opened his eyes. The trainer went down with a startled yell, breath knocked out of him, eyes wide with terror. Gabriel didn’t want to kill the guy, or any of them, but they had weapons and tranqs with them for protection. The other two were already reaching.
He roared at them so loud it brought the lionesses to their paws and they roared with him, raking the door, maddened, demanding release. They would kill anything that moved. He tackled the second trainer, bit into his shoulder enough to draw blood. It poured so sweet into his mouth he salivated for more. Just a bite.
Third guard shot off a round.
Gabriel shook off the sting of the tranq, released his prey and bounded off before another could hit him. His paws tingled as he ran down the corridor and out of the holding dock. Idiots had left the door wide open.
He tripped and fell on his face, rolled over from the momentum in the gladiator barracks. Breath huffed in and out of him, the world tilted and swam. The tranq was a strong one. He shook his head hard, got up again, and slipped into shadows against the wall, moving forward silent as death. Gladiators in their cells. Most were lost in thought or someone’s orifice. A few noticed movement. Shot to their feet to see what was happening.
One or two reached for a shard of clay or glass, the only weapon at their disposal. They stared at him with wary eyes as he slunk past them. His paws dragged. He had to get the hell out of here before they caught up to him.
The tunnels led out into the arena. He could already scent the night air, mixing with dry blood out there. Many had been there, their scents lingering. He could make it. Just a little farther. Almost there.
Gabriel’s head swam. Footsteps approached and voices shouted directions. More now than before. Had the trainers released gladiators to help them search? Then he would be dead on the spot when they found him. If they found him.
Now or never.
He’d need hands to open the gate outside.
Gabriel stopped by the supply room. There were clothes in there, weapons and armor all waiting for gladiators to pick them up. He was leaning against the wall, barely keeping his paws under him. The dart was still embedded in his shoulder and he couldn’t reach it with his teeth to pull it out.
Now or never.
Fucking change!
It wasn’t easy, short, or painless. But it was working. Even in this state, he still had control over it. Paws became hands and feet, his tail receded into his spine. Limbs elongated and face collapsed into a different shape. A human one. He was left gasping, weak. It felt impossible to raise his arm but he did, and he yanked the tranq dart out.
“Sweet gods above,” someone whispered.
Gabriel turned his head to seek out the threat. Rico and two other men stood not ten feet from him, weapons in hand, mouths agape.
They’d seen.
He should kill them.
Rico’s jaw worked, his face contorted in disgust. “This is what you did with your freedom?”
It took too much effort to keep looking at him. “You wann’kill me,” he drawled. His tongue felt strange in his mouth. “Then do it. Or you c’n lethe others out ‘n go home.” Gabriel reached for the first set of clothing he saw. Missed it by an inch. Hand-eye coordination shot to shit. He reached again, his hand barely made it half way there.
“Do you see it?” someone called. Gabriel froze. He turned again, enough to see Rico from the corner of his eye.
“
This is insane,” one of his men muttered.
“Can’t be real…” the other said.
“Where is it?” the trainer shouted.
Rico held Gabriel’s gaze. “It was in the south corridor,” he shouted back. “I think it’s wounded.”
Gabriel breathed out in relief. Hung his head. Too much effort to hold it up.
Strong hands caught his arms, dragged his sorry ass up.
“The hell are you doing, Rico?”
“Getting the fuck out of here. You coming or what?”
The two swore and split up. One in each direction, they opened every cell and let the men out. Neither said a word about Gabriel—he would have heard. His head was beginning to clear by slow degrees but the world still spun. He had no choice but to let Rico help him put some clothes on. Pathetic.
“I hope to hell you have a plan.”
“Get out, find Amelia, kill Caesar, disappear.”
“Just like that.”
Gabriel looked at him. “What else you wanna do? Go sight seeing?”
“How are you going to get off world?”
Gabriel grinned, feeling drunk. “Got fifty men at m’ back. ‘N I hear Soren’s dead.” Or would be soon.
Rico stared at him, then a savage little smile stretched across his face too. “Do or die time.”
Chapter 32
Someone tripped her. Reena went flying but managed to put her arms up to break her fall against the window bars. It infuriated her even more and Amelia scrambled to get away from under the cage of her.
A dozen women got to their feet shouting encouragement or warning. Amelia didn’t know which won out; was too busy weaving around Reena’s unpracticed attacks. Someone caught her arms from behind and Amelia cried out. Reena was smiling. “Got you,” she mouthed.
Amelia couldn’t get her arms free. Couldn’t get away from the beating Reena was about to deliver—for what? She did the only thing she could. Used her captor’s strong hold to lift her legs and kick out. She caught Reena in her solar plexus. Her face turned red as she fought for breath, fought the nausea that made her torso spasm. There were tears of pain in the woman’s eyes which only focused the hatred in them the way a magnifying glass focused sunlight into a single point.
Blood Debts (The Blood Book 3) Page 29
