by Auryn Hadley
Or, Leyli reminded herself, she could learn. If she truly learned to fight like a gladiator, and could live long enough to get her freedom, not even her cousin could stop her. With Tristan at her side, they could get revenge for her family. If she could get strong enough and good enough, she could make the entire world pay for her brother's death.
"What am I doing first?" she asked when she reached his side.
Tristan chuckled. "The shield. You're a bitch with that thing, but I can make you better."
"Can you make me perfect?"
He turned toward their grassy section. "Yeah, pup. The better you are, the longer I live. I'm gonna make you good enough that no one will ruin my pretty face."
"Don't worry, scars are sexy."
He laughed and passed her a shield. "Think so?" Then he pulled off his shirt.
Beneath the almost-white wool was nothing but muscle. A pale stripe crossed his chest, hidden from the sun by the strap that held on his manacle. It wasn't enough to distract from the myriad of lines that scared his flesh. None were bad, but there were just so many. Leyli wrenched her eyes up, back to his face.
He was grinning. "How about you?"
"Uh." She swallowed. "I'd rather leave my shirt on, if you don't mind."
He nodded, but his eyes sparkled deviously. "Good idea. Now tuck that shield against your body." He bent his arm, showing her what to do. "Keep enough space to hide your face, because I'm not sure your nose can take another beating."
"Might bend it back the right way," she teased, trying to mimic him.
Tristan laughed. "It's straight, Ley. The physician put it back in line, but it's an impressive shade of purple. Might be swollen, but I don't remember what you looked like before it got busted up."
"Yeah, guess some silly girl in a cell wasn't as important as the next fight." She shrugged that off while he went to grab a sword.
Under his breath, she heard him say, "Right." Then he turned back. "You know there's only a handful of women in the games?"
"No."
He nodded. "I think like five or six. Not sure. Plenty of girls are sold to pay for debts, but almost none of them last through the first day. There's always some man willing to hack them to bits."
"Like you?"
"Yeah." His face locked, refusing to show any emotion. "I've had to kill a few. Thing is, your first round of fights? Yeah, that first day you're not a gladiator. You're just scrub, there to be killed off. The few that live long enough to sleep in a cell? Those get called novices. Live through enough games, and you finally get to be a gladiator."
"So I'm a real gladiator, huh?"
"A novice gladiator. At twenty-five wins, you get to be just a gladiator. At fifty, you're a veteran." He moved before her, hefting the sword. "There's a handful of women who made it past twenty-five, and I don't want to go against any of them. They'd rip me apart. Block."
His sword struck, but slowly. Leyli easily intercepted it with the shield. "Why?" she asked, moving to prepare for his next swing. "Does killing women bother you?"
This time he aimed for her side. "Yeah, but that's not it. Pup, the women who can learn to fight?" He struck at her shoulder again, still moving slow. "They're ruthless, fast, and agile. Female gladiators are dangerous, because you're so small, and so much meaner than we ever expect. Kinda like a wolf."
"And I'm the Wolf."
He laughed and swung again. This time it was harder, but she didn't flinch. Over and over, he pounded at the shield, forcing her to adjust her arm. Up, down, out, in – she moved the heavy metal in all directions until her arm burned with the effort. She wouldn't stop, though. Tristan had made his point. She'd lived long enough to prove herself. Now she had to live long enough to become terrifying.
She was the Wolf of Oberhame. She would be their nightmare, and he was going to show her how.
Chapter 10
When Tristan woke her up the third day, Leyli felt like she could barely move. He tossed her clothes on the bed, but once again refused to leave. She hurt too bad to care, so just pulled off her nightgown without leaving the covers. At the sight of her bare chest, his eyes widened, then he turned, quickly, refusing to gawk.
Crawling out of bed naked, she forced her body into the clothing, but he never dared peek. He could have. Tristan could have enjoyed the view, and she wouldn't have cared. He'd made his point the day before. She was a gladiator. She had to stop thinking like a princess and start acting like what she was. And now this?
That one, sweet act was why she'd trust him. Oh, she'd thought she did before, but refusing to look when she'd just stripped bare before him? That was the proof her mind needed. Something fell into place, and Leyli knew that this man was the one she could rely on. In that moment, he went from being just a good mentor to her friend.
The next morning, her body woke at dawn. The compound was silent. Next door, Tristan's room was still. She hurried out of bed, shocked to find the aches weren't as bad as she expected, and got dressed. Her fingers flew through the laces, and she struggled to get into her sandals before she lost the advantage, but by the time she was done, the place was still eerily quiet.
This time, it was her turn. Silently opening the door between their rooms, she tiptoed into his private space. The scent of man hit her first. It wasn't stale sweat or dirt. His place smelled like him: bittersweet and musky, with a hint of oiled leather. A few more steps and she saw him.
The sheet was tangled around his waist. Tristan's bare leg hung over the edge of the bed and one arm was curled against his chest. His hair was just long enough to spill over the pillow, and his eyes were closed. Sleeping, he looked so peaceful, not like the killer she'd first seen. The lines on his face were smooth, turning him into a gentle boy waiting for a kiss on the brow to wake him.
She'd seen her father asleep, and her brother, but never a strange man. Not that Tristan was strange, but he wasn't family. A week ago, this would have been scandalous, but now she was a gladiator. She'd killed men, even if the thought still disturbed her, but that meant the rules no longer applied. The beautiful creature sleeping soundly before her was her partner. All she had to do was wake him.
"You're late," she said, trying to keep her voice normal.
He sucked in a breath, but didn't bother to open his eyes. His mouth, however, wasn't as subtle. A smile spread across it, wide enough to show a hint of teeth. With a soft moan, he rolled onto his back, nearly pulling the sheet from his pelvis, and stretched.
By the gods, how many muscles did he have? She watched his biceps bulge and his forearms flex. Across his stomach, deep creases appeared, proving that each section had its own temple to be worshiped. Tristan's body was better than the statues she'd seen in the Pantheons. Not even the scars could ruin the beauty of him. Then she realized his eyes were open, and he was watching.
"If you want to look tough, you need to close your mouth," he said, then flung back the sheet.
She clamped her lips closed as fast as she could. Underneath that thin fabric was nothing but skin. Leyli forced her eyes to the floor, but she'd seen. His muscles ran from his head all the way to his toes, and they weren't the only shocking thing about him. Oh no. She'd gotten a rather blatant view of something her eyes were certainly not supposed to see until her wedding night. It took everything she had not to giggle like the silly maid she was.
Her partner didn't agree. His chuckle was deep and throaty as he padded toward the corner. A second later, she heard the sound of fluid. That was more than she could take. Leyli gasped and hurried back to her room. Behind her, Tristan just laughed harder.
"Thought you wanted to watch?" he yelled.
"I wanted to win," she called back, fanning at her blushing face.
She had just enough time to get the blood out of her skin and back where it belonged, before he stepped into the room. Thankfully, he'd pulled on pants. Unfortunately, he hadn't bothered to put on the shirt. It hung limp in his hand.
"I think that makes it a draw. You go
t your view, I got my blush." Then he shoved his head into the shirt.
That's when she saw the mangled skin across his forearm. The left one, it looked like more than any simple cut or gash. From his wrist half way to his elbow the skin was melted and puckered. In all her life, Leyli had never seen anything like it.
His eyes followed hers, then his hand clamped over it. "Sorry," he mumbled, all of his bravado gone. "I didn't mean for you to see that."
She jerked her chin toward it. "What happened?"
His throat tensed as he swallowed. "The last fight on my first day was at night." He rubbed the ruined flesh as if he wished it would vanish. "There were torches scattered around the arena. Someone grabbed one, and I tried to block it with my arm so it didn't hit my pretty face." He flicked his eyes up, then back to his arm. His words sounded joking, but the look on his face proved they weren't. "Couldn't afford the physician, didn't have a sponsor or team, so it just healed."
"Looks like it hurt."
He flicked his eyes to her again. "Yeah. I'm sorry, I try to keep it covered. I know it's disgusting."
She took the two steps to close the distance and lifted his hand away, only to replace it with her own. "I promise I don't mind. Anyone brave enough to use his own skin as a shield is the kind of gladiator I want to learn from." Her fingers tried to sooth the edges of the scar, showing him that she wouldn't be revolted.
His hand pressed over hers, halting the motion. When she looked up, his eyes were waiting. "I don't want that to ever happen to you. I'll teach you everything I know so you never have to make that decision."
"Thank you."
Finally, the smile returned, but it was weak. "Just trying to keep my face pretty, pup. Don't think it's anything more than that."
"And mine," she reminded him. "I mean, can't have someone like you running around with a crooked nosed monster, right?"
"Right. Gotta have a partner cute enough to make the men scream as loud as the ladies." With those words, his ego returned and everything was back to normal.
Leyli patted his chest and made to walk past him, but he caught her wrist. For a moment they were stuck. Tristan looked at her, she looked at him, but neither knew the words to break the silence. Something needed to be said. She could feel it hanging in the air, and evidently he could, too.
She could only think of one thing, and it had worked so far. "I'm learning."
He nodded. "I know, and I'm sorry you have to." He released her. "I'll promise you one thing, pup. I will never be something you need to worry about. Whether that's watching your back or keeping your secrets, we all need someone to lean on, and I'm here if you want it."
"Yeah." She took one step, then paused. "I may not fight well, but I know how to keep my mouth shut."
"I've noticed."
Before they could get stuck in another awkward moment, she left, heading through the front door to the grass beyond. By the time Tristan was dressed, she'd already started stretching out her muscles for the day's lessons.
Chapter 11
For the next week, Tristan drilled her hard. Every day he broke down her ideas of proper until she was as comfortable with him as she was her own skin. She learned to hold up a shield, swing a sword, hit where she aimed, and dance. He learned the alphabet and simple words. She wrote a letter to the Master of Horse, the message only thinly veiled, and he paid for it by spending his evenings with desperate women.
It was at night when they found their peace. As soon as their training was done, he invited her to his side to unwind. Reclining in his well padded chairs, they shared a large mug of beer and just talked. Her aching muscles protested sitting properly, but Tristan didn't care. Leyli lounged like a soldier – no longer trying to be a dainty lady – and dreamed of a time when her body simply didn't hurt all over.
"Think you're ready to spar against the men?" he asked, kicking his feet onto the table.
She mimicked him, taking a long drink. "Might as well. What's a few more bruises, right?"
"True. I think we'll put you against Gust. He keeps asking me if he can pay you a visit one evening."
She groaned and rolled her eyes. "Think I can beat him?"
He rubbed at his jaw. "It'll be close. You want me to keep telling him no?"
Tilting her head up, she looked at the ceiling, feeling her back stretch. There was one thing she was dying to know. "Why is it that you never try? You can walk in my room at any time. You know where my bed is. Why do you never try to climb in it, yet all the others act as if they would?"
He took a drink before answering. "Because that's a real slippery slope. You're a pretty girl, Leyli. I also don't want to see you killed out there and lose my mind because of it. I like my neck more than I like what's between your thighs. So long as we don't cross the line, we'll be able to keep our wits about us in the arena."
"Mm. And it's not like you're hurting for women."
He shot her a dirty look. "You know that's not the same."
"Yeah, but explain it." She turned to him, only curiosity on her face.
Tristan's feet hit the floor and he leaned forward, over the table. "You gonna blush a real pretty pink if I do?"
"Probably."
"Good. Tumbling a woman, that's always nice. Usually, though, a man decides who he wants to fuck. Being told that I will perform, like a trained dog, so someone else can make money? It changes it."
"Like being a whore." She shrugged. "I can see that."
"It's exactly like being a whore, except I didn't make the decision on my own. I can't say it's rape, because technically I do agree." He spun his mug in his hands. "Doesn't really feel much different, though."
"But how?" She groaned and tried again. "Tristan, I'm sorry, but I mean, if you aren't interested, how does that even work?"
He shrugged. "I'm a man. Wind blows the wrong way and we get hard. Liking it is a whole different thing."
She pulled her feet down and leaned toward him, catching his wrist in her hand. "I'm sorry."
"I'd prefer you keep that between us." His hazel eyes flicked up, fear lurking deep inside them. "Not something a man wants spread around."
"I swear." She slid her hand lower, catching his palm in hers. "Is there anything I can do? I know I can't stop it, but maybe to help ease the pain?"
A sad smile floated across his lips. "That's sweet of you." He squeezed her hand gently. "But, no. I should enjoy the idea of an easy lay without commitment. It's just that..." He shook his head.
"I won't tell," she promised.
"I miss having someone hold me back. Sounds stupid, but that's the truth of it. I wasn't raised to be happy with the idea of a loveless marriage like you were. I feel like a damned prize bull, sent to breed then packed back up in his pen. I miss being human."
Leyli stood and walked around the table. Without asking, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him. It took only a moment before he returned it, crushing her against him. Then he shifted, pulling her into his lap and shoving his head into her shoulder.
"You're like the little sister I should have had." He breathed deeply, but his fingers only tightened on her shoulders.
Her hands pressed into the back of his head, holding him there. With each breath, she slid her fingers over his hair. Each time his heart pounded against her ribs, she hugged him closer. The Lion and the Wolf, they shouldn't need words to understand. The only civility left in their lives was found in each other. In order to survive, they had to trust – but that came with so much more. It had become a bond unlike any she'd known. Tristan was her friend. He was her family in a way that her own blood could never match. He was her shield and she was his shadow. Their lives were entangled, and it was hard to remember where one of them ended and the other began. The world saw them as one, and the only way they could survive was to make it true.
"You're a good man," she whispered into his hair.
He chuckled once. "What do you know of good men, Leyli?"
"I've kn
own some of the best. I danced with the captain of the King's Guard once. I sat beside the Boier of Sanlien at dinner. I think you're a finer man than either of them."
"I always wanted to be like King Aravatti." He chuckled and pulled back to look at her. "He passed through Lenlochlien when I was a boy, just after he got married to that island princess. He shook my hand – and half the town's – but I remember thinking how magnificent he was. Always a gentleman. He made me understand what noble really meant." Tristan shrugged. "I kinda want to be like him."
She had to clench her jaw, but nodded. He meant her father. The man he wanted to be like was her dad, and he was closer than he knew. Leyli hugged him again, before her eyes betrayed her. That was the one thing she just couldn't share with him. Not without risking his life as well as her own.
"I've met him, too. I think you're just as good of a man." She took a deep breath. "Maybe one day we'll get to see him."
"Yeah," Tristan breathed, letting himself dream. "Maybe we can impress him enough to be granted a pair of rudis. Then we'd be free, Leyli."
"One day." She wiped at her face before leaning back. "Just fifty more games. Merino says at least ten of those I'll be at your side."
"That'll make fifteen for you. If we can impress the crowd enough, there will be more."
Neither of them mentioned how easy it would be for them to lose. Neither of them spoke of what would come after that. Even if she fought chained to him until he earned his freedom, she had years ahead of her. The best she could hope for was learning to fight well enough that by the time she faced men alone, she'd be strong enough to handle it. Sitting in his lap, they talked until she fell asleep, both of them dreaming of a future where they owned their lives again.
She woke being carried down the hall. Her groggy mind was slow to kick in, but she snuggled into his chest. It felt like when she was a child. Her father would let her play much too late, and only after she was asleep would he carry her back to the nursery. Held in Tristan's arms, she felt just as small.
