Rogue Spotter Collection

by Kimberly A Rogers

  She closed her eyes then whispered, “Will they try to cheat against you next time?”

  “Of course, but they won’t be as blatant against me.” I hugged her to my side and dropped another kiss to her hair. “I under-advertised my skills tonight. They won’t think I’m as much of a threat as Atlas.”

  Opening her eyes, Lauren’s dark gaze filled with a mixture of worry and frustration. “Is that what you call allowing two minotaurs to pummel you?”

  I placed the token in her hand. “Keep this some place safe. The next fight won’t be until tomorrow night to allow recovery time for all the competitors.”

  I kept talking as I strolled away from her and into the bedroom. “I think we should remain here during the daylight hours. Order room service when we feel like it. No reason to risk running into other patrons while we wait. That’s unofficially frowned on if you didn’t come in together.”

  I grimaced as my sides protested when I attempted to shrug out of my jacket. Perhaps, I shouldn’t have been so generous as to allow both minotaurs to land some blows. I finished shrugging out of the jacket and turned around to find Lauren watching me. Worry had won out. I carefully lowered myself to perch on the end of the bed and held a hand out to her. She grabbed it with trembling fingers. I studied her for a long moment. “I can withdraw.”

  “Not without penalty.”

  “If you’re referring to the coward’s brand, they’d have to find me first.” Attempting to lighten the mood, I offered her a slight smirk as I leaned forward. “People can’t find us very easily if we’re sneaky. And, I’m excellent at disappearing. I hear you are too.”

  She looked away from me, but her lips never curved in response. “The last thing we need is someone else hunting us, Mathias.” She slipped her hand free of my hold and moved to stand in front of the ornately carved wardrobe as she added, “I wish I had never asked to come here.”

  “Roma is not so bad a place to hide in plain sight,” I murmured. “We could be alone on the moors again. With redcaps and kelpies lurking around.”

  “They weren’t actively threatening us,” she retorted as she slipped out of the rich purple overdress and hung it in the wardrobe once more. The cap sleeves of her creamy underdress left her arms exposed and the back of the dress dipped low enough to expose her shoulder blades. I rather enjoyed the view.

  Lauren’s dark hair swept across her shoulders and upper back obscuring my view when she let it out of the chignon. She was loosening the chain when she turned to face me, a frown in place. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. We should’ve moved on like you wanted.”

  I shook my head. “It was our decision together, and I was the one who chose to participate in the games. Admittedly, I wasn’t expecting quite so much . . . excitement. However, I will surprise them tomorrow night.”

  I slipped off my shirt and Lauren gasped. Glancing down, I noted the bruises were a tad more numerous than I had anticipated. Lauren’s touch to my shoulder was, however, anticipated. I finished shrugging out of my shirt and set it aside. I kept my tone light as I leaned down to unlace my shoes, “Some cream for the bruises and I’ll be right as rain for tomorrow night.”

  Lauren left me alone long enough to riffle through my go bag. “Could we . . . Could we switch places?”

  A wry laugh escaped me as I slipped my shoes and socks off. “Substitution is not permitted in the games. They expect Alexander of Sparta to be the competitor, and so he will be. Besides, even if it was, I would never agree to send you out there. You have no fighting skills and would be slaughtered within a minute.”

  I blinked as a pillow smacked the back of my head. I sat up and looked around in time to see Lauren’s fierce frown just before she smacked me in the face with the pillow again. I pushed the pillow away, fighting another laugh. “All right, two minutes.”

  She smacked me again. “Stop laughing at me, you smug Myrmidon!”

  “I generously granted you two minutes of survival in a fight,” I protested. I raised my arm to ward off another blow, then caught the end of the pillow before she could pull it back for another strike. I grinned at her. “I like your spirit. Even though pillows are not an acceptable weapon.”

  “I could’ve put bricks in it,” she retorted drily. “Let go.”

  I tightened my grip instead. “No. I don’t think I will.” I relaxed my arm slightly and then gave a sharp pull, yanking Lauren off balance. Letting go of the pillow, I caught her by the wrist and rolled so we both tumbled onto the bed. Pinning her beneath me, I brushed a fleeting kiss against her lips before whispering in her ear, “As I said, Lauren, I don’t think I will be letting go any time soon.”

  “Smug Myrmidon,” she retorted with a smile. “You’re lucky I like you anyway.”

  “Only like?” I brushed her hair away from her face before trailing kisses across her cheek. “I see I need to redeem myself.”

  She laughed breathlessly. “Thought you needed the cream for your ribs.”

  “They aren’t that bad.”

  I kissed her and winced as she pressed her hand against my side.

  “Liar.” She pushed at my shoulders. “We need to take care of those first. Everything else can wait.”

  “That’s a terribly practical response,” I complained. “I was trying to seduce you.”

  “You can do that later, dear,” Lauren said far too lightly as her eyes laughed at me. “A wounded Brit just isn’t quite as dashing as a healthy and whole one.”

  “I am a healthy and whole one,” I protested. “Well, whole enough.”

  Lauren laughed as she held the cream out to me. “Will you please focus? We still need a plan for the Colosseum.”

  “How dreadfully unromantic you’re being right now.”

  * * *

  Lauren

  The Colosseum’s glamoured façade of crumbling stone remained intact as Mathias and I walked inside. Unlike the Forum’s opening night, no one wore elaborate clothing save some of the women who were Fae and that didn’t stand out too much. The rest of us, however, were dressed practically. I had chosen to pair my knee length leather boots with jeans and grey cotton shirt. Despite the humidity, I kept my leather jacket on as well.

  Mathias’ long lean frame was clad in equally practical clothes, dark jeans and cotton shirt with his standard leather jacket. The only difference was that, tonight, he had his sword. The handle was wrapped in dark leather and almost unnoticeable where it rested at his back. Almost.

  As we followed the people in front of us, I noted that the glamour remained in place. The Colosseum’s arena looked . . . deserted. The floor had been restored, concealing the hypogeum beneath, but the tiers forming the walls still looked worn by the passage of time. The people immediately in front of us vanished as they passed through the glamour. Their brightly glowing 8s winking out of existence as they did so.

  I pushed my hair back behind my shoulder as I slipped my other hand into my pocket and withdrew the token. There was a sprite positioned just in front of the glamour, but this one was male. He had only one guard with him, another hulking man with an 8 hovering over his head. The sprite’s gaze settled on me for a long moment before he silently held out a hand. I allowed Mathias to take the token from me. “Signora Aysun Tilki of Istanbul sponsoring Alexander of Sparta.”

  The sprite didn’t take the token from Mathias and his eyes never left me as he spoke in passable Turkish, “Madame Tilki, welcome to the Colosseum stage of the Roma games. Step through the glamour together, holding the token between you. It will be collected on the other side, and then you will escort your competitor into the hypogeum. The competitors have been divided into two segments and will wait in a shared common room accordingly. Mirror glamours have been placed at various stations so you may watch from any area of the Colosseum as long as you do not step back through the glamour. To prevent dishonesty, the glamours are sealed against anyone attempting to leave before a Triumph has been granted to the victor of the games. There are, of
course, refreshments available and the Colosseum features a seer whose predictions may be used for placing wagers on the competitors. Please step through when you are ready.”

  My heart beat a little faster at the thought of a seer in the Colosseum. I could only pray that it was Raz Yakov. Mathias held his hand out, the token flat in his palm, and I wrapped my hand around his. The raised relief of the coin was cool against my skin as we stepped forward together. Air hissed through my teeth as the glamour raked across my skin, feeling as though it plucked at my hair, and a thousand tiny sparks burst across my flesh. The coin clasped between our hands grew warm, and I tightened my grip on Mathias as we walked two more steps.

  Finally, we emerged into clear air once more. I drew a breath into my air starved lungs as though I had been swimming underwater and only just broke through the surface. I had heard of glamours that could be raised as an offensive defense, but they were unusual and rare. Not to mention prohibitively time consuming to create and maintain. Another pair of men waited just to the side of a tunnel entrance. The sprite nodded to me. “Welcome, Signora Tilki. The token if you please.”

  I let go of Mathias’ hand and made a show of brushing my jacket sleeves and smoothing my hair back. As soon as the sprite took the token from Mathias, he bowed slightly to me. Like his comrade on the other side of the glamour, he spoke passable Turkish. “Madame, you have sponsored Alexander of Sparta, and he was won the right to enter the Colosseum stage of the Roma games. He has been assigned to the Barbarian pool of competitors and will share the appropriate common room. The Colosseum has been divided between the two sides, and as his sponsor you may not cross to the side of the Caesars. Meetings in the hypogeum are considered neutral, and it is where bets may be placed. Barbarians’ colors are red, and Caesars wear purple.”

  “How fitting,” I replied coolly. “And understood. Come, Alexander. Let us begin with consulting the seer I’ve been told is here.”

  The guard stepped in front of us and the sprite shook his head, his expression appropriately apologetic but his wings were perfectly still. “Forgive me, Madame Tilki, but the competitors are not allowed to be present for the bets or to enter the seer’s presence. It makes for unfair weight on their minds as well as the seer’s should he become distracted by other sights.”

  A chill ran down my spine at the thought of having to confront a Seer on my own. But, clearly there was no other choice. I nodded. “I understand. Come then, Alexander, we mustn’t give your mind an unfair weight.”

  Mathias nodded, his expression giving nothing away. We walked in silence into the stone tunnel. I kept my eyes on the patches of red paint that guided us through the different turns until we drew near a better lit and much noisier segment of tunnel. Two guards framed the next length of tunnel. Mathias grabbed my hand and squeezed once, then strode forward. I watched him move past the guards and turn to the left. One of them nodded to me. “Alexander of Sparta has reported for the Colosseum stage.”

  Knowing there was nothing else I could do, I offered a slight nod of my own. I didn’t declare myself, however. I simply turned on my heel and walked away as though leaving Mathias wasn’t almost as terrifying as being alone in a sea of dangerously powerful high numbers. If I could’ve slipped away from the Colosseum itself, I would have but the memory of the unpleasant glamour deterred me. If it was the type I had occasionally heard referenced when I was working at Halliman’s, then there was a very real possibility it could kill. There had been a rather nasty incident shortly after I’d started working there involving a norm’s death that had quickly passed my desk and was handed to Mr. Halliman’s personal care. No, attempting to leave was not an option, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the barrier between the two competitor pools held similar nasty surprises.

  I was trapped just as much as Mathias until the fighting was over. This was such a horrible idea . . .

  * * *

  Mathias

  I sat perfectly still, perched on the edge of the long bench framing the wall of the common room. Other competitors paced the open floor, dodging around each other as they did. A waste of energy. Better to harness it all and wait for the fight to begin than spend it on pacing. I kept my eyes half closed, better for watching unobserved. Of the faces in the room, none were Atlas.

  Something that didn’t truly surprise me. If the comments about Greece and Sparta from the first round had picked up any interested purses, the games’ organizers would ensure we fought against each other. They loved playing on traditional quarrels. More money from the patrons watching, and a bigger prize for the games in hosting such matches.

  A new competitor entered the room. An Amazon in a mix of modern and traditional armor strolled in as the others parted in front of her. She wore a bronze cuirass, but I could see black mesh beneath, likely the same material as her black pants. Resistant, but not completely impervious to being cut. A round hoplon shield rested on her back, and she gripped a spear of the ancient doru style complete with an iron spike capping the spear’s butt. A one handed short sword hung from her belt. Her brown hair fell in wisps across her exposed forehead and was caught in a sensible braided bun. No helmet, but I suspected she would grab one when it was her turn to fight.

  The Amazon approached me and took a seat to my right. She nodded to me. “I am Xanthe.”

  “I know your name.”

  “Yes.” She studied me, hazel eyes searching. “I think I know yours too.”

  “I do not think we have met before,” I replied even as I searched my memory. The answering image of a young Amazon warrior being greeted by her older sister when I was on a hunt for a rogue dragon shifter attempting to hide herself among the Amazons rose in my mind’s eye. She’d been accompanied by another Amazon, an aunt or cousin. I hadn’t paid close attention at the time. The name Xanthe was . . . familiar, however. I resisted the temptation to curse as I realized I had been known by my true name on that hunt.

  Xanthe continued studying me. “Perhaps, it is a good thing we will not fight each other . . . Spartan.”

  I offered a faint half smile. “Another time, perhaps.”

  “Perhaps.”

  A gong sounded through the air. “Competitor Pollux, prepare for battle.”

  The only minotaur in our group stood, swinging his war hammer up to settle on his fur covered shoulder as he did so. He blew a breathy snort out and then muttered in Greek, “To the victors glory.”

  The rest of us watched in silence as the door at the far end of the room swung open to reveal a long hall and a pinprick of light at the end. The glamour shimmered and fell, allowing the minotaur to stomp forward, before it resumed with a faint gleam. The sound of faint cheering reached us before the doorway was sealed once more. A mirror glamour shimmered into existence on the wall across from the bench.

  Pollux strode onto an arena floor covered in sand, and he raised his war hammer in salute. Across from him, a door opened and out slithered a lamia. I raised both eyebrows at the sight. Xanthe hissed between her teeth as the rest of the competitors gasped or cursed. Xanthe glanced at me, then tilted her head toward the mirror glamour. “Ever seen a lamia participate in one of these?”

  “Not in recent years. It is . . . unusual.”

  “I don’t remember seeing her among the competitors at the Forum.”

  Neither did I. However . . . It would not be the first time competitors from outside the Forum portion of the games had been brought into the Colosseum. It was done specifically to surprise the patrons and to drive the betting harder. My gaze dropped from the fight in the arena where Pollux was managing to hold his own to observe the others. Most were silent, but a few muttered to each other in clear disgruntlement over the change. Xanthe was . . . contemplative, now the initial surprise had passed. She rested the wooden haft of her spear against her shoulder as she drummed her fingers against her left knee. “Wonder if the dragons did it. They like tricks.”

  A wry smile pulled at one corner of my mouth. The traditional animosit
y and distrust between Amazons and dragons still survived. My thoughts turned to Lauren. I would have much preferred to have accompanied her to the seer, this Raz Yakov. I wanted to weigh his trustworthiness for myself. However, such things were impossible and . . . I trusted Lauren’s judgment. She was good at reading people, she’d figure it out if he was honest or not. And, I knew she needed whatever answers the seer could reveal.

  Worry still tugged at my mind, attempting to divert my focus. Despite the knowledge that we didn’t have a choice, there was still a part of me that regretted bringing Lauren into the environment of the games. I had recognized the signs of her anxiety over being surrounded by so many powerful paranormals, and being trapped in the Colosseum without an available escape plan had to be eating at her. And, I wasn’t where I could reach her in time to stop anyone from harming her if they recognized her.

  I leaned forward, propping my elbows on my knees, as I touched my mouth to my folded hands. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to sink into the cool awareness of a coming fight. Groans erupted from the others in the room, signaling that Pollux had lost to the lamia. Not a true surprise to anyone if they were honest about a lamia’s fighting skills. Minotaurs were fierce fighters, but light and swift opponents could best them if they moved fast enough. And, a lamia was always fast in her attack.

  A shifter was the next to be summoned. I returned to my focus, to the cool confidence that fueled my fighting. Winning the fight was the best way to protect Lauren. She was stronger than she allowed herself to believe, and she was always clever. I merely had the difficult task of waiting.

  * * *

  Lauren

  The crowd was suffocating me. I pretended interest in the refreshment tables, as I couldn’t bear to watch the fights or to keep avoiding staring at all the high numbers. Everyone in the room was either an 8 or a 9. My skin crawled with an awareness of their innate power, of the danger roiling just beneath polite conversation and sharp smiles. If any of them recognized me . . .