Seduced by the Gladiator(21)

“Do not talk nonsense about trials and acceptance again.” A chill seemed to settle over the entire training area, and I knew why.

For a long time, I had been the strongest in the ludus, so long as I kept my guard up. But as I looked at Christus—as all of the men looked at him—we all saw that he was a dangerous man.

A man to be feared, both inside the arena as well as out of it.

Christus turned to walk away from Bavarius, but before he did, he looked back, toward the shadows where I still stood, riveted to the scene before me. Though his final action, the precise cruelty of drawing that thin stripe of Bavarius’ blood, had surely chilled me, even as I thoroughly approved of it, I stared back, unwavering.

Christus’ face was set in stone as he looked at me. Before he walked away, he lifted his arm toward me, a gesture that meant he dedicated his win to me. My lips parted in surprise, and from the corners of my vision I saw the men shift and begin to mutter among themselves.

Stunned, I watched as he stalked away in the direction of our quarters. Christus had, for reasons I did not yet completely understand, given me what it seemed I could not wholly gain for myself.

He had given me that first small measure of respect among the men. Though I had been trying for years to be seen as an equal, rather than a woman trying to succeed among men, it was not until that very moment that I felt as if it had been achieved.





CHAPTER FOUR




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The baths were empty, and I thanked the gods for that small blessing. My ankle protested vehemently as I hobbled across the large room, the steam clinging to me like the soft touch of a lover.

It was difficult to put weight on my injured foot, to step up the few stairs that led to one of the baths. I knew that the heat and the minerals in the water would help it to heal faster, however, so I ground my teeth together, tried to limit the weight on that foot, and half hopped, half dragged myself up to the platform.

“Aah.” The relief was instantaneous as I submerged my injured foot. I shifted my weight on the edge of the tub, allowing my legs to dangle freely in the water. The ripples made by my submersion bumped gently against my thighs, washing away the sweat and dust of the day.

The heat tried to pry the tension out of my muscles, but my shoulders stayed tight. I could not turn the scene that had played out minutes earlier from my mind.

What had Christus been thinking, defending my honor that way yet again? And so very publicly. I wanted to feel rage—wanted to target that rage at him, this man who had barged into my life and turned it upside down.

I found that I did not have the energy. For just a few minutes, I wanted to sit here, let the steam moisten my skin, and not have to worry about defending myself, about how I appeared to the outside world. Did not want to consider the factors that made up my life—the fact that death lurked around every corner.

I just wanted to be Lilia, even if only for a few moments.

“Lilia?” I did not even attempt to swallow my groan, nor did I turn around. By now I recognized the voice, the tread of his weight over the dust on the ground.

I listened to that tread as it made its way across the great room, toward me. There was a slight hesitation before I heard Christus climb the same steps that I had only moments before.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back in avoidance. I was no closer to sorting through the mess of anger, thankfulness and lust than I had been on the sands.

When I could feel by the sloshing of the water against my legs that he had joined me in the tub, I sighed, finally opening my eyes to glare at him balefully.

I did not ask why he had done it. He had already told me, countless times and in varied ways. Asking him again would not make him stop.

“Why will you not just leave me alone?” This, I thought, was a fairer question. Though the man seemed determined to defend the honor of a lady, he had gone far beyond that. There was a connection that had been forged between us, one initiated by him, and what I did not understand was why he had done so.

I was difficult, I was stubborn, I was rude. I had mercurial changes of mood, and was haunted by ghosts that I did not wish to dwell on.

I watched his finely hewn features as he tilted his head, studying me intently.

“Do not tell me that you do not feel it, too.”

I opened my mouth to do just that, and found that my words had dried up, for Christus had reached down into the water and gripped my injured ankle in gentle hands.

“What are you doing?” My words were a hiss as I looked frantically around the room. We were alone for the moment, thank the gods, but someone could come in at any moment.

Weak was the least of the things that I would appear to be if someone were to come upon this scene, me flushed from the steam, Christus’ sure fingers beginning to lightly massage the purpling skin of my ankle.