For the first time, I did not protest, did not struggle. There was no point in bothering with pretense now.
“The dominus thinks that Gaius has arranged these games around me.” The words fell from lips that felt numb from both wine and shock. I blinked rapidly, thinking that perhaps one of these times my vision would clear and things would return to how they had been.
They did not.
“You cannot go. You must fake being ill.” Pushing away from me, Christus began to pace the small room. Anger was evident in his every movement, and for the first time I saw how truly oppressive he found his life as a slave.
This big, strong man would never accept a life of servitude. No, he belonged out in the open, free of chains.
A person with as pure a soul as his should never have been caged.
“I cannot. Even the dominus cannot help the decision.” Inhaling deeply, I tangled my hands in my hair and tugged, savoring the bite of pain. “All I can do is what I always have—I can fight. I have the potential to be champion, Christus, and you know it. Maybe I can win.”
Clearly frustrated, the man spun back around and, in an instant, had my upper arms in his hands, lifting me off of the ground.
“You shine in the arena, Lilia, there is no one who can doubt that. But in the arena, you fight in a group, or you fight one man at a time. Here, the mere fact that you are strong may have the others deciding to eliminate you first. They won’t fight fair, and you won’t do anything but.”
For the first moment since the games had been announced, fear became the most predominant of my emotions. It slithered, cold and sinister like a snake about to strike, down my spine, around my waist, before settling into a taut coil in my belly.
“I . . .” I opened my mouth, to say what I was not sure. Perhaps I meant to tell Christus of my feelings, or perhaps only to speak of the sense of hopelessness that I was feeling, the feeling of entrapment.
Then I was in Christus’ arms, held tight, his mouth devouring my own. I was not startled—I had been expecting it. Anticipating it.
What I felt, he felt also. A connection, stretched taut between us, one that neither had been expecting and that I was not sure I could ever break.
“Wait a moment.” My breath panted out as Christus tore himself away from me momentarily. Striding quickly to first one door, and then to the other, he fastened them with the leather thongs that ensured us a measure of privacy.
“It’s dark in here.” The heavy door thudded in its wooden frame as Christus closed it behind him. Jittery nerves warred with a dark thrill as he brushed against me in the narrow confines of the small room.
“I don’t need light.” Reaching up a trembling hand to smooth over my windblown ponytail, I swallowed, unsure of what to do, what move to make. I had never before been in a situation like this, where need was rapidly overcoming common sense.
Christus caught my hand as I tugged nervously on the hem of my subligaculum. “I like looking at you in the shadows.”
“Oh.” How inarticulate could I be? But my mind was taken up with thoughts of touching Christus, of running my hands over his skin. His naked skin.
One final time, I tried to remind myself that this—whatever this was between us—was not a good thing. We would be vilified among the nastier of our brothers, and Christus might become a target, as I was. We would seem weak—or at the very least, I alone would.
In that moment I realized that I no longer cared. I had decided what I wanted. My reservations had been burned away with Christus’ persistence. It seemed futile to deny any longer what I wanted so badly, especially with the threat of these epic games looming over my head.
Unsure of what else to do, I took a step toward the small wooden table, where I had noticed that a small clay pitcher of wine and two cups had been placed. “Would you like some wine?” I again toyed with the length of my hair, all the while feeling the almost touch of Christus’ hard body at my back.
“Why do we have wine?” One finger, just one, touched the soft skin at the nape of my neck, then trailed down the length of my spine. I gasped, stiffened, then arched into the unexpected and delicious touch.
“I . . . I do not know.” I did know—I was certain that the dominus had ordered one of the house slaves to place it in this room, a gift to ease the sting of what he had just told me.
“Do not lie.” The questing finger fell away, and after a huge breath in which I tried to compose myself, I moved the rest of the distance to the table. Before pouring the wine, I dipped my hands into the bowl of water that sat beside the pitcher. It was warm, not cool as I wished. Though it did not refresh with a chill, it was at least wet, and washed the dust and the perspiration from nerves away from my skin.