“Why would you do that? Do you know what I will have to do to get them to again leave me alone?” A desperation that I had not felt for years clawed slickly at my throat.
The man hesitated, cocking his head slightly as he studied my face. He ran his hand through the blue-black locks of his hair, then offered me his other hand, studying my face intently all the while.
I felt naked beneath his inquisitive stare, and squirmed uncomfortably. I had worked hard to hide my thoughts, my feelings—my true self—from the world. I did not like feeling as though this man could see all that made me who I was, simply because he took the time to look.
“My deepest apologies, my lady.” I took his hand warily, though I normally would have refused. “What can I do to make amends?”
He looked so sincere, so . . . honorable . . . I did not know what to make of it. I pulled my hand back and brushed it against the leather of my subligaculum, trying to erase the burn of the touch, for it disquieted me.
I tolerated another’s touch only when I wanted it, and I wanted it only when my need grew too much to be released completely with my own hand. Then I would find one of the few men in the ludus who I did not consider a friend—Darius was the only one who had my affection that way—but whom I could tolerate. A fast fuck with no tenderness would relieve the tension, and happened so rarely that it did not disturb the balance in the ludus.
A touch of any other sort made emotions that I did not care for well up in my throat, choking me.
“You can leave. I do not wish to ever see you again.” I purposefully made my words harsh. Despite his error in judgment, I found that I wanted to run my tongue over the planes of this man’s chest. I could not give in to such a feeling, and it doubled my need for him to leave.
He shook his head slowly, and I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Apologies again, my lady. But that is beyond my control.”
I backed away slowly, before my fingers reached for him of their own accord.
“I am Christus, formerly of the house of Lucius Quintus Manius. I am now pledged to your dominus, and soon to your brotherhood.” He did not seem proud of this fact . . . no, if I had to choose a word to describe him, it would have been weary.
I shied away from the kinship that I felt along with that weariness, startled by the realization. Thoughts of friendship were dangerous—this was my life, the life of a gladiator. It did no good and much harm to long for anything else.
“I am not your lady. I am not a lady at all.” I had no answer to his words, so instead I spat the only thing that came to my head.
Christus stared at me, expressionless. “So said Bavarius. He also said that you were a whore. Is he right in that respect, as well?”
My jaw dropped. Though I was challenged on a daily basis, hearing the term fall from this man’s lips was unexpected and stung more than it should have. I growled with aggravation.
“Perhaps I am.” This was not a lie, though I had no desire to explain my meaning further. “What of it?”
Christus again took my hand, this time lifting it to his lips for a kiss. The touch of his warm mouth on the back of my hand made a shiver skate over my skin. I told myself to pull away and found that my body was not listening.
When he released me, I looked up at him, caution masking my face. This man was more dangerous to me than any of the other brutes in the ludus, far more so.
He did not speak, instead studying my face intently. I grew uncomfortable and shifted beneath the stare.
“You have not answered my question. Perhaps I am a whore. What do you think about that?” My words filled the silence but echoed hollowly regardless.
Christus turned and began to walk away, following in the direction that Bavarius had gone. I thought he meant to leave without answering, but his final words sounded in the quiet beneath the arena even as his feet stirred up the dust.
“I think that perhaps we are not so different.”
CHAPTER TWO
* * *
Darius had done more than secure his entertainment and my own for the evening. I stood against the back wall of the gladiators’ eating quarters with my arms crossed tightly over my abdomen, my eyebrows raised as high as they would go as I watched the bacchanalian scene unfold before me.
The room was awash in mulberry wine, fresh fruit, and the naked breasts of whores. The idiots that I was supposed to call brothers were silly with drink and enjoying the unexpected fortune of the celebration.
I was not impressed. Anger making my features stiff, I turned to my friend with disbelief.
“Why would you spend my coin on this? These beasts deserve none of it.” As I spoke, my friend handed me back the small leather pouch that I had given him earlier. Eyeing it suspiciously, I accepted it, noting that it was still far heavier than it should have been, had he spent enough coin to create this spectacle.