Seduced by the Gladiator

  SEDUCED BY THE GLADIATOR

  LAUREN HAWKEYE

  DEDICATION

  This one is for my amazing editor, Chelsey Emmelhainz. Without her incredible patience, eagle eyes, and unflagging enthusiasm, this one may not have happened.

  CONTENTS

  * * *

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Acknowledgments

  An Excerpt from My Wicked Gladiators

  About the Author

  By Lauren Hawkeye

  An Excerpt from Bet You’ll Marry Me by Darlene Panzera

  An Excerpt from Five Golden Rings by Sophie Barnes, Karen Erickson, Rena Gregory, Sandra Jones, and Vivienne Lorret

  An Excerpt from Deck the Halls With Love by Lorraine Heath

  An Excerpt from Circle of Deception by Carla Swafford

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER ONE

  * * *

  I wanted to celebrate.

  Behind me, the sounds issuing forth from the crowd were deafening. The entire arena vibrated with the fervor of those who had watched the day’s festivities. People vied for my attention, for a look from me, a smile, even a scowl. Some women even flashed their breasts at me, and though I was not interested in the fairer sex in that manner, I appreciated the sentiment.

  They were all celebrating my victory. Celebrating me.

  I had won. I was that much closer to being the champion of Rome.

  My throat dry and coated with the dust of the arena, I turned away from the body of the man that I had just killed. As I rejoined the group of men who were my brothers in our ludus—the training school for gladiators—I focused instead on my triumph. Though I had not had a choice to become a gladiator, I had chosen to embrace the life that I had instead of chafing against it. Yet I still felt a twinge in what was left of my soul when a man fell to the kiss of my sword.

  I could not dwell on that, or I would go mad. So as the few men who I allowed to call me companion patted my hard back and boasted raucously of my prowess in the arena, I grinned and took the skin of water that was pressed into my hand, dumping it over my head instead of drinking deeply.

  The cool, slick wet ran in rivulets down my skin, refreshing and reviving. Reaching for another full skin, this time I drank, the water clearing my throat and wetting my mouth. It helped to rinse away the bitter taste left behind by what I had just done, and helped to remind me of who I now was.

  I would never win the battle between the two emotions, forever warring as they were inside me. I knew that I damned myself with every life that I took, and I hated myself for that. At the same time, I knew that I had had no choice, and I also felt pride over my fame, which had been hard won.

  I was no longer the trembling young girl who had been sold into slavery by her family. I might not have had freedom, but my life was better than many who did.

  “Easy enough to kill a Gaul.” As I spoke, I bared my teeth at Darius, who was the closest thing that I had to a friend in the ludus. A massive man, he was more than twice my height, and his coal dark skin shone with the perspiration from his own bout with death as he swatted my ass with a hand the size of my head.

  “We are not all so easy to defeat, you know.” A Gaul himself, Darius was the only man in the ludus who was permitted to touch me, a right that had taken him a long time to earn.

  His overtures of friendship toward me had been greatly helped by the fact that he had arrived at the ludus after I had. In my mind, he was separated from those who had done me so wrong.

  The others knew better than to try to touch me, which was something that had taken me a long time to convince them of. Most of them liked their testicles best where they were, hanging heavily between their legs, so they now let me be.

  The corner of my mouth quirked up in a smile. This light touch was Darius’ way of saying that he was proud of me. The man who had just fallen to my sword had been highly ranked in the city of Rome, and only the best, the fiercest, had ever had a hope of making him fall.

  I did my best to embrace the thrill of the victory, and to swallow down the bitter taste that my actions had left in my mouth.

  “Tonight we feast, my friend.” I hooked an arm casually around the massive muscles of my friend’s own limb, wishing very slightly, not for the first time, that I was his type. “I shall use my winnings to buy us wine and fruit.”

  The iron gates that led onto the arena sands were hauled open, feet away from us. The next men to face each other were forced onto the expanse of sand, one looking ready for blood, the other green with nerves. I felt a pang, deep inside of me, for the man who had so clearly not yet come to terms with his fate.

  Then the gate closed, preventing the gladiators from fleeing the sands. I closed my eyes briefly, banishing the sight of the one man’s fear from my consciousness. Deliberately I moved farther away from the gate, farther into the space that ringed the arena and was closed to the public.

  My friend followed me. Turning until we faced each other fully, Darius tucked a strand of my tangled honey hair behind an ear. His hand came away slick with blood, and I clapped my own hand over the appendage.

  My hand came away bloody, too. I scowled at the smear of red on my hand, not liking that my opponent had gotten in a blow, no matter that it was the only one and that it was naught but a scratch.

  I could not accept even a small hit from an opponent. I needed to focus on being untouchable, unbeatable—on the sands and off.

  I poured the last of my water over the blood that stained my hand. It dripped onto the leather of my subligaculum—that brief leather garment that was wrapped around my body—and I grimaced at the red that now streaked my clothing.

  I did not like the reminder of what I had just done.

  “Fierce as always, Lilia.” Darius shook his head at me as I handed him the pouch of denari that I had been presented with minutes earlier, while the blood of my opponent stained the golden sand at my feet. “And foolish. You should not trust others with your coin.”

  “I do not trust others. I trust you.” The genuine happiness that my friend gave me began to dissipate as I caught sight of several of the other men from my ludus who had gathered in a herd not far from where I stood with Darius. My fingers moved involuntarily to the bloody sword that lay sheathed at my hip, hanging from my balteus—my sword belt. Though I doubted that I would need it—I had long since proven that I was more than willing to fight back—my first horrific months as a slave in the ludus still haunted me.

  “Lilia.” Darius’ words were a warning. He was not overly concerned that I would be harmed—he knew that I could take care of myself—but there was supposed to be honor among the brotherhood, a level of respect.

  I was reprimanded time and again for my lack of this same respect. I always reminded our doctore—the trainer at our school of gladiators—that, as a woman, I was not one of the brothers.

  Darius did not actually expect me to show respect—he knew how deep my true feelings ran. More, his words were a warning, a reminder to me that I needed to keep some modicum of peace.

  If I pushed too far, Bavarius might strike back, just on principle. He was not a man who had taken well to being bested by a female. The threat of retaliation had been percolating in the background for y
ears, and I was ever aware of it.

  I was highly ranked in the ludus, and Bavarius’ skill hung somewhere in the middle of all of the men. This was like a festering wound to him, an ever-present source of anger.

  “Darius, take that coin and secure our pleasures for the evening.” I heard the man sigh behind me, but he did as I asked. He hesitated, and I knew that his thoughts were aligned with my own.

  Any one, or even two or three, of the men who were watching me and muttering would not pose a problem for me, for I was strong. However, if they were to attack me in a group, and they had before, then I was in trouble.

  But for Darius to offer me help at that moment would have shown those men that I was weak, that I needed help. He knew better than that—he knew how savagely I fought to keep my reputation strong and untarnished.

  With another sigh, he removed his worn cingulum—the leather belt that we all wore to protect our waistline. Swinging it from his arm, he cast a last look at me to make certain that I was okay.

  I nodded, furrowing my brow at the unnecessary protectiveness, then listened to the padding of Darius’ feet, shoed in soft leather, until I could hear his steps no more. His aggravation over my need to jump straight into a fight would fade later in the day when he had a belly full of mulsum—that sweet mixture of honey and wine—and a hot man or two sucking his cock.

  “And what of our pleasures, little Lilia?” called Bavarius. He was a Gaul like Darius, but unlike my kind friend he was a bloody brutal fellow who could have been champion if he could have but learned to rein in his base desires for food, fighting, and of course, fucking. “What shall you provide for our entertainment?” The men surrounding him—the vilest of brothers in our ludus—laughed as well, following his lead, as they always did.

  My skin crawled as the man addressed me, and as the group of men eyed the expanse of skin that showed in my worn leathers. I refused to let any of them see that they still had an effect on me, and instead I rolled my eyes to the heavens. Bavarius never tired of pushing at me, and the conversation grew irritating, for I would never again be weak enough for him to lay a hand on me.

  I supposed that, without Bavarius, I would not be the warrior that I was today. I did not feel as though I owed him thanks—I could never scrub the images of the abuse that I had suffered at his hands from my mind—though I was stronger now. I had to be. And so, to cut off the exchange at the start, I drew my sword from where it rested at my hip and began to polish it clean with the hem of my subligaculum.

  I was not stupid enough to voluntarily take on a group of trained warriors at once. But my blood was heated from my win, and I was angry that he could still affect my thoughts and feelings. I longed to teach him a lesson, to humiliate him again as he had done to me so many times.

  Part of me dared him to make a move.

  From the corner of my eye I saw Bavarius staring at the blade. He was the one that I had to pay attention to—none of his cronies would lift a finger to me unless he did so first . . . and I had demonstrated to him in the past that touching me again would be bad for his health. Because of this, I was unprepared when, perhaps finally tired of being forever bested by me, or perhaps just wanting his onetime plaything back, he lunged forward and made a grab for the polished metal.

  “Stop.”

  Having been trained to focus on the immediate danger, and with adrenaline pumping fast and furious, I did not turn toward the sound of the deep, warm voice when it spoke, though the sexy rasp certainly registered in my consciousness. I could have kept my sword in my own hands easily on my own, and found myself irritated when a hand far larger than my own reached out and knocked Bavarius away from me, sending him sprawling to the ground. Puffs of pale dust flew, coating the man’s already filthy flesh.

  I looked up to find a dark, dangerous-looking gladiator who I did not know holding my sword back out to me, hilt first.

  Swallowing the jolt of lust that ran through me as his dark stare connected with my own, I narrowed my eyes and took the sword as I watched the man with mild curiosity and much hostility.

  I had not come this far in my life to fall at the feet of a man, simply because he was as attractive as a god. Especially not a man who was stupid enough to undo with a few short words the years of sacrifice, of living on edge, that it had taken me to build up my ferocious reputation.

  “Gratitude.” I ground the word out from between clenched teeth. I wanted to shake the man for his actions, and my tone was drenched in anger. I could have handled the situation with Bavarius myself—gods knew I had done so before—and to have a man defend me made me look weak.

  I was Lilia the fierce. I was famous throughout Rome not just for being a woman in a man’s world, but for my coldness, my strength, both in and out of the arena.

  I could not look weak. As a woman living the life that I did, to appear weak was to invite abuse in all forms—abuse that I had already clawed my way out of once. I had no desire to return to it.

  The dark gladiator did not reply with words, but his face showed puzzlement over my attitude. Well, let him be puzzled. I was not some rich patrician woman who could afford to lean on a big, tough warrior. I had to defend myself.

  My muscles tensed as I turned back to Bavarius and his cronies. I swallowed thickly, trying to bury the anxiety that rose from deep within, and the fury that accompanied it—fury that, no matter what I did, the fear still festered deep within my soul. No matter how strong I grew, I would never forget those first months in the ludus.

  I had not been strong then, and I would never forget what had happened to me because of it. Now, with my ferocity undermined in a moment by this strange gladiator, I prepared myself for the violent hands that would try to cup my breasts, to pinch my nipples and invade the heat between my thighs. I fought through the panic that wanted to descend, the memories of the time before I was as powerful as I now was.

  “Leave.” The stranger who had blocked Bavarius from my sword spoke again, moving to block my body with his own large frame. “You have no honor, to threaten a woman.”

  His voice dripped with disdain.

  Infuriated, I shoved at the hard back of the stranger. Though his muscles tensed at my touch, he did not move, not even to look at me. I did sense the slightest bit of hesitation coming through in his demeanor, a hint of uncertainty.

  The man had no idea that he was not helping me, not at all.

  Bavarius bared his teeth, half of them yellow with rot, then moved to lunge at the stranger. He laughed coarsely when the man in front of me moved to block what turned out to be thin air—a cheap trick from Bavarius, one not befitting his status as a gladiator. However, the man did not look foolish at the trick, as Bavarius would have.

  Large and golden skinned, with hair as dark as a starless night, he looked like a god granting the lowest of plebeians—the lower class—the merest hint of notice.

  Bavarius saw this, too, and spat into the ground at the man’s feet peevishly. The insult was acknowledged with nothing more than a nod from my would-be savior.

  “You’ll find out soon enough that this whore is no lady.”

  My hands curled into fists, the half-moons of my nails digging into my palms. I could have killed him for what he had once done to me, and he still chose to mock me. It was infuriating, yet I refused to succumb to the anger that Bavarius’ words dredged up in my soul.

  “Leave.” Infuriated as I was, the commanding thread in the man’s voice caused something deep inside of me to heat.

  Bavarius spat again, then gestured for his group to follow him down the long, snakelike corridor under the arena. “You will regret this once you are in our arena, Christus of the broken ludus. I will make your life hell.”

  Then the brute of a man was gone, along with those he constantly surrounded himself with, off in search of someone else to bully, no doubt. I was alone with the big man who, when I spun him to again shove at his chest, I found had eyes as deep and stormy a blue as the sea.

  “
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.”