Chapter 14
Ferox stood beside Velia as they watched Achilles’s second fight. Achilles was holding his own against his new opponent, and this fight had already lasted longer than the first one.
Ferox kept one eye on Achilles and the other on Velia. She anxiously ran her hands over and over the length of her braid, draped over her shoulder. With each pass, the leather tie at the bottom loosened.
When it finally fell, tumbling down her chest, Ferox’s hand snapped out to catch it. He held it out to her, but she paid him no attention, eyes locked on the fight. Ferox closed his fingers around the strip of leather. She’d eventually notice it was missing, and he could give it back to her then.
He had seen relatively little of her in the past few days.
Both of them had been kept busy, Velia with her uncle’s business and Ferox with preparing Achilles for his next fight.
In her free time, Velia supervised Achilles’s training sessions, but there was something hesitant in her manner toward him.
It was strange, after how forward she’d been previously.
In Velia, hesitation apparently looked like not propositioning him in the middle of a banquet or inviting herself into his room and doing wicked things to him with her mouth.
On Ferox’s part, his longing had only increased.
The two nights he’d spent with her seemed to have altered something within him, knocking loose whatever had stoppered this deep well of craving.
It was unaccountable, the way he wanted her.
He’d never slept beside someone before, let alone two nights in a row.
He liked her—but it had to be more than that.
After all, he liked Lea and Jason, but he’d never been driven to sleep with his body curled around either of them, had he?
There was also the fact that those two nights had been the best sleep he’d gotten since returning to the ludus, and perhaps even before.
Velia must be some sort of talisman, keeping Hector’s shade at bay.
Each of the nights since, by contrast, he’d woken with a pounding heart, visions of Hector’s death spiraling behind his eyelids.
But even if Velia didn’t protect him from the dreams, he’d still want her so badly it hurt.
She’d been so diffident lately, though, and he had no idea how to raise the matter. How did one go about asking a woman to lie with him?
Velia let out a shocked yelp, and Ferox hastily returned his attention to the fight.
“Yes!” Velia crowed. Achilles, taking advantage of his left-handedness, had managed to get his sword behind the other man’s shield and deal a deep cut to his upper chest. It was exactly the maneuver Ferox had taught him, and pride filled him.
The man stumbled back, a gleam of blood catching the sunlight. The crowd whooped and hooted at the successful strike.
Achilles paused for a moment, as if surprised he’d actually done it.
The other fighter glanced down at his chest, likely assessing whether it was worth surrendering or if he could fight on.
“Come on, give up,” Velia hissed.
But the opponent renewed his grip on his sword and launched himself forward with another attack, this time adjusting the position of his shield to block further incursions from the same angle.
They fought on. Achilles managed to keep himself in one piece, but couldn’t land another strike on the man’s body. Ferox could see both fighters tiring. Their movements slowed, their feet dragging through the sand. Sweat shone on their shoulders and backs.
The crowd, too, was losing energy. The cheers at each attack grew fainter. Ferox glanced at where the emperor sat and found the ruler turned away from the fight, in conversation with one of his entourage.
“Do something!” Velia shouted, though there was no way Achilles could hear her. She hopped up and down in frustration.
Ferox already sensed how this was going to end.
The official stepped forward, gesturing with his hands and saying something that caused the fighters to halt.
The opponent bent over, bracing his hands on his knees as he drew in gulping breaths.
Achilles scrubbed a hand over his face, shoulders slumping in exhaustion.
“A draw?” Velia demanded in outrage.
Ferox slid her a glance. “Better than a loss, no?”
A muscle in her jaw pulsed. “He was supposed to win.”
“He did well. He lasted a while and didn’t get himself injured.”
As the fighters trudged toward opposite exits, Velia tore her gaze from the arena and whirled toward him. “He wasn’t aggressive enough. He missed too many opportunities. I’ve seen the way you’re training him. You spend too much time having him run and lift weights. He needs more practice sparring.”
Ferox raised his eyebrows, taking a step toward her. “Are you criticizing my training methods?”
She met his gaze, her blue-gray eyes hot with frustration. “Maybe I am.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “You know many things, Velia, but not what it’s like to be out there.
” He jerked his head toward the arena. “At this stage, stamina and strength are what will keep him alive. And no matter how much I teach him, nothing we do in the training yard can replicate what it’s like with thousands of people watching you, cheering for you to win or lose.
Maybe even calling for your death. We can practice from dawn till dusk, but part of his training will only come from experience. ”
Velia opened her mouth, and he sensed a sharp retort coming, but she fell silent as the subject of their discussion reached them. Achilles was sandy and red-faced, walking with heavy steps, helmet tucked under one arm. He shouldered his way between them without a word.
“You did well!” Velia called after him. “Next time you’ll surely win!”
Ferox was impressed by how much enthusiasm she imbued her voice with, and glad of it, as Achilles deserved the encouragement.
Achilles turned briefly, acknowledged her words with a jerk of his head, then continued on his way.
Velia let out a sigh and leaned against the wall behind her. Her hand went back to her braid, but as her fingers smoothed over it, she paused and glanced down.
Ferox knew what she’d noticed and held out the fallen tie.
She chuckled and took it from him. “Thank you.” She began to braid the locks that had loosened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to question you. If anyone knows what they’re doing, it’s you.”
The brief tension of their argument evaporated like a drop of water on a hot stove. He liked that she didn’t cling to disagreements.
Ferox accepted her apology with a nod, his gaze drawn to the way her deft fingers wove through her hair.
The practiced motions rekindled the desire that Achilles’s fight had momentarily distracted him from.
He remembered what those slender, skilled hands felt like on him—grasping his shoulders, tangled in his hair, stroking his cock.
A shiver of need passed over him. He couldn’t go another night without her. He had to have her in his bed, beneath him, atop him, however she’d have him.
She took a step in the direction Achilles had gone. Instinctively, his body moved to block her, as if thwarting an opponent’s advance in the arena.
She halted and glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Was there something else?”
He backed up a step, regretting the brutish maneuver. He knew little about courting women, but he was fairly certain one wasn’t supposed to obstruct their path as if defending against another gladiator.
“Yes,” he admitted. His jaw worked, struggling to summon the right thing to say. She deserved poetry, elegant words strung together like pearls, but he had none. He had only the simple truth of his need for her. “Velia, I wondered if…That is, I wanted to—I thought you might—”
She cocked her head, a cool, expectant smile on her lips. “Yes?” The knowing look in her eyes scrambled the few words he’d managed to call forth.
“I need you,” he finally ground out. “Tonight.” The words sounded much harsher than he wished. Dis, what was he thinking, to demand this of her like some sort of beast? But to him, it wasn’t a demand, but a confession. A plea.
“If you’ll have me,” he added hastily, hoping to temper the bluntness of his words.
The coolness left her expression, replaced by an eager heat that sparked in her gaze. For some inconceivable reason, she looked pleased at his words. As if it gratified her that his longing rendered him incapable of basic civility.
“I will have you,” she murmured. The dark promise in her words sent a quiver of anticipation through him. He couldn’t help glancing at the sky, estimating how many hours remained until dark. Until she would be in his bed once more. Nightfall couldn’t come soon enough.