29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Twenty-Nine
S kye
I slip off my sandals and scrunch my toes in the soft grass as I work. My fingers tap an anxious rhythm on my laptop as I wait for Thrax, my mind replaying last night’s conversation in the pool. The vulnerability in his eyes as he shared his past, the weight of decades of pain in his voice—it all haunts me.
What if he regrets opening up? What if he pulls away, ashamed of what he revealed? Will he even join me this morning?
My spiraling thoughts are interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Looking up, Thrax strides toward me, his beefy hands gripping a tray laden with two steaming cups of coffee and plates heaped with breakfast foods. His face breaks into a wide smile when our eyes meet, instantly melting away my fears.
“Good morning,” he says in English. He’s learning a few words of English every day. It’s a natural offshoot of the pronunciation work we’re doing together. I’m learning Latin, but the declensions are a beast to learn. He sets the tray down between us. “I hope you’re hungry.”
Relief washes over me because it seems as though nothing awkward lingers between us from last night .
“Starving,” I reply, reaching for a coffee. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know. Although…” Giving him an affectionate look, I add, “a girl could get used to being waited on.”
Thrax’s eyes light up with a gentle warmth. “You work too hard and never take time for breakfast. You need to keep your strength up.”
A flutter rises in my chest at his thoughtfulness. “That’s very sweet of you. Thanks.”
He settles across from me and we both dig in with healthy appetites. As we push away our empty plates and savor our last sips of coffee, I notice his fond expression. It warms me from the inside out and makes me wonder what the next step in our relationship will be.
Before I can respond, Laura and Varro enter the atrium. The concerned look on their faces immediately sets off my shit-detector.
“Good morning,” Laura says, her tone attempting lightness but not quite succeeding. “Mind if we join you?”
We gesture for them to sit, and Varro’s eyes scan the atrium as if searching for hidden threats.
“What’s wrong?” They seem unable to hide their worry, so I don’t bother to hide mine.
Laura and Varro exchange a glance before Laura speaks. “It’s Dr. Roth. We have reason to believe he might be planning some kind of… action against the hospital.”
Thrax tenses beside me, his hand finding mine under the table. He was made aware of the threat days ago. “What kind of action?” he asks, his voice grave, his forehead pleated with worry.
“We’re not sure,” Varro admits. “Laura vetted him before she reached out months ago and found nothing, but she’s been digging deeper, and… well, let’s just say we wouldn’t put anything past him at this point. ”
“Are you saying he might be planning an attack?” I gasp. The idea seems too outlandish to be real. “But… how? Why?”
Laura’s expression darkens. “As I explained the other day, Roth sees Thrax and the others as scientific specimens, not people. In his mind, he probably believes he has every right to… acquire them for study. I imagine he thinks they hold the answer to immortality because, scientifically, they shouldn’t be alive. The key to their survival would be worth untold billions.”
Her words echo in my head. A lot of people would do just about anything for a million dollars. What would they do for billions? Now I know what the expression, ‘my blood ran cold’ means. This is terrifying. I squeeze Thrax’s hand tighter, as if I could somehow protect him through sheer force of will.
“We’ve increased security,” Varro assures us, noticing our distress. “And we’re taking every precaution. But we wanted you to be aware of the situation.”
A heavy silence falls over our group. Any attempt at a cheerful atmosphere has completely evaporated. Thrax’s jaw is set, his eyes distant. I wonder if he’s thinking of his fellow gladiators, still vulnerable in their frozen state.
As the conversation winds down, Varro turns to Thrax. “Speaking of precautions, we should probably get some training in. It’s been a while since we’ve sparred.”
Thrax nods, his expression serious. “You’re right. We need to stay sharp.”
Laura and I exchange glances as the men stand up. “You don’t mind if we watch, do you?” Laura asks, a hint of amusement in her voice.
“Not at all,” Varro replies with a grin. “It’ll be good to have an audience again. Back in a minute,” he calls as he sprints to the exit. He returns a few minutes later with a wide smile as he holds two wooden swords. “I asked Hans to make these in the wood shop. Figured Thrax and I would use them when he grew strong enough. ”
The men move to an open area of the atrium and then unselfconsciously pull off their clothes, stripping down to bare skin.
When I gasp audibly, Laura chuckles, then calls to the men, “It’s the twenty-first century guys. We’re not used to men fighting naked like in the good old days.”
Varro laughs as he bends to grab his briefs and then steps into them.
“I still forget your modern-day sensitivities. Thrax and I used to fight nude in front of crowds of thousands.”
Thrax looks thunderstruck at his gaff, then avoids eye contact as he pulls on his briefs, sincerely repeating, “Apologies, apologies.”
He may be fighting with a wooden sword, but if he doesn’t pull himself together and focus, he’ll get beheaded.
“It’s okay,” I call, my head craned to look in the opposite direction of the men.
“You can turn around. He’s decent,” Laura says, though I can barely understand her, she’s laughing so hard.
My gaze is drawn to Thrax’s powerful form as the men stretch and warm up. His muscles ripple as he swings his arms, loosening up for the sparring session. I may have just been scandalized by his nudity, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t get an eyeful a moment ago. When he used to wear his loincloth, I don’t know how I missed the size of his… package.
“Ready?” Varro calls out, taking up a fighting stance.
Thrax nods, mirroring his position. For a moment, they stand still, eyes locked on each other. Then, in a blur of motion, they clash.
The sound of wood striking wood echoes through the atrium as their swords meet. Thrax’s movements are fluid and powerful, each swipe precisely aimed. Varro matches him blow for blow, his feet dancing across the grass as he parries and counterattacks.
My mouth goes dry as I watch Thrax move. His face is a mask of concentration, eyes intense as he anticipates Varro’s next move. Sweat beads on his back, and I find myself mesmerized by a droplet that trails down his rippling muscles, following the twisted paths of scars.
Their sparring intensifies, the wooden swords a blur of motion. Thrax feints left, then spins to the right, his sword arcing through the air. Varro barely manages to block the strike, the force of it pushing him back a step. The men grunt every time their weapons crack against each other. They’re totally focused on their match until they circle each other warily, seeming to take a breather.
“Not bad for an old man,” Varro teases.
Thrax’s lips quirk into a half-smile. “Old? I’m barely a day over two thousand and thirty. I happen to know you’re older than that, and I’m just getting warmed up.”
They attack each other again, their bodies moving in a deadly dance. Thrax’s muscles flex and strain with each movement. I can’t tear my eyes away from the display of raw strength and skill.
Finally, with a complex series of moves, Thrax manages to disarm Varro. The wooden sword thumps onto the soft ground, and Varro raises his hands in surrender, laughing.
“Well done, Thrax. You haven’t lost your touch.”
Varro’s about to leap to his feet when Thrax stops him as he looks at me. “What say you, Skye? Thumbs up or down?”
Panic rages through me like wildfire until I see his expression. Dear God, that man gets more handsome every day. His eyes are happy! He’s teasing.
Instead of putting my thumb up or down, I hold my thumb to the side and say, “I’m not touching that question with a ten-foot pole other than to say that I want you both to live so my friend Laura and I can watch you handsome men fight another day.”
We all laugh as Thrax pulls Varro off the ground. When they walk toward us, still catching their breath, I can’t help but stare at Thrax. His chest heaves with exertion, a sheen of sweat making his skin glow in the morning light. Our eyes meet, and the intensity in his gaze shoots straight to my core, my very eager core that is ready to take our relationship to the next level.
“That was… impressive,” I manage to say, my voice slightly husky.
Thrax’s smile is warm, almost shy. “Thanks. It feels good to practice again. Perhaps I’ll teach you the basics.”
“I don’t want to lose my head.” I laugh, but this gentle giant might forget I’ve never held a sword.
“Easy moves. No sparring. It’s fun. You’ll see.”
I’ve never been much for exercise, but this just might be a new workout regimen. What could be bad about watching him up close and personal as he swings that gladius?
We settle around the picnic table; the tension about Roth has faded to the back of our minds. As my friends kid each other, I find it hard to pay attention. There’s only one thing I want right now. It’s about six foot five, with a wide, sweaty chest, beautiful caramel-colored eyes, and a kind, generous spirit.