“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 hergaze 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.
15
