Arena Shifters (A Paranormal Romance Novel) (4 page)

She smelled him first. She
had thought she was alone, yet while she was looking at the bones she became
aware of some feral smell seeping into the chambers. Even before she heard the
growl, she know she was no longer alone.

Petronia froze, bone in hand.
She didn’t know what to do. There was nothing she could say to make it okay for
her to be there picking through bones on some creatures dinner plate. Whatever
was about to happen to her could be done just as easily from behind as from her
face, and she really did not want to see whatever it was that had consumed that
child; if it was a child.

More low guttural growls. It
was moving. She could hear its canine nails clicking on the stone floor as it
walked. She just stood there quaking in fear. When she heard another growl the
beast was so close she could feel its hot, putrid breath on the back of her
neck. Whatever was standing behind her could not have been a dog. There wasn’t
a single dog in the Villa that she could remember. Besides, from the sound of this
creature it had to be much larger than any breed she’d ever encountered or
heard about.

While she was standing there
shaking uncontrollably, seized with fear, she felt something pressing up
against her buttocks, something hot and fleshy pushing against the crack of her
ass. As she trembled it just kept increasing the pressure until it began to be
painful. When she could bear no more she decided to make it easy for the
creature to do its business. She reached around and hiked up her tunic before
spreading her legs and bending over the hair covered bed. She fully expected to
be split open in fiery agony as the creature had its way with her but she was
surprised when she felt its warm breath tingling her the skin from the base of
her tailbone, its breath caressed her skin all the way to the opening of her
anus, where it lingered sending chills up and down her spine. She couldn’t help
but squirm a little, the pleasure was so intense. When she felt a moist tongue
at the opening she even cried out with surprise. It was such a delicate
pleasure, quite unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.

She began to squirm,
thrusting her buttocks up to meet the things tongue, wishing for something more
substantial, harder. Then she began to feel pressure in place of the thing’s
tongue. The more pressure she felt the more she wanted, and thrust her hips up
to meet increase the sensation.

When she felt the tip of
its…member slip inside, even just a fraction of an inch, the feeling was almost
too much to bear. She pushed back, and it pushed in. She sighed with pleasure
and it growled with satisfaction. She felt it go deeper and deeper inside her
until she thought she couldn’t take any more. Funny thing was, with every
thrust, her sex would weep and throb, doubling the sensation rocketing through
her body. And it hit her, how could this creature be fucking her in the same
place she used to…to…well it just couldn’t be happening, but it was.

She was dimly aware of her
body bouncing off the bed as the weight of it crushed her with each delicious
thrust from its cock. Finally she could stand no more and screamed as loud as
she was capable. At the same time she was aware of a burning liquid splashing
across her back and onto the bed beside her. The creature had stopped thrusting
now and she was vaguely aware it was no longer on top of her, but she couldn’t
get up. She was too week from the experience. With the heady scent of cum
filling her nostrils, and the ache of ecstasy shivering through her body she
fell asleep.

* * * * *

CHAPTER FOUR:

Blood Sport

Diogias

* * * * *

The two Gladiatrix circled
each other wearily, keenly aware of the significance of this battle. The
raucous crowd, drunk from blood lust and wine were eager for more spectacle.
Unlike their male counterparts, these Gladiatrix are not allowed to wear any
kind of helmet or protective clothing. Their bodies are on display here as much
as their fighting prowess.

The Gladiatrix from Thrace
Diogias wore a small round metal shield attached to her left forearm, and she
carried a gladius as her primary weapon in right hand. It wasn’t a long weapon,
the blade being about 40 centimeters. To a male Gladiator it would have been
considered a mere toy, but to her it was a sword. On her left hip she wore a
simple pugio (dagger), should she decide to fight with two blades at once. She
was small for a fighting woman, and had far more experience in the arena than
Petronia did. As she strode out into the middle of the arena to meet her
opponent, all eyes were on her tanned pendulous breasts, swaying with the
movement of her hips as she slutted up her stride. Sweat was already adding a
glistening sheen to her skin. She was all too aware of the effect of her semi-
nude body had on the gathered crowd. She purposely elected to wear a small
leather bikini rather than a skirt, to accentuate her shapely behind. She loved
the moments before a fight. She was not so caught up in blood lust that she
could not feel the yearning between her shapely legs. The only thing keeping
her fingers from slipping between her silky lips was the fact that someone was
about to try to take her head off at the shoulders; her pussy would have to
wait.

As she got closer she began
to size up her opponent. The Floretian slave certainly was pretty. Not a lot of
woman curves on that one, but she was young yet. She looked over the girl’s
body as they circled one another; looking for the presence of scars, anything
that would suggest vulnerability. The girl was yet unmarked, save for the
fading traces of a whipping on her slender back. She must have taken a beating
about a week ago or so. That meant the girl was rebellious; not yet broken to
her master’s will. No matter, she would break the girl with her blades. She
smiled wickedly and saw the girl mimic her expression, no doubt wondering what
was going through her mind.

Rivulets of sweat were
trickling down the girl’s chest. She had those high, defiant breasts and puffy
nipples, suggestive of further growth to come. Her skin was naturally dark,
even without the years she undoubtedly had spent baking under the sun in her
master’s Ludis. She studied the girl’s near black, erect nipples, wishing she
could stick her tongue there and catch the sweat as it dripped off. She
imagined the sweet salty taste of the girl, right before her teeth would clamp
down drawing blood and a scream of pain. Sadly, she must kill the girl instead.

* * *

Petronia

* * *

As she drew within a meter
and a half the woman cracked a smile, and not knowing quite how to react,
mirrored the other’s expression. Men she could read. No surprise there, she
spent countless hours in her master’s Ludis training with them. Women on the
other hand, were a different animal, and this one, stranger still. She was
vaguely aware of the other sizing her up, looking for a weakness, which was
exactly what she was doing now. She saw that the woman was equipped with a
buckler, a small round shield worn on the forearm. On her left hip was a pugio
and in her right hand a gladius, nearly identical to the one she herself had drawn.

She searched the girl’s body
for scars from previous battles in the arena or training scars from the Ludis.
She had quite a few on her arms, probably from a whip and not a blade, but she
did have a wicked looking scar running from her left armpit and almost all the
way down to her hip. Surviving a wound like that showed a certain toughness and
commitment to life; this woman would not be taken down easily. She watched the
other’s eyes roam her body and knew instinctively that she wasn’t just thinking
of battle. She felt her eyes linger on her own breasts; they began to tingle
despite her distractions. The Thracian woman was pretty herself. She must have
been ten years her senior, but years of training and battle did not permit a
gladiator to go soft. Years of going without support in the heat of the sun had
done nothing to harm the form of her sizeable breasts. The sheen of sweat
already collecting on them made them shine invitingly; in another time and
another place…

She leapt forward, closing
the distance between the two. Somewhere she was aware of a distant crowd,
appreciative of her show of athleticism. Few gladiators, male or female could
match her leap, both for distance or height. She chose her moment carefully.
The instant she was at the peak of her leap, the sun was at its highest,
shining down over her shoulder and right into the face of her opponent. It was
a deceptive move, because for a moment she was blocking the sun, making her
opponent do nothing to protect her eyes from the blinding midday sun. In a
split second, the moment Petronia’s blade would be descending, the other woman
would be blinded from the sun suddenly in her eyes.

Before her feet hit the hot
sand she felt the bite of her blade hitting…the woman’s buckler. She shifted
her hips counter clockwise to bring her blade around to meet the others
horizontal slash. Suddenly her blade was stuck fast in the woman’s buckler and
her blade was about to give her a nasty slash to the upper on her left side.
She did the only thing she could do. She let go of her gladius, ducking her
head and shoulders, she performed a perfect summersault, but not before her
outstretched right hand snatched the Thracian’s dagger off her hip. She came up
to her feet behind her opponent’s right side and shoulder. What she did not see
was a six inch lock of her glossy black hair fall to the ground; that would
teach her to let her hair flow free during combat. Next time she would bind it
closely to her head. That
haircut
was testament to just how close the
other’s blade came to taking her head off. But now she was behind the woman and
she would have to take a step away and turn before she could bring her weapon
to bear on her. Even as the woman stepped and turned, she stepped forward not
wanting to be out there in the arc of the gladius. The woman would have to use
her dagger if she wanted to do any harm to Petronia. She did a quick jab at her
stomach fully expecting to draw blood on her slower opponent, but the woman was
faster than she looked. She easily blocked the thrust with her left hand, then
she made the mistake Petronia was looking for. The woman had still not realized
she had taken away her pugio. She had dropped her gladius so she could fight
Petronia up close, and reached for the dagger that was no longer there. That
was enough time for Petronia to draw her own dagger with her left hand. She
just reached across to her right hip and grabbed it. In one fluid motion she
swept it out of the sheath and slashed the woman’s flat stomach as she brought
here dagger from her right hip to her left side. She was rewarded with a spray
of hot blood splattering her own bare midriff. Now Petronia had a dagger in
each hand and a wounded opponent staggering back away from her. Petronia
permitted herself a moment to bask in the adulation of the crowd; a moment that
might cost her dearly.

* * *

Diogias

* * *

Diogias staggered back in
shock! How was it that the girl had both her pugio and her own? The kid was
fast, ungodly fast! She experienced a moment of panic as she felt the warm
liquid spreading down over her waist and down her thighs. She glanced down
fully expecting to see her innards looping out of her stomach but the blade had
struck higher, just under her ribcage. It was going to be a nasty would to
recover from. She felt something under her sandal. It was the girl’s gladius.
Foolish girl, she was just standing there drinking in the applause and letting
her opponent rearm herself. A mistake she herself would not make when she
disemboweled the kid. She lunged forward, hoping to catch the girl off guard,
but a sudden change in the crowd alerted her and she was able to easily parry
her sword thrust. Diogias was bigger, stronger, and more experienced than the
Floretian, and she would use that to her advantage. It didn’t matter that her
strikes were blocked easily enough. The kid would tire soon enough and make a
mistake. As long as she kept up her attack, the girl wouldn’t be able to
counter with either dagger; she was just too busy blocking. She looked at the
young girls beautiful skin, glistening in the sun; it would be a shame to mark
it. And those breasts, she would far rather be suckling in them then trying to
cut one off. What a strange cruel life this was.

Suddenly the kid made a
mistake. In an attempt to parry one of her sweeping diagonal cuts, she took far
too much of it on the narrow ridge that separates the dagger’s blade from the
hilt. It shattered, along with the girls forearm. As the short blade skittered
along the sandy arena floor. The injured Gladiatrix hopped back in a defensive
position, creating some distance between the two of them. It was an obvious
attempt to give herself time to regroup before Diogias was all over her.

* * *

Petronia

* * *

Disgusting! Absolutely
disgusting! How could she have allowed herself to be disarmed like a damned
beginner, and to make matters infinitely worse, she had lost her gladius to her
opponent and she had broken arm. If she lived through this Doctore was certain
to make her wish she hadn’t. Leaping back away from the spinning blade of her
own sword she had a sudden inspiration. Clearly she was a crowd favorite.
Perhaps she could work that to her advantage. As the Thracian woman pushed her
advance, Petronia continued to maneuver them both towards the edge of the arena
where the faithful were practically falling out of their seats, leaning over
the low retaining wall. If she could get close enough, her fans might actually
grab the other woman long enough for her to press her attack and finish the
fight. And that’s what she did. In fact, she did such a good job of it, the
other woman wasn’t even aware of the danger she was in until it was too late.
Some man had reached out and grabbed her opponents sword arm, yanking it
backwards in a move that probably would dislocate the woman’s shoulder if she
tried to hang on to her gladius.