Dark Days (Written Pictures #2) (18 page)

CHAPTER XLI – Seconds Out

To a herald of hunting horns, all eyes turned to large wooden doors at the side of the arena. Jacqueline’s followed, settling on the door. The sound of a sturdy metal latch scraping open drifted across the dusty floor and the heavy doors swung back though without the squeaky serenade of hinges that she had expected, hinting toward their regular use. She peered into the dark beyond. There, framed by the high doorway, a shadowy figure stood and to a ripple of applause, stepped forward.

The applause built as the male emerged into the arena and when fully in view, all stood without exception; a standing ovation to a much anticipated arrival. It was an arrival that shot ice into her veins and, despite the ferocity of the late summer sun, chilled her to the marrow.

There, body glistening with oil, stood a beast of a man. His steroid-built muscles rippled beneath a riveted leather harness and, flexing first one bicep then the other, he displayed to the whooping crowd. Drawing himself up to his full height, he tossed his shoulder length hair back and spread his arms wide. With his large, balled fists shaking, he threw his head back and roared as he basked in the adulation.

She could only look on as a horrific realisation crept over her. There, draping from one hand was a net, while the other clutched a trident. Strapped to his over-muscled thigh was a scabbard, from which jutted a handle, attached to what she didn’t really want to know. She had seen pictures of such things before and her mind hurtled back to a three day stay in Turkey when she had had time to herself between evenings demonstrating her art.

She had visited the Roman Amphitheatre at Aspendos. There she had listened more than she had expected to, her passing interest piqued by the tales of the guide, regaled in his heavily-accented English. One of the most significant arenas of the Roman World, he had shown his tour party faded frescos of the type of men who had once fought and died inside.

It was a realisation she wished she had not made and her mind raced to piece the puzzle together. His Games – that was what Alexei called them. The arena. The clothing of the man who stood immense before her. All were colours that painted the picture and then as she looked at him, his head rolled forward and she recognised the heavy brow that shielded the dark, foreboding eyes of Yuri.

‘Retiarius,’ her memory interjected inconveniently. That was the name of the type of gladiator facing her. Thought to be the lowest of the gladiators, he fought as a fisherman using speed and agility to beat more heavily armed opponents, though to her, with Yuri’s usual lumbering gait in mind, this seemed a parody, something else to mock.

The traditional opponent of the Retiarius was a Secutor, armed with a tall, rectangular shield and a sword. Jacqueline trailed her mind down her own outfit, from ineffective round rubber shield to useless rubber crop to boots that would hinder her agility. Her eyes never left Yuri. This was not supposed to be an even fight, she realised that very quickly. It was purely a continuation of the ridiculing of “Miss Americana” as the Jester, still pacing around near her, announced her as in an excited cry to the crowd.

Yuri’s first move was snarled toward her left. Circling right, Jacqueline stumbled slightly in her impossible heels. Yuri instantly snapped the trident forward but her reactions were still good and she twisted away, thrusting her chest out as a result to the tinkling of the liberty bells.

The protector that was the Raven within her sparked instantly to life and slashed her crop down hard on Yuri’s muscled forearm, only for it to bend around it uselessly. His eyes sparkled with humoured scorn, hers widened in dismay, though the crop’s ineffectiveness should have come as no surprise. It was just her against him, beauty against beast but beauty could see nothing but failure.

The crowd delighted at the first clash and as the two warriors sprang back and circled each other again, howled for more. The next lunge of the trident was parried with her shield but it bent back easily and the prongs connected with Raven’s arm. The contact point was marked by an explosion of pain from the electric shock that crackled from Yuri’s weapon.

It was nothing more than a cattle prod, and she, Miss Americana, was the sacrificial cow. The electricity amplified in circles around the metal bands on her arms had her muscles screaming and she shook her arm to try to shake away the shock.

Raven staggered away, desperate to put distance between them while sucking in air to recover and take stock. She couldn’t know that what she assumed had been polish on her suit was in reality a conductive gel. Natalia knew and smiled down from the gallery, enjoying its full effect for the first time.

Exposed chest heaving, Miss Americana hunched, sizing up her next move, buying time. She couldn’t just wait for Yuri’s attacks – in time he would overpower her, so she had to act fast. With a cry of defiance, she launched at the huge man, raising the crop before flashing it down to slash across his cheek, slicing his skin with the very tip.

With a wail of outrage, his hand shot to his face and she felt the first hint of confidence creep back. The crowd roared, spurring on the Russian bear as he drew himself back up to full height.

The predator once again, Raven started to circle the man as he gathered himself from the surprise of the crop, crossing one foot in front of the other as she moved to always keep him in direct sight. She would always need Raven, there was no longer any doubt. She would outlast them, win through.

Adrenalin coursed through her body, enlivening it, readying it for fight. Bringing Red here was their mistake – they couldn’t know their history and it was the thread of hope that she knew would see her through. She didn’t yet know how but it was an edge she would use.

She was Raven and she stood tall, thrusting her bare chest out in defiance of her opponent, her captors, everyone in the galleries above. Sure, they could laugh but she also knew they would leer. They would want to touch breasts that could silence a room and so she arched her back slightly, standing tall, proud. Standing as Raven. Standing facing in the direction of Alexei.

The large man edged to the side, breathing heavily in the heat, watching the woman with narrowing eyes. He was wary now. She posed an unexpected threat and he dodged automatically as her crop flicked out again, a warning to discourage approach.

The trident-shaped cattle prod lunged out again and dextrously, Raven parried it with the rubber shield which insulated her against the discharge. They hadn’t thought of that either the fuckers. With a flourish, she shimmied to her right, adding just a little extra twist. She was starting to enjoy herself.

The huge man lunged a second time and she repeated the move, gaining more confidence with each parry despite the first shock having left her arm sluggish and the discomfort starting to again nag in her shoulder. The high boots, meant to be a hindrance, felt now like mere extensions to her own legs and she would show them off the next chance she got.

Trying another tactic, Yuri flailed out the net. Ducking low and away, Raven avoided it easily, extending her leg in a curtsy just for show and felt it slither over her back. The cost was the display of her naked crotch to the crowd, firing it another step closer to frenzy but she didn’t care now, this was a show.

A smile unfurled along Yuri’s lips. He swept the net out again lower this time. Raven only narrowly avoided it by jumping to the sound of bells. It was precisely what he had wanted and, yanking it up, it tangled her stilt-like heel. He tugged hard and unbalanced, she fell heavily to the dust-covered floor, landing on her exposed rear.

== ~ ==

Alexei leant forward at the sight of her fall. His urge to see more of her was growing exponentially as she fought and matched the far larger man. As her body stretched out where she fell, he couldn’t help but see it on his bed, awaiting his arrival, expectant of his passion, needing his cock. He felt things stir, a growing erection he hid by leaning further forward still, hoping that to a casual observer he appeared to be engrossed by the display.

== ~ ==

A fencing expert would have been proud. With a decisive stride forward, Yuri drove the cattle prod hard into her naked crotch, melting Raven’s world in scolding pain. A scream tore from the very pit of her being before she scrabbled backwards, blindly kicking out with her heels to try to prevent the huge man following.

He didn’t follow. He simply stood and smiled as she scrambled away on her back, heels struggling for purchase in the dust. “For Tomas,” he snarled, watching the prone woman’s chest heave, her face showing a trace of fear as bells tinkled.

Raven hauled herself shakily back onto her towering heels, the lingering burn in her crotch making her thighs quiver. Immediately, the large man thrust again. Her focus cleaved between trident and net and wracked by throbbing pain from more than one place, her reactions were starting to dull. Deflecting the attack as best she could, her late movement only deflected the stab of the trident onto the bell that hung from her left nipple.

The crackle of sparks momentarily drowned out the crowd as electricity leapt greedily at the metal of the bell, swathing her breast in a scorching like no other. Raven’s head snapped back in a scream of agony. Before she could remember to look at him again she felt her head hauled further back by straps biting into her cheeks. He had circled behind her with speed belying his size.

Instinctively she tried to pull away, but her head was wrenched backward still harder and when she tried to bite down on the strap, her jaws wouldn’t move, the ring gag holding her mouth wide open and jaws far apart.

Gulping in air, Raven stamped down hard with her heavy heel and succeeded in raking it down the huge man’s shin, causing him to recoil, giving her precious space.

The two combatants stood there, breathing heavily. One felt the trickles of blood from cheek and shin while the other struggled to cope with the pain inflicted on her. As Raven flexed her arm she winced with the heavy pulse of discomfort radiating from her crotch and breast that even her surging adrenalin couldn’t hide.

Cries seeped into her senses from the crowd. “Take her down.” “Fucking hurt her!”

Yuri responded to their calls, striding to close the gap quickly to his far smaller opponent, who foolishly stood her ground before thinking twice and backing away.

As he lurched with his trident, Raven dodged to her side but felt the heavy blow from his other fisted hand drive down hard on her forearm. With a shriek, she pulled her arm away from further danger. A stabbing pain shooting to her fingers had her weaken the grip on her crop. A flick of his net and the crop tumbled to the floor, quickly passing from any chance of retrieval by his advance and her defensive retreat. Other priorities overtook her embarrassment at still being gagged.

Another thrust forward and another weighty blow tore a howl from her as it pounded directly into her damaged shoulder. Raven dropped her arm to her side, trying to protect it behind her back, such was the intensity of the pulse from the prod.

Panting hard now through the ring gag to draw in oxygen, it was clear to Raven that she couldn’t stand up to this bear of a man for much longer. He was systematically taking her apart to the endorsement of a crowd baying for the blood of a faux American icon.

She was running out of options. She couldn’t overpower him, couldn’t even distract him sexually as tits and ass were already fully bare. Raven slunk further back slightly behind her shield and gathered what she could of herself ready for the next brutal onslaught as she tried to think.

The first drop of drool dripped through the ring gag onto her chest and began to slither down her torso. Raven could control that about as much as she could control the monster who pitched toward her again. She jagged to one side and saliva splattered onto the wall she was now backed hard against.

It wasn’t a good place to be cornered by such a man and, pushing off from it, Raven sprinted away to her right, as fast as the improbably high heels would allow. It was a move she would instantly regret. No more than four strides and she felt a sudden tightening on her neck as the successful casting of the net slapped around her. It stopped her dead and the pull caused her to stumble back, breasts and bells thrusting high as she bent uncomfortably and clawed to free herself just take her next breath.

The crowd roared afresh. A second tug hauled her back closer to her captor, a third closer still until the large man could coil more loops of the thick netting around her head and face, trapping her in place.