Gladiator Bear's Battle (Shift In Time 1) (2 page)

With a grumbling growl, the great bear shook off his compassion. He could hear the man pleading for his life, choosing the coward’s way to die. That Erden could not feel sorry for.

With a glance up toward the senator and his
lanista
, making sure they were not telling him to spare the life of this maggot, Erden charged. The man turned and ran, but the bear was faster. His massive paws pulled him down on the sand, crushing him beneath him. The last thing the gladiator knew was the sight of horrific jaws closing around his head and chomping down.

CHAPTER TWO

Kiya

Kiya couldn’t stop shuddering as she walked down the stone steps behind Aelia Fausta, fanning her with the bone and ostrich feather fan she loved so much. Aelia Fausta was dressed in the finest maroon silks and gold jewelry and her feet were adorned with carefully crafted leather sandals. She was a true beauty, the apple of her father’s eye.

Kiya counted herself blessed for being allowed to serve Aelia Fausta, and for being allowed to visit the tournaments day after day. Though it still confused her how the Romans could be so enthusiastic about seeing bloodshed of that scale, she had learned to appreciate the strength and determination of the gladiators in the arena.

And it may have had a little to do with a particular bear who was so close to her heart.

“Your bear did well today, Kiya,” Aelia Fausta said in that nasally voice of hers, sounding like she had a perpetual cold.

“Thank you, mistress. But he is not my bear. He’s simply a gladiator from the
ludus,
” Kiya said, tripping over her words a little.

She could have pretended that it was because of the language, but she knew that was not true. Though she had not been in the service of the Romans for very long, she had mastered the language as well as any slave could be expected to. Her stuttering had all to do with the man she claimed to barely know at all and she obviously was not tricking Aelia Fausta with it. Some other servants around her, Lucia in particular, giggled discreetly, and Kiya felt a heated blush rise to her cheeks.

Her dark skin and almond eyes, almost golden in color, made her stand out from the other servants around Aelia Fausta. She had been taken from her homeland, the stretching desert plains of Egypt, when she was already a teenager and sold into slavery. When once she had worn clothes as plentiful as Aelia Fausta’s, she was now dressed in a plain green robe tied with a leather strap, her hair put up with a bone comb that wore the family logo of Julius Augustinus.

But she did not complain. She was the only member of her family left and she thanked the Gods for sparing her life, as meager as it may have now been. Her parents and sisters had been slaughtered, the unfortunate side effect of being on the wrong side of a conflict. Kiya had been spared in part because of her youth, and in part because of her beauty. She would make a fine whore for the wanton appetites of the Romans one day—that was what the slaver had told her as he dragged her out by her hair, stripped her of her possessions, and threw her into a wooden cage like an animal.

Since that day, Kiya had not stopped counting her blessings. A humble life was still a life and so far, she had been lucky enough to even keep her virtue intact.

“So you say, but I see the look in your eyes when he was cut. I hear the shriek on your lips when he is facing death. Every tournament, you seem to live and die with him. That is all right, Kiya. We can all have our little fantasies,” Aelia Fausta said, winking commiseratively to Kiya as a young senator passed by.

“Aelia Fausta, what a pleasure,” the man said, stopping and bringing Aelia Fausta’s procession to a standstill right along with him.

“Senator Aurelius Clavius! What a pleasure seeing you here!” Aelia Fausta said, snatching the fan from Kiya’s hands and hiding her lips behind it as the senator bowed lightly.

The servants all took a respective step back, blocking the paths of many other patrons behind them. But there was no grumbling, no jostling or complaining in the hot day. A senator could stop for as long as he pleased and they were simply made to wait, as custom demanded.

“Did you enjoy the festivities?” the man asked, his clever olive eyes darting from Aelia Fausta to Kiya and then back again.

“I did. My father knows to pick only the finest fighters. I am always kept happy when his men win,” Aelia Fausta cooed. “Though, of course, the company during the battles could always be better.”

Kiya had to elbow Lucia to keep from snickering at the obvious flirting. The last thing they needed was to get reprimanded and spend the next few days scrubbing the floors in the wine cellars. She breathed a little sigh of relief as the senator failed to mention the rudeness of Aelia Fausta’s servants. But his gaze still seemed to linger too often on Kiya, and for the faintest moment she thought she recognized that emotion in men’s eyes that her curvy physique had often brought forth: lust.

She shifted uncomfortably and disappeared behind the backs of the other servants, attempting feebly to distract herself and the senator from paying her any more attention. The chills slowly subsided from seeing Erden win, though there was still a steady flutter in her heart that made her step bounce and her lips easily curl into a smile.

He had lived!
Lived!
Yes, they had barely exchanged words in the
ludus
, the servants and the fighters kept strictly separate, but for years she had watched him fight and win. When she was but a shy girl who could not speak a word of the twisted tongue of the Romans, she had understood Erden. The way he fought was poetry in motion. Powerful, single-minded, clever. She could read his body language better than any book, and it did not take long for the young woman to realize that her eyes kept seeking him out and her heart kept rooting for him even when she should have perhaps shouted for others.

Like fighters who did not carry the curse of the beast. Fighters who were not forever tied to the animal and its desires. Fighters who could actually love another being, instead of attempting to rip them to shreds at every opportunity.

At least, that was what the rational voice in her said. She had learned long ago, as a child in Egypt, that the fighters who possessed the spirit of the beast were the most dangerous, and the most hallowed of them all. In Egypt, they led armies and decided the fate of wars. They were looked at as demi-gods, both blessed and cursed as the animal within them took them far from humanity. They were revered.

Yet in Rome, it seemed not to be the case. Shifting beasts were shunned and used for the amusement of the masses. Yes, they were fearsome warriors, but while the beast was an asset for the Egyptians, it seemed to be a nuisance for the Romans. Kiya had never heard of a shifter gladiator receiving a
rudis
, the wooden sword that marked the status of a free man for a gladiator who had won enough battles in his life. It was as if the Romans feared that despite earning their freedom, the beast men could not be given that blessing.

Still, the crowds cheered for them the hardest, and Kiya did as well. Especially for Erden.

She blushed again, a pleasant scarlet that made her tanned skin glow, as her thoughts went to his hard muscles and broad back, glinting with sweat in the sweltering heat. The way his eyes shone like gems when he picked a target and advanced. The way his body flexed and bowed like a mighty predator’s, even when he was just a man.

Her reverie was rudely broken by Lucia grabbing her hand and tugging her closer.

“Trouble,” she whispered lowly, as Aurelius Clavius’s sharp, piercing gaze stopped on them once more.

“I believe I would be more than happy to come and visit your father, Aelia Fausta. A man with such excellent taste and strict hand with fighters deserves a visit. And, of course, I will wish to see you there,” he said to Aelia Fausta.

A small voice in Kiya said that the words were not meant for Aelia Fausta alone, though. A lump formed in the back of her throat and she could not swallow it until Aelia Fausta had swapped more giddy pleasantries and urged her entourage to move again, due to louder and louder grumbles from behind them.

Kiya shuffled down the steps behind her mistress, keeping her eyes down. But the cold feeling in the back of her neck of being watched remained until they disappeared behind a corner, out of sight of the young senator.

“My father will be so pleased!” Aelia Fausta announced, tossing the fan back into Kiya’s hands.

“He will, mistress,” Kiya agreed.

I hope I can see Erden soon… I hope he is all right,
she thought to herself, stepping out of the relative shade of the arena into the bustling streets of Macavia and starting the short walk toward the
ludus
and the villa.

Thinking of the bear she so admired was the only fitting distraction to keep her from mulling over the dangerous pierce of the senator’s cold eyes. For the first time in a long while, Kiya did not feel safe. And this time it was not because of the threat of a sword, but because of a powerful man who could get whatever he wanted.

And what little she had to give, she did not wish to give to a man not of her choosing.

CHAPTER THREE

Kiya

A breath of relief left Kiya’s lips as the heavy front doors of the villa fell shut behind her. She escorted Aelia Fausta into her room and helped the socialite change from her now-dusty outerwear to a more casual, but still ridiculously adorned and flashy silk tunic, before being excused. She was the favorite of Aelia Fausta and thus allowed to go first. Kiya figured it was because of the way she could braid the young mistress’s hair and sew gems into her tresses, skills she had picked up from her now-passed sisters.

Kiya walked hurriedly through the complex. It was a collection of vast sandy-colored stone buildings, all interconnected by small walkways and paths and dotted with gardens and pools. Julius Augustinus was at least the fourth
lanista
in his lineage, and each had done better than the previous. While it was a simple position in most of Rome, Julius Augustinus and his kin had risen to the ranks of the elite in Macavia and his home reflected every bit the lifestyle now afforded to him.

But these riches came from the expense of something else. The
ludus
was known for its fearsome warriors and the determination with which they fought. Having seen the way they were trained, Kiya had often thought that that drive to live had been beaten into them between the walls of the
ludus
. The way the men were treated often went above simple training or tough conditioning, and verged on the brutal and inexcusable.

Many didn’t even make it through basic training at the
ludus
. When new recruits were brought in, a wagon with slain bodies was often seen leaving the grounds. Aelia Fausta had once said that her father’s ruthlessness guaranteed their happiness, and Kiya believed that. Rome was not a kind mistress and the meek did not flourish there. Still, she could not condone the methods with which these slaves were treated.

She chewed on her lower lip as she descended down into the cellars, where the servants’ quarters were located. All she wanted was to wash the dust from her skin and perhaps steal a minute or two to herself, to thank the Gods for sparing Erden’s life. She always prayed for his safe return, though she doubted her own gods listened to her now that she was no longer on home soil, and the Roman ones had never been kind to her.

Kiya was just about to round the corner and pass by the wide halls of the secondary kitchen when masculine voices caught her off-guard and made her skid to a stop. These were the women’s quarters and men were not permitted there. It was rare that even a guard would pass through there, though they were given free roam of the grounds. Kiya’s hands were against the cool stone as she leaned forward, catching a whiff of the conversation.

“That man simply will not die,” Julius Augustinus grumbled.

Kiya could hear steps going back and forth over the polished stone, agitated movements that were marked with a few irate sighs.

“His time will come,” Septimus Tacitus said, yawning.

Septimus Tacitus was the closest friend and confidant of Julius Augustinus. He was often at the villa, scheming and plotting with Julius Augustinus. Kiya was rather certain that both men had come by their sizable fortunes by less than fair means, but that was the way in Rome. Eat or get eaten, slay or be slain. As long as she was behind the backs of the winning monsters, she could not complain.

“The Bear of the North, the northman who will not fall. How poetic. Still, Gods both curse and bless me with this beast. We are now known for little other than this one giant. I get requests for nothing else, only the Slayer of Men! If this continues, I will have no clients at all after he finally and ultimately passes,” Julius Augustinus snarled.

Kiya suppressed a gasp. It was true that the people loved a champion and Erden was a true one at that. But the crowd was also fickle and Erden had been at the top for years now. He was no longer the freshest treat, the bringer of crowds bigger than any other. But he was what the
ludus
was known for and that, apparently, did not sit right with Julius Augustinus.

“I do not see the problem. You keep pitting him against greater and greater odds. He should not have lived through the fight with the five
sagittarii
. The way he dispersed the horses and then killed the archers was truly a sight to behold. But, you have noticed, he never got rid of the slight impairment to his left side after those arrows were extracted.”

“Do not remind me,” Julius Augustinus said, spite clearly on his tongue.

“And now, with the four
bestiarii
… well, who would have seen it coming that they would fall so easily? The bear is aging, yes, but he is no easy target for even the best. He is beloved. You cannot simply get rid of him. It has to be something fantastic. A fight like no other. One that he cannot come out of on his own two, or four legs,” Septimus Tacitus mused.