Secrets of New Pompeii (3 page)

The images rolled, undulating as her mind
shifted to the next significant happening. The crowd’s repeated
bursts of enthusiasm piqued her curiosity. She peeked through her
fingers then slowly raised her head.

This fight was different, the combatants more
evenly matched. The one with the feathered helmet seemed to be more
aggressive, but the one with a sword and a knife was more skilled.
One drove his opponent backward nearly the width of the arena
before the other rallied and launched his own advance. Their
muscles bunched and flexed as their swords swung and clashed. And
in that moment, she understood their secret. These men did not fear
death.

What sort of bleak existence would make death
the preferable option? Her dismal thought was interrupted by her
brother’s hushed words.

“Can you imagine how our people would respond
to this?” Tarhee muttered, obviously absorbed in the savage
exhibition.

“Father would never allow it,” Vito was quick
to point out.

“What if we presented it like a sim?” Mikko
suggested, his eyes gleaming with greed. “If people only had access
to vids of the bouts, it would be no different than any other
entertainment stream.”

“Are you suggesting we broadcast real fights,
or create simulations of what we’re witnessing now?” Vito wanted to
know.

Naloni’s gaze gravitated back to the battle.
She was horrified and repulsed, and still she couldn’t look away.
It was barbaric and cruel yet…graceful. Like a savage dance.

The vision sped again, sweeping her closer to
the emotional tangles, the events she loved and hated, and the man
she couldn’t forget.

She stood behind a wooden screen with the
wife of the gladiators’ master. Her brothers and Mikko were
negotiating with her husband, but she promised Naloni something far
more interesting than business.

“Are they not glorious?” the matron
whispered.

Glorious? Naloni pressed her hand over her
heart, afraid her hostess would hear the frantic beating. Beyond
the screen was a room tiled in bright colors and geometric
patterns. In the center of the room was a bathing pool currently in
use by eight gladiators. After scrubbing dirt and blood from their
magnificent bodies, they waded into the steaming water. They spoke
in low tones, uninhibited by their nudity.

“Shall I send one to your bed chamber
tonight? Several are especially skilled.”

Naloni tried not to react to the offer. How
did she know they were skilled? Had she watched them perform with
her guests, or had she sampled them personally? “My brothers would
never allow it.”

The matron laughed, and the gladiators looked
toward the screen, several shifting into positions that better
displayed their physiques. “Your brothers need never know. Do you
think my husband
allows
me to dally with his
gladiators?”

“I appreciate the offer, but…” Her words
trailed away as a straggler entered the chamber. His build was
leaner than the others, with tight corded muscles. Short dark hair
and a swarthy completion provided dramatic contrast for his ice
blue eyes. Her gaze reversed course, enjoying his broad chest and
tapered torso before focusing on his cock. Even flaccid it was
thick and impressive, triggering an ache deep in Naloni’s core.

“Ah, you’ve spotted Max. He won the
primus
today. Did you see him in action?”

The images blurred and Naloni felt the
vision’s pull again. She struggled against it. The next time she
saw Max was their first night together. She needed no mystic to
reveal the details of those bittersweet hours. Every touch, every
sensation was still clear within her memory.

“You’re fighting me again.” Bertrom sighed.
“This will never work if you resist my guidance.”

“I don’t want to relive that night.”

“Why are you afraid? Was it unpleasant?”

“No.” She rested her forearms on the tabletop
and bowed her head. “Just the opposite.”

“Show me.”

His tone took on a commanding edge that
increased the mystic pull. Naloni released her hold on the present
and surrendered to the past.

They were back on Fedoros. After weeks of
continual pressure from his sons, the emperor had agreed to a
four-week trial of Gladiator Games. Max had signed on to the
project as
doctore
, a trainer. Unlike the other gladiators,
Max had earned his freedom in Rome, so his circumstances were
unique.

Though her father had abandoned his
self-imposed seclusion, he was still irritable and argumentative.
One evening, he summoned her and announced that he had decided who
she would marry. She had expected the announcement since her
eighteenth birthday a year and a half before. Still, nothing
prepared her for her father’s choice in grooms. The man she was to
marry was older than her father and already had four sons. Her
tearful pleading fell on deaf ears and her hurt quickly turned to
anger.

She had always been an obedient daughter,
bowing to her father’s wishes regardless of her own feelings. So
she decided to foil his plan in the most outrageous way possible.
She would give herself to a man completely unacceptable to the
superior aristocracy.

Using her own royal seal, she composed a note
and signed Tarhee’s name. The note explained that Max was being
rewarded for his exemplary service. He was to be left alone with
his female visitor and all surveillance was to be turned off until
the woman departed. She ended the note by stressing that Vito was
opposed to the reward, so Tarhee was counting on their
discretion.

She changed into a thin satin slip that
barely reached her knees then cocooned herself in a utilitarian
cloak with a deep hood. She’d claimed a headache during the evening
meal and retired for the night, so her guards were engrossed in a
highly competitive game of cards.

Sneaking out of her bedchamber had been easy.
Her guards were always relaxed when they were inside the palace
defenses. Leaving the palace itself had been more complicated, but
Naloni knew of a weakness in the security grid.

Once she reached the gladiator compound, the
perimeter guard had taken her to his commander. The commander read
the note twice then inspected the seal. Her seal was slightly
smaller than her brother’s, but without having the two side by
side, it was almost impossible to tell the difference. Finally, the
commander decided “discretion” prevented him from further
verification, so he unlocked Max’s cell.

Naloni hadn’t trusted the guards to follow
her instructions, so she had a signal jammer in the pocket of her
cloak. She activated the small device before she spoke or lowered
the hood. Max sat on his cot, one of the few pieces of furniture in
the dreary room. He watched her with obvious curiosity but didn’t
question her presence.

She took off the cloak and hung it on a peg
by the door. Max stood beside the cot by the time she turned
around. “I am for you,” she said simply. She’d undergone a Latin
infusion before accompanying her brothers to Italy, but she had
spoken very little during their journey and that had been seven
months ago.

Max approached her slowly, his pale blue gaze
piercing yet cautious. “Who are you?”

He was isolated from the rest of Fedoros, but
there was a slim possibility he would recognize her name. “Vanda.”
She used one of her middle names.

“Who sent you to me? Do you know why you were
sent?”

“Prince Tarhee is pleased with you, and he
thought you would enjoy… Do you not want me?”

“By the gods, you are stunning, but I will
not bed you unless you are willing. Are you here of your own free
will?”

She nodded as tension gathered in her
stomach. Could she really give herself to a stranger just to spite
her father? The image of her would-be husband appeared in the back
of her mind, driving away her uncertainty. If she would be forced
to spend her life with a man of her father’s choosing, her first
sexual experience would be with a man she chose!

“I want this,” she lowered her gaze as she
added, “but my experience is limited.”

His warm hand touched her upper arm, his
thumb gently rubbing. “How long will you be allowed to stay?”

“As long as I like.”

“Then we will take our time—linger at each
step until you are ready for the next.”

His words thrilled her and soothed her. She
hadn’t expected gentleness from such a brutal man.

Taking her by the hand, he led her toward his
cot. There wasn’t far to go, the room was tiny. They faced each
other, awareness pulsing between them. He traced her collarbone
with his fingertips while his gaze caressed her face.

“Are you from this place, or were you brought
here in a skyship?” He sounded distracted and seemed more
interested in the texture of her skin than her answer.

“I am from here.”

Naloni felt the vision begin to shift and
fought the transition. Now that the event was before her, she
longed for the feeling of Max’s mouth on hers and the fullness of
his cock deep inside her. “Please,” she whispered to Bertrom, “just
a little longer.”

“Trust me.”

She relaxed her mind and the scene refocused
as opposed to progressing to the next event. She saw Max from her
current perspective, without the emotions that had monopolized her
attention on that night. His features reflected a greater conflict
than she remembered. He had seemed so controlled, so sure of
himself and what they were doing.

“Tell me what you see,” Bertrom prompted.

“He was as terrified as I was. Why is he
afraid?”

“These are your memories. I can’t sense his
emotions. We can only speculate. Why do you think he would have
been afraid?”

“He’d left his world and everyone he’d ever
known and come to this strange planet. He was at the mercy of the
founders. Perhaps he was afraid I was a trap or some sort of
test.”

“Better, but dig deeper. What else can you
perceive?”

“Loneliness. There is such sadness in his
eyes.”

“Perhaps he feared a few hours of pleasure
would make the empty days that much harder to bear.”

The scene resumed from the new perspective.
Naloni watched as he bent and pressed his lips to hers. The first
kiss was slow and tentative, a simple brushing of lips against
lips. She felt the slight pressure and the cascade of heat, yet she
was an observer too. It was all very confusing and undeniably
stimulating.

He pulled back and gazed into her eyes. “Are
you sure you want this? I cannot fathom why—”

She placed her fingertips against his lips,
silencing his argument. At the time, she’d thought he was being
gallant, but now she saw the uncertainty buried beneath the
smoldering desire. He hadn’t been sure he wanted to go any further.
Was Bertrom right? Had her nights with Max only made his existence
more miserable?

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she
pressed her breasts against his chest. “I want this. As long as you
want this too, there is nothing more to talk about.”

His fingers curved around the back of her
neck as his mouth returned to hers. She caressed his back and
shoulders while she rubbed against his lower body. His tongue swept
across her lower lip then pushed into her mouth and she
shivered.

“Do your people not kiss like this?” he
whispered against her damp lips.

It wasn’t that she’d disliked the sensation.
It had just caught her by surprise. She couldn’t admit that she had
no idea how her people kissed without admitting to her complete
lack of experience. She was never allowed to be alone with a man,
never given the opportunity to misbehave.

Rather than explain her reaction, she pushed
to the balls of her feet and kissed him, using his technique as a
pattern. She passed her tongue across his lip then delved into his
mouth. His lips closed on her tongue and gently sucked. With a
startled gasp, she jerked away.

He chuckled. “You really are as innocent as
you appear. Aren’t you?”

She licked her lips and pulled his mouth down
to hers, determined to divert his attention away from her lack of
skill. His taste was new and dark and intriguing. Everything about
him was new and intriguing.

One of his hands held the back of her head
while the other grasped her ass and pulled her closer. He adjusted
the angle of her hips but couldn’t seem to create the alignment he
craved. With a muffled curse, he picked her up and placed her on
his cot, moving her arms over her head as he came down on top of
her.

For just a moment his big body trapped her
against the bed, making her feel helpless and threatened, then he
eased his knees between her legs and lifted his weight off her. His
hips settled into the cradle of her thighs and his cock pressed
against her crease. She pushed up against him, needing pressure on
her clit. He rocked, rotating his hips just enough to slide his
shaft against her swollen nub.

She closed her eyes and gloried in the simple
freedom of touching and being touched. Her life was so restrictive,
so bound by protocol and expectation.

His gaze darkened, burning with ravenous
hunger, then his mouth returned to hers. The kiss was deep and
drugged and endless. He held her hair with one hand and stroked her
body with the other. She reached for him and he pushed her hands
back against the bed.

“Do not touch me,” he growled. “It has been
too long.”

He bunched her slip under her arms, unwilling
to move long enough to undress her properly. She squirmed beneath
his bold stare, but it was much too late for regrets. His hand
cupped one breast as he kissed his way down to the other. Her skin
tingled and her nipples tightened long before his lips closed
around the tender peaks. He suckled her with strong pulls, lashing
the tip with his tongue. She felt restless and achy, unable to lie
still.