Arena Shifters (A Paranormal Romance Novel) (6 page)

Then, “You’re bleeding.” He
was pointing to cut along her bare shoulder.

“Just a scratch,”

“I never seen a scratch that
bled that much before. You need to see a doctor.”

“Yeah, well why don’t you
send for one. In the meantime start tearing up some strips of cloth from that slave’s
tunic.”

The boy clearly didn’t like
being told what to do, but he complied anyway. They could not afford to build a
fire to sterilize the wound so she would just have to make do with some
relatively clean “bandages.” With a little help from a queasy boy, she managed
to bind up her would pretty well. It should slow down the bleeding
significantly. Now it was time to leave. Pretty soon trackers would find the
place, see the dead slaves and be on their trail again. She jumped to her feet;
too fast. Suddenly the world around her began to spin, then everything went
black and something struck the back of her head. When she woke the boy’s face
was just inches from her own. She put both hands on his chest and pushed with
all she had.

“Hey wait,” he protested,
“I’m wasn’t trying to kiss you, honest, I wasn’t. You just stood up then passed
out. You okay?”

“Yeah…sure, I’m fine.”

“Oh good, ‘cause I’m
starving…and I’m thirsty too, so get me some water too.”

“What? Are you serious? I
just saved your life and lost a quart of blood in the process and now I have to
go hunt something for you so you can have your dinner?”

He looked uncertain for a
moment, then continued with the demands. “And I need help walking, I seemed to
have twisted my ankle. I’m pretty light, you could just carry me on your back.”

Petronia looked at the boy
like he was some alien or something. “You wanna survive? Or do you want to just
wait around for more slaves to show up? You do what you want, but I’m heading
north.”

“What’s north?”

“Home I hope.”

They had gone on for no more
than an hour when they a horn sounding in the not too far away distance.

“What’s that?” The boy asked
as they trudged along.

“A horn.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then why not say what you
mean?”

He was about to reply when
another horn sounded, this time a little closer and in another direction
completely.

“Is it a rescue party?” He
asked enthusiastically. The prospect of being rescued energized him. Suddenly
he was walking faster, and right towards the second horn blast.

“Wait,” she protested. We
don’t know who is blowing that horn. It could be a trap, and I don’t think I
have any more fight left in me. If we get caught, you’re on your own kid.”

Suddenly another horn blast
rent the air. It was in the direction as the first one they heard. A minute
later another horn sounded from the direction as the second, closer horn. She
could tell now that they were two different types of horns. If she had to
guess, she’d say that someone had escaped the slaughter of the caravan and the
horn sounding was the Lanista’s soldiers on the way to rescue them. The other
horn, she could only surmise, was the slaves trying to confuse her and get her
to go to the wrong horn. Now she had a choice to make. Which horn was the
rescue party? She had no idea, and in the end, the horn she chose was the near
one, just because it was so close now that it was likely to overtake them
anyway. And so she stood, sword drawn standing over the boy protectively when
the Dominus
himself rode up, along with some twenty
soldiers in tow.

When she woke up three days
later, in the care of the House physician, she had no memory of their rescue,
except that she had not wanted to give up her sword. She just could not believe
that after nearly three days of wandering with no food and water, that they
were actually safe.

* * * * *

CHAPTER SIX:

The Birthday and the Blood Orgy

Part One

Lucias

* * * * *

Dominus’ eldest son Dionysius
Tiberius was turning 15 today and no longer considered a child. Nearly half of
Roman children do not live to see 15, so it was a momentous day for the boy
turned man. It was also a miserable day for his 12 year old brother Lucius. It
there was any way he could rain on the festivities today and get away with it
he would. Problem was, now that Dionysius was a man, any “pranks” done on him
by Lucius would be considered a punishable attack and not a prank anymore. In
other words, anything Lucius did could garner him public flogging if he brother
should choose it.

Lucius stomach turned when he
walked into the Great Hall where the main celebration was being held. Of course
on a night like this, nearly every room in the Villa would be occupied by party
goers. There was a special chair set up for the Praetor, should he and his wife
show up. Of course they were sent special invitations that implied the promise
of luxurious gifts should he make an appearance. Lucius looked around, then
spotted his brother sitting on a large comfortable chair. Seated on either side
of him were two slave girls who were fawning all over him. He could not
understand his brother’s preoccupation with female slaves now. Just two years
ago they were both sitting on that same chair giggling and making crude remarks
about the hideous looking female slaves that were all over his father’s villa.
In fact, one of those very slaves was sitting half in Dionysius’s lap, without
a stitch of clothing on; positively disgusting!

He stood there watching as
the girls were whispering things in his ears, then turning and kissing each
other while he looked on. It seemed the more whispering that took place the
more disgusting things the girls did with each other. The last straw was when
one girl began suckling on the other’s breast like an infant. For some unknown reason
that seemed to drive his brother to distraction. He kept shifting the weight of
the girl on his lap like he was suddenly uncomfortable. He could watch no more.
This was supposed to be a happy day for everyone, including himself, but it was
far from that.

* * *

Gaius

* * *

Gaius nearly fell over in
shock, in fact he might have had he not been seated. Standing before him was
the Praetor himself; looking highly displeased. How could he not have been
forewarned of his coming? He would have sent out a proper greeting party to
meet him at the edge of town. Not like the Praetor didn’t know the way to his
villa; it was just proper decorum to meet him with an armed escort. Sometime,
somewhere, he would pay for the slight; just not tonight, he hoped.

“Splendid party Gaius,” said
the Praetor. “And is that the lucky man of honor?” He asked, pointing to
Dionysius.

“Yes indeed Praetor. You
honor us with your presence here. Is there anything I can get for you? Wine,
food, women…”

“Wine please. I am absolutely
parched. I hadn’t remembered the town to be so dry and dusty.”

Dominus signaled for slaves
to attend to the Praetor. The sooner he could be plied with drink and women the
more likely he would forget to punish him for his lack of manners.

“I understand you have
purchased another gladiatrix, have you not?” Asked the Praetor.

How did he find that out, he
wondered? He pondered denying it, but decided the truth would suit him better.

“Yes yes, she certainly shows
promise. She has been called a prodigy, but I hardly think there’s merit.”

“I’d like to see her.”

He grimaced. No good could
come from whatever the Praetor was planning. But he plastered a smile on his
face and answered back. “Of course. When would you like her brought up?”

“Now would be fine.”

Bastard!
He called over one of his personal guards. “Ronan, see
that the new gladiatrix is bathed and brought up to me immediately.”

“Belay the bathing Gaius.”
Said the Praetor, rudely overruling the Dominus in his own house.

“Yes of course.” He changed
the order and the guard hurried out. Gaius groaned inwardly. Already the
punishment had begun.

Five minutes later Ronan,
Dominus’ personal guard approached the two men, with the new gladiatrix in tow.
She was a fine specimen. She stood just short of a meter, tall for a woman. She
had long curly blond locks that fell about shoulders enticingly. One look
between her legs was proof she was a real blond and not just another woman who
bleaches her hair. She had a very generous chest and pink nipples that demanded
attention. Her body already rippled in muscles from her training, but she still
had a little excess fat to lose, and she’d lose it if she stayed alive long
enough.

The Praetor actually got up off
his seat to inspect her. She looked at him crossly as he approached, studying
her face. She had one of those beautiful symmetrical faces with high cheek
bones and full lips. Her bright blue eyes never failed to catch ones attention,
even with the breasts she had. After studying her face the Praetor bent over,
looking intently at her flat belly, then turned to Dominus.

“Look, she’s covered with
blond hair. She’s just like a cat, only with blond fur. It even covers her
breasts and goes all the way down over her belly and to her sex. Fascinating!
But can she handle a sword?”

Gaius was afraid of this. The
man was going to force some kind of blood shed during the party and it probably
would mean him losing his new gladiatrix in the process.

“Of course she can Praetor,
she is a gladiatrix after all.”

“Fine. Let’s have a contest,
shall we?”

“Of course. Let me send up
for some swords-“

“Non- sense, she can borrow
my gladius.”

Gaius cringed. Any hope of
their not being copious bloodshed was rapidly disappearing. He smiled and
nodded his head in acquiescence. “My thanks for your generosity. Now I’ll just
send for my other gladiatrix-“

The Praetor had other plans.
“I would consider it an honor, and a great favor if I could be accorded the
opportunity to pick an opponent of my choosing.”

“Of course Praetor. Name her
opponent.”

The Praetor made a great show
of it, pretending to be greatly conflicted, when all along he knew who he
wanted to choose. With a wicked smile, he turned and pointed to Dominus’ eldest
son, the birthday boy, Dionysius. “I choose him!”

Gaius’s heart just about
ceased beating. His own son being pitted against this woman? His son has of
course been training since he was big enough to hold a small knife, but his
training was much different. While gladiators trained for life and death, with
death always being just around the corner, his son had been trained in the
fighting style of the Roman soldier; a very different style, heavily dependent
on their being several fighters and not one on one combat like that gladiators
were trained at. A Roman soldier was trained how to watch his brother’s back.
It was a choreographed ballet whose success depended on their being at least
one other person to fight with. His son was going to feel exposed…naked
standing there one on one with the gladiatrix. But what could he say?

“Of course Praetor, you do my
son a great honor on this 15
^th
birthday.”

The slaves pushed away all
the chairs and tables to the sides of the Great Hall so the combatants would
have plenty of room to swing their swords. Whatever happened, it would be an
epic battle that those present would likely never forget. Gaius could tell his
son was afraid as he took his position in front of the gladiatrix. Gone was his
normal arrogance and teenage bluster. His posture said it all. He carried
himself slightly hunched over like he’d already lost.

* * *

The Contest

* * *

The two combatants approached
each other, their styles of combat very different. Dionysius stood as a Roman
soldier turned sideways presenting his left shoulder which would be protected,
along with the whole side of his body by a large shield. In his right hand he
held the traditional Roman weapon, the gladius. He was at a great disadvantage
here because he fought like he had a shield, but he didn’t have one. The
Praetor had ruled out shields in favor of each gladiator having two weapons
instead; something that any gladiator could do; fighting with two weapons. On
the other hand, Roman soldiers of the day fought with a single weapon at a
time. Dionysius held a dagger in his left hand and the gladius in his right.
His stance was backwards. He should present the sword in front of him for
protection, not the tiny dagger. He may have had two weapons, but he had no
idea how to fight with them. Gladiators, on the other hand, always trained with
two weapons.

As they closed the distance
the party goers grew silent. This was a rare treat that none of them had
expected. Dominus’ son struck first. He had little combat experience and his
attacks lacked creativity. It was clear he was relying on his supposed superior
strength to succeed. It became obvious immediately that he was not going to get
past the curtain of steel she threw up between them. In fact, the second clash
of weapons sent his dagger spinning into the audience and drawing first blood.
A serving girl with her back to the arena became the night’s first casualty
when the blade pierced the back of her shoulder. With a scream and a spray of
blood she went down to her knees, dropping a platter of drinks on the floor.