Wild Rider (Bad Boy Bikers Book 2) (34 page)

But one way or the other, they had not been able to talk. A slave’s time was never truly his or her own, and always when there might have been a free moment long enough to be with her, she was gone. And once or twice, when he had been commissioned by Murus or Rufus to attend to some manual labor around the house (for who better for such heavy lifting than the strongest slaves in Rome?), he heard upon returning that Aeliana had wandered the barracks of the gladiators.

His thoughts went wild at the knowledge. Had she been looking for him? It was possible.

On the seventh day of his new tenure, he had a visitor in the evening.

His living space was a small cell, the same as every gladiator’s except for the real champions like Lucius. Once upon a time, Caius had Lucius’s quarters—which contained room enough for living spaces for his wife Fabiana (a slave to the House of Varinius herself) and even for a child.

For the past several nights, feeling generous, Lucius had called Caius in. Amphoras of wine littered the living space now. One corner was populated exclusively by shards of clay, the remnants of amphoras Lucius drunkenly tossed into the wall.

Caius worried about his friend and all that drink.

Women were thrown regularly at gladiators after victories in the games. Lucius had won enough that he could have a woman anytime he pleased, so long as he petitioned Murus and Rufus for one. But his affairs with Porcia—a miserable open secret if ever there was one—kept him committed to one woman. Wine seemed to be taking the place of all those other escapes he might have had.

The cell Caius lived in now was just a little taller than himself and about five paces deep to four paces long. Torches burned along the wall, leaving a thin layer of smoke in the air. The cells were constructed to catch breezes to air them out continually, but there was no such breeze tonight. He was just settling down to rest his battered body from the day when Aeliana arrived at the front of his cell.

“Greetings.” Caius sat up. “I’m happy to see you.”

Aeliana smiled. “And I you. But I found someone wandering the grounds who looked rather lost.”

Fabia burst into his cell, hopping up on his bed like a cat and tackling her father with a hug. A mix of surprise, affection, and concern passed through Caius.

“Daughter!” He held her tight. Her arms were small around his neck. “What are you doing here?”

“We came to see you, Papa.” She pushed her head into his chest and shoulders, holding tight. “I missed you.”

Her speech was slightly garbled by the coils of youth, not all the way understandable for the untrained ear. But Caius knew her words well enough to hear her perfectly.

Behind Fabia now, he saw the forms of his sister Camilla and her husband, Seneca. Camilla was younger than Caius, but was the third wife of Seneca, some twenty years her elder. His previous wives had died from the Antonine Plague shortly after marrying.

Camilla was a stout woman, looking almost as Caius in female form with a sweeter face. Seneca had two children from his previous marriages, and she did her best to raise them—and now Fabia—as Seneca brought in the main income for the house. Occasionally, for extra money, she would set herself back to basket weaving, which was a skill she learned as a slave and which she had used to help pay for her freedom at a young age. Caius had donated his winnings to her to make up the remainder when she came close to the requisite sum.

The two had been separated at a young age when Caius was sent to the mines. She thought him dead for years, and only discovered that he lived after his fifth year of victories in the arena.

In that way, if nothing else, Caius had to be grateful for the arena. It had reunited him with his family.

Seneca, gray-haired and shorter than most men, worked as a barber. The shop he operated was, covertly, a front to bring in more income for a Puteoli nobleman (who, due to his noble status, was not allowed to own any businesses himself).

Unfortunately, the noble was not a fan of Caius, having lost several million sestercii by betting against him. A job there for Caius had been out of the question.

For a few moments, Caius held Fabia still, enjoying her warmth against him. Gods, but she was a bright sight for his eyes! His daughter would no doubt grow into the spitting image of her mother. She had the same serious dark eyes, the same wild black hair that refused all attempts to tame it.

His first instinct was to scold his family for coming to this terrible place—an instinct which he knew was wrong. Better to find out the whole story first.

“I’m so glad to see you, little one.” He hugged Fabia again. “But what are you doing here?” The question was directed now to Seneca and Camilla. “I thought we had discussed how it was best for me to see my tenure through without visitations.”

“Aye,” said Seneca. “You did at that.”

His eyes flitted nervously from Camilla to Caius. Despite never having spared a harsh word in Seneca’s direction, Caius knew the older man was deathly afraid of him. As if, because he was a gladiator, his rage could be unleashed at any moment.

Caius couldn’t blame him. He knew men like that. He trained with them every day, in fact.

“We wouldn’t have come, Caius,” said Camilla. “Except that...we thought you should know what’s happened.”

“And what’s that?”

“The money from your sale. It’s wonderful. But two nights past...” she drifted. “We would have come sooner, but everything had to be set in order.”

Caius recognized the worry in his sister’s face. “What are you talking about?”

“There was a collapse,” said Seneca. “At our house. Everyone is fine, don't worry. It started next door, actually. Their roof caved in all the way through and the weight folded the house in. That house fell into ours and brought everything down. They’re not fine, the neighbors. But, we are. As I said. But the house is gone. And I can’t have my children living in the streets.”

“No.” A slow, cold realization slipped over Caius. “No, you can’t.”

“I should go,” said Aeliana. “I’m going to go.”

Caius shook his head. He gestured for her to enter his cell completely. “No. Please. Stay.”

A deep look of embarrassment flashed in her gray eyes, but it was replaced quickly with compassion. She smiled and sat catty-cornered to him on the cot.

“Now, I can take a loan out from an equestrian or two I know. But they believe very mightily in interest, and—”

“The money from my sale would make your lives simpler. And less dangerous for not owing money.”

Seneca and Camilla exchanged a glance. “Yes,” said Camilla. “But it would mean that the money would not go to your intended purpose.”

For returning to the arena, Rufus had arranged for Caius to be paid a hefty sum. Caius was an investment for Rufus, one that he could earn quite a lot of money for by booking at arenas around the peninsula.

That money had been intended to pay for schooling for Fabia. Nice clothes. Proper food to eat. She was not to be a financial burden on their family. They would do what they could, of course, but even with their income they were not rich folks. And with two children to feed besides...

His damnable luck! Even when he made the right move—the only move he
could
make—Fortune still decided to toss stones at him from afar.

“It’s all right.” He took a breath. His hand had been moving up and down Fabia’s back, approaching almost a claw-like massage. He calmed himself, patted her once, and set her down. “It’s quite all right. You’re making the right decision. I’ll make up the difference in the arena. It will all go to you.”

But would he make up the difference? He’d had little plans outside of dying in his first fight back. The return of Ursus to the arena surely would draw a crowd and a heavy purse. That had been intended to set up a small fortune for his daughter to enjoy as she approached adulthood—something to help her marry well, or even better, to establish whatever craft she desired to learn and live by.

But now—he would have to fight several times to make back the amount he’d put down for his daughter’s future. One hand drifted down, and landed on Aeliana’s. She did not move, and neither did he. When he squeezed, she squeezed back.

The five of them talked for an hour or more, changing the subject and reminiscing. But his family had to leave before too long—it was dangerous to travel at night. And immediately after they left, Aeliana got up to leave as well.

“I think you’re wrong, you know. I think it’s good for you to see your daughter, even while you're in this place.”

She stepped away, but Caius held her hand. With an easy, cool strength he pulled her in to his body. Her eyes were wide with surprise, but not with fear. Her lips parted just so. She was lovely, every part of her, and the feel of her was right in his arms.

“There’s something we have to do.”

“Caius...?”

They leaned in together and slowly their lips met. Tentative at first. Caius had not kissed a woman for years. His tongue slipped over the soft passages of her lips and flicked lightly on her teeth before meeting hers. Her moan was low and breathy, one hand sliding up his naked back. She smelled like jasmine and a half-dozen other herbs he could not name.

His hand pushed in on her back, holding her closer still as the kiss extended. He could feel the soft bud of her breasts through her robe sliding against his hard chest. One leg slid against his thigh, skating slowly upwards. Beyond that graceful limb he could feel her center of heat expanding into him.

Her knee pushed up further still—and with his hand on her back, he lifted her slight frame into him—and the flesh of her leg pushed against his own growing hardness. The loin cloth was not much of a barrier. She would be able to feel everything of his erect desire soon, and if she did, he did not know if he could hold back.

Regret already niggled at his brain, but he pulled away. Her face had caught fire, eyes heavy with lust.

“Oh,” she said softly. “I see what you mean. We had to do that.”

She smiled and they both laughed softly.

“I was glad as ever to see my people,” he said. “But that is what I wanted to do tonight when you appeared at my door.”

From prudence, or caution, or outright fear, they left it there for the night, and Aeliana returned to her quarters.

A taste was enough. For now.

––––––––

C
aius was not the only one receiving unexpected visits from family.

A long, long time ago—in the time of the Republic—Aeliana’s family was a noble house, and well on its way to the ascension of the social ladder. Several of her ancestors had been named as praetors, and one was even consul for a year. But, time in politics in Rome required money, and money (at least the sort that bought political offices) most often required borrowing.

After a series of unsuccessful campaigns from one generation to the next, and miserable military failures, her family finally succumbed to the indignity of trade. It was more profitable than any of their previous ventures, and despite almost no one else in the Empire carrying a foul taste in their mouth from accruing their wealth as a merchant, Aeliana’s father—Vitus Galerius Rutila—was a traditionalist to his core.

He thought it improper, always, for a family with noble ancestry to earn money from the low profession of trading goods.

Her brother, Aelianus, was supposed to turn the fortunes of the family around. All the wealth Vitus and his father and his father’s father had accrued was to be put entirely toward the earning of a political office after Aelianus finished his military tenure. And instead, he had been killed in a bar brawl like a fool, and Vitus stuck Aeliana with the blame.

The morning after Caius’s family arrived, Aeliana was surprised when her Aunt Vitalla showed at her door just after dawn. Aeliana was up already, as she always was at that time, preparing for the events of the day. Training at the ludus could get bloody fast, and so she always kept a few items prepared.

Keeping them out all the time—during night, when she was asleep—just meant that they got dirty. So, she had to rise early and prepare. She had been readying to eat a small breakfast of fruit when Vitalla walked in. Aeliana’s appetites, largely, were small.

“Good morning, Aeliana.” There was a letter in her hand. “This is for you.”

“Vitalla!” Aeliana approached her with enthusiasm, and hugged her tight. “How are you?”

Perhaps she had been swept away last night by Caius’s affection for his own family, and their clear affection for him. No—she
definitely
had been swept away by that. And in that sweeping, she had forgotten how very cold and impersonal her family preferred matters. Her aunt hung stiffly in her arms, returning the hug with as much affection as a whale gave a barnacle.

“I am well.” Vitalla extricated herself stiffly. “The family is well. This letter is from your father.”

Aeliana took it. Of course the letter was from her father. She got letters from no one else. Were it not for the constantly berating nature of their contents, she would have believed it was his way of showing affection.

Once upon a time, he had hired a Greek tutor for Aelianus. An expensive endeavor by all accounts. Aeliana, with nothing else to do, stayed in the room during the lessons and copied as best she could, learning her letters.

When she showed her work to her father, trying to impress him with what she could do simply by being taught second-hand, he chastised her twice over. Once for interfering with her brother’s lessons, and again for not performing as well as Aelianus had.

Vitus Galerius Rutila had never wanted a girl for a child. A daughter was a liability, like a flood or a terrible storm, that had to be accounted for and insured against.

She noticed a slight hobble in Vitalla’s walk.

“Are you alright, Vitalla? I see you are limping.”

“It’s nothing.”

“I could examine you. It’s usually not busy here in the mornings. It would be little trouble.”

The flare of disgust in her aunt’s eyes was all the answer she needed. But Vitalla smiled curtly, her lips thin and dry. “No, thank you. I would prefer to see a real medici. One who plans on his patients being alive for more than a few months at a time.”