Page 11 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

Domina’s voice is sharp, angry, as she calls for a mixture of olive oil and crushed lavender, then with practiced expertise, rubs me with it. Hoping that my cock’s lack of cooperation will relieve me from my duties, I picture Gracchus’s thick lips, pink tongue, and the disgusting sound he makes when he takes his pleasure. Sadly, my body has other ideas. The physical stimulation overrides my mental commands, and my cock rises to the occasion.

Domina lifts her toga, climbs onto the table, and then mounts me. I am strong and large for my age, but the wind is knocked from my lungs as her weight lands on me.

“Open your eyes!”

Cacat!This is stealing my soul. The walls of my mind are squeezing in. Gracchus must have had enough money and power to warrant a beautiful wife, despite his obvious shortcomings, because although Domina is a matron, she’s still pretty. Though she’s not as physically disgusting as her spouse, this is still torture.

Between her perfume and the smell of lavender oil, combined with her heavy body and hot breath panting onto my face, I can’t keep my disgust hidden. Try as I might, I can’t just lie here and take it. The urge to run is overpowering.

Moments ago, wasn’t I ready to plunge a knife into my chest? My gaze lands on one of the guards’ swords and I blindly roll Domina off me, only vaguely aware of her body thumping to the floor as I leap at the guard.

He was so engrossed in the sexual spectacle that he couldn’t react fast enough to stop me from disarming him. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve got two hands on the hilt and have sliced through the air with such vigor that I separate his head from his body.

As though I’m watching from far away, I vaguely think I should be shocked. I should stand down. Instead, I step to the other guard and as he reaches for his sword, I behead him as well. The way the blood spurts from what used to be his throat is fascinating, but I don’t allow myself a moment to watch. I place my back against the wall, panting as I swing wildly to keep the others at bay. Strangely no one is moving.

Chapter Ten

Laura

I stare at my haggard reflection in the small mirror, the tiny shard of olive oil and lavender face soap slipping through my fingers as I cleanse my skin. The scent transports me back to simpler times, before this rocky hellscape became my reality.

As I rinse the suds away, a pang of despair grips my chest. That will be the last time I’ll be able to use that scrap of soap. One by one, my meager supplies are dwindling. Soon, even these small comforts will be gone, leaving me with nothing but the howling wind and endless expanse of rock.

There have been some warm days since the copter stranded me here. Days when, if they were going to retrieve me, they would have been able to fly safely. That window has closed. I can’t hold out hope for one more day, one more hour. No help is coming. How long before I starve or freeze to death?

I’ve used all but one orange and one night flare with no luck. I hiked in several directions and saw rabbits. The problem is, I have no idea how to catch or snare them. If I had an Internet connection, I’d YouTube how to build a snare. I’ve been thinking about how to do it—maybe it will work. I’ll try my first design tomorrow, although I haven’t worked all the bugs out.

My thoughts of engineering fade quickly when I go to sleep, swirling into a thousand other worries. I’m drifting in and out of consciousness, the line between reality and dreams blurringwith each passing moment. The wind howls outside, a mournful lullaby that seems to carry whispers of my fate. Just as sleep is about to fully claim me, a golden light floods my tent, warm and inviting.

A feminine figure materializes before me, her presence both comforting and awe-inspiring. She’s dressed in flowing Roman robes, a cornucopia cradled in one arm while the other rests on an enormous wheel. The wheel seems to pulse with energy as if it could start spinning at any moment.

“Who are you?” The words tumble from my lips before I can stop them.

Her laughter is like tinkling bells. “Come now, Laura. You’re an archaeologist. Surely you recognize me.”

Realization dawns. “Fortuna,” I breathe, my heart racing. “The goddess of luck and fortune.”

She nods, a small smile playing on her lips. “The very same. And it seems you could use a bit of both right now, couldn’t you?”

A near-hysterical laugh bubbles from my throat. “You could say that. I’m stranded on a forsaken island with dwindling supplies and no hope of rescue. I’d say I’m fresh out of luck.”

Fortuna’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “Are you so sure about that? The wheel of fortune is always turning, Laura. What seems like misfortune one moment can become a blessing the next.”

“I don’t see how being abandoned here could possibly be a blessing,” I mutter, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.

She steps closer, her presence radiating warmth in the chilly tent. “The universe works in mysterious ways. Sometimes, what we perceive as our greatest trial can lead us to our greatest triumph.”

“That’s… vague.” I wince as I realize that sounded accusatory.

Fortuna laughs again. “Would you expect anything less from a goddess? But let me put it this way: be prepared for theunexpected. The tides of fortune are about to shift, and you must be ready to ride the wave.”

My mind races, trying to decipher her cryptic words. “What do you mean? Is someone coming to rescue me?”

She shakes her head, her expression turning serious. “You’ve studied me enough not to expect a direct answer from an oracle. But change is coming, Laura. You must be open to it, even if it seems strange or frightening at first.”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” I grumble.

“Comfort isn’t always what we need most.” Fortuna’s voice is gentle but firm. “Sometimes we need a challenge to grow, to become who we’re meant to be.”

---