Page 55 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

I lie down beside her, our breaths puffing out in white clouds. “What can I say? I’m a quick learner. Besides, a gladiator with bad aim is a dead gladiator.”

Although it strikes me as funny, Laura doesn’t laugh. She turns her head to look at me, her cheeks flushed from the cold and all the running. Our gazes collide and for a moment, what passes between us is hot as a brand. It may have been a long time since a woman has looked at me like this, but in Rome, that look was preceded by either a proposition or an order.

My body responds as if by command, my cock growing hard despite the frigid air. As quick as the moment struck, it disappears as Laura says, “You are a fast learner; look how well you already speak English and how well you drive.” The flash of desire on her face is gone, hidden by the bright smile that at first seemed forced, but now appears genuine.

She reaches for my hand and the moment crashes over me: the sincerity in her voice, the innocence of her touch—it’s affectionate and accepting. But instead of pulling away, instead of retreating into myself like I might have before, I let myself feel it. The connection, the warmth, the… possibility.

We lie here a while longer. We exercised too hard to be cold yet. As we watch the clouds drift by, our joined hands create a bridge between us. I realize that this—this moment, this feeling—is worth more than all the riches of Rome. It’s a gift freely given, with no expectation in return. And for the first time in my life, I’m learning how to accept it.

Chapter Forty-Six

Laura

The sharp tang of blood hits my nostrils before I even see Varro return from his hunt. He rounds the corner of our cottage, dragging something large behind him. My heart leaps into my throat as I realize what it is.

“Is that… a seal?” The words tumble out as a mixture of horror and fascination well up inside me.

Varro grins, proud as a peacock. “Indeed. Felled it up the coast with my spear.”

I’d watched in fascination shortly after we moved to the cottage as he smoothed a straight branch and tied Rick’s diving knife to it. He’s felled rabbits, but nothing this large.

The poor creature’s eyes stare blankly, its sleek body now limp and lifeless. A lump forms in my throat as I kneel beside it, running a hand over its smooth silver-gray fur.

“Oh, you poor thing,” I murmur, blinking back tears.

Varro’s brow furrows. “Laura? What’s wrong? I prayed for it just as I pray for every fish and rabbit I catch.”

Shaking my head, I try to collect myself. “It’s just… I’ve never seen a dead animal up close like this before. Well, except for fish and rabbits, I guess.”

His expression softens. “Ah, I see. Sometimes I forget how different our worlds are.”

Standing up, I wipe my hands on my pants. “No, it’s okay. I know we need to eat and the blubber will be useful. It’s just… hard to see. I need to toughen up, get used to living off the land.”

Varro nods, understanding in his eyes. “Would you prefer I dress it away from the cottage?”

“No, it’s fine. Actually… can you show me how? If I’m going to be here forever, I should learn.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Of course. I’d be happy to teach you.”

For the next hour, Varro patiently guides me through the process of breaking down the seal. His hands move with practiced ease, showing me how to remove the pelt, which he says will make an excellent window covering when the blue tarp we’re using eventually rots. He shows me how to separate meat from fat, and how to preserve what we can’t eat immediately.

“We’ll pack it in our food bins and bury it in a mound of snow,” he explains. “It’ll keep for quite a while that way.”

As we work, the reality of our situation hits me anew. This is my life now—learning to hunt, to butcher, to survive in ways I never imagined.

“Hey,” Varro says softly, noticing my silence. “You’re doing great.”

A wry smile tugs at my lips. “Yeah? Because I feel like I’m fumbling around like a toddler with a butter knife.”

He chuckles, the sound warming me from the inside out. “Trust me, you’re a natural. You should’ve seen me the first time I slaughtered a deer with my father. I nearly took off my finger.”

The mental image of a young, clumsy Varro makes me snort with laughter. “Now that I would’ve paid to see.”

As we finish, my stomach growls loudly. The thought of a steak of sizzling fresh meat, so different from our usual diet, makes my mouth water.

“I think someone’s ready for dinner,” Varro teases.

“God, yes. I never thought I’d be so excited about seal meat, but here we are.”

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