Page 25 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

She drops to her knees in front of me, words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “I’m so sorry, Thrax. I was wrong. I jumped to conclusions without understanding. I ran into Laura and she saw I was upset, so I told her what happened and she explained. The necklace—it’s a symbol of protection, isn’t it? I didn’t know. In my time, it’s… vulgar.”

Her hand reaches for mine, hesitates, then gently pries my fingers open. The wooden phallus lies in my palm, a silent testament to the vast gulf between our worlds.

“If we’re going to have a relationship,” Skye continues, her voice softening, “we’re going to have more of these miscommunications. We’re two thousand years apart, with different cultures. I’ll try not to jump to conclusions in the future.”

The words “relationship” and “future” cut through my gloom, sparking a flicker of hope in my chest. She still wants this—wantsus—despite my blunders?

“Skye,” my voice cracks with emotion. “I never meant to offend. This… all of this…” I gesture around, then point at the now-empty sky, “it’s so much. Sometimes I fear I’ll never truly belong here.”

Her warm eyes, the color of the coffee she loves to drink, soften, and she cups my cheek with her hand. “You do belong, Thrax. With me. With all of us. We’ll figure it out together, I promise.”

The sincerity in her gaze is overwhelming. Without thinking, I lean forward, capturing her lips with mine. The kiss is desperate,hungry, a lifeline in a storm. Skye responds with equal fervor, her fingers threading through my hair.

When we finally part, breathless and flushed, I rest my forehead against hers. “I saw it,” I whisper. “The flying machine, the airplane. It was…”

“Amazing? Terrifying?” Skye supplies, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Real,” I finish. “It made everything real.”

Understanding dawns in her eyes. She runs her knuckles down my cheek, her gaze fearlessly holding mine.

“Yep. Real. We’re both here, in the twenty-first century. It’s scary and beautiful and complicated. Just like what’s happening between us.”

Her fingertip traces my top lip, her eyes filled with a look that tells me she’d rather be kissing it. Then she takes the necklace from my hand and, with a determined set to her jaw, slips it over her head. The wooden phallus rests against her chest, a bridge between our two worlds.

“There,” she says, her tone brooking no argument. “I’ll never forget that with every scrape of your blade you were making this for me, so I’ll always have your protection with me.”

A lump forms in my throat, emotion threatening to overwhelm me. This woman, this impossible, wonderful woman, is willing to wear my gift despite the misunderstanding. Despite the vast differences between us.

“Thank you,” I manage to choke out.

Skye’s smile is wide as she helps me to my feet. “Come on,” she says, intertwining her fingers with mine. “I think it’s time we had a long talk about Roman customs. And maybe you can tell me more about what life was like back then. The parts you’re ready to share. But…”

Her pause makes my gaze fly to her, to see if she’s changed her mind, but she has a mischievous look in her beautiful brown eyes.

“But maybe we’ll do that after just one more kiss?”

Some odd, bubbling feeling swirls in my chest. I freeze for a moment, trying to identify it. Is it physical? An emotion I’ve never felt before? Yes. That’s it. I think this is… happiness.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Thrax

I focus on the colorless wall in front of me as Dr. Schmid carefully removes the bandage from my ear. I’ve been dreading this moment, wondering if my ear might look worse than it did in the first place. Or maybe I’ve set my hopes too high, thinking it will change me into a completely different man when only one small part of my body is improved. Clearing my throat, I bring myself back to the present and focus on Skye’s hand clasped tightly in mine.

In theludus, themedicuswould burn potent herbs to make a wounded gladiator sleep while he completed whatever butchery he wanted on us. Here in the hospital, whatever herbs they burn make my nose sting, but Skye tells me it’s to keep it clean.

“Alright, Thrax,” Dr. Schmid says, his voice calm and reassuring. “The bandage is off. Are you ready to take a look?”

After breathing deeply, I nod. He hands me a mirror, and for a moment, I hesitate. What if the surgery didn’t work? What if I’m still the same ugly, deformed gladiator I’ve always been?

Skye squeezes my hand. “It’s okay,” she whispers. “I’m right here.”

Steeling myself, I raise the mirror. My breath catches in my throat as I take in my reflection. The misshapen lump that was once my ear has been transformed. It’s not perfect—there are still scars, still signs of the beatings it endured. But it’s… normal. Even someone as dumb as me could recognize that it’s an ear.

“Oh, Thrax,” Skye breathes, her eyes shining with emotion. “It looks wonderful.”

“It’s still a bit puffy and red from the surgery. It will look even better in a week. You’ll see,” the doctor says.

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