Page 49 of Thawed Gladiator Thrax

“You okay?” I ask, running my thumb over his knuckles.

He nods, swallowing hard. “It’s… a lot. To be so high, moving so fast.” A wry smile tugs at his lips. “I keep thinking of Icarus.”

The myth of the boy who flew too close to the sun. Of course, Thrax would make that connection. “Well, unlike the legend of Icarus and Daedalus, this plane is built to stay in the air. Promise.”

His shoulders relax a fraction. “I trust you.”

Those three words send warmth blooming in my chest. We’ve come so far from those first tentative conversations in the hospital atrium. Now, we’re on our way to Rome—a city Thrax thought he’d never see again.

The Fasten Seatbelt sign dings, and the plane shimmies. Thrax’s breath catches, his free hand gripping the armrest so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“Hey,” I say softly, turning his face toward mine. “Look at me. Just breathe, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

He nods, following my lead. Slowly, the tension begins to drain from his body.

“Tell me about Rome,” I prompt, hoping to distract him. “What’s your favorite memory?”

Thrax’s eyes go distant, a small smile playing on his lips. “The festivals,” he says after a moment. “Saturnalia, especially. For a few days, even slaves could pretend to be free.”

The wistfulness in his voice tugs at my heart. “What did you do during Saturnalia?”

“Ate too much. Drank too much wine.” He chuckles, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “One year, the other gladiators put on a play. It was… messy. But fun.”

I grin, picturing a younger Thrax enjoying what I assume were bawdy theatrical shenanigans. “I wish I could have seen that.”

His expression softens. “Me too. You would have laughed, which,” he leans closer and lowers his voice, “always makes you even more beautiful.”

The plane gives a violent shake, and Thrax tenses again. Without thinking, I lean in and press my lips to his. For a moment, he freezes. Then, with a soft groan, he melts into the kiss.

When we part, his eyes are slightly glazed, all thoughts of turbulence forgotten. “What was that for?”

“Distraction,” I say with a wink. “Did it work?”

He answers by pulling me in for another kiss, deeper this time. Heat coils low in my belly as his tongue traces the seam of my lips. I open, savoring the taste of him, the feel of his strong hands cupping my face.

A pointed cough breaks us apart. The flight attendant gives us a stern look as she pushes the beverage cart past our seats.

Thrax has the grace to look sheepish, but I can’t help giggling. “Sorry,” I call after her retreating back, then whisper, “Not sorry at all.”

“You’re trouble,” Thrax murmurs, but his eyes are alight with happiness. It’s a good look on him.

“You like it,” I counter, settling back into my seat.

His hand finds mine again, intertwining our fingers. “I can’t lie. I do.”

We lapse into silence, the steady hum of the engines lulling us both into a sense of calm. As Thrax’s eyes drift closed, I study his profile. The strong line of his jaw, the nose that somehow escaped trauma and is straight, even in profile, the furrow between his brows that never quite smooths out, even in sleep.

What will it be like for him, seeing Rome again after two thousand years? The city he knew is long gone, buried under layers of history and progress. Will he find comfort in the familiar, or will the changes be too much to bear?

A flicker of movement in the aisle catches my attention. A man two rows ahead is watching us intently, his gaze cold and calculating. When he notices me looking, he quickly turns away.

Unease prickles along my spine. It could be nothing—just another passenger curious about the hulking man with the strange accent. But Laura’s warnings about Dr. Roth echo in my mind.

As the plane begins its descent, Thrax stirs. His eyes flutter open, immediately seeking mine. “Are we there?”

I nod, forcing a smile to hide my lingering concern. “Welcome to Rome, gladiator.”

His answering grin is bright enough to chase away the shadows. For now, at least.

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