Page 26 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

Time loses all meaning as we ride. It could be minutes or hours later when I finally notice Atlas’s labored breathing. Reluctantly, I slow our pace, letting him cool down as I guide him back toward the barn.

As we approach, my heart sinks. Diana is standing there, her arms crossed, a look of shock and disapproval on her face. I can already imagine her concerns, her gentle reminders about safety and my recovery. Why is it only now that I remember how fragile my brain is? Dr. Reid would never approve.

But as I bring Atlas to a stop in front of Diana, I can’t bring myself to regret this moment. My body is humming with energy, my mind clearer than it’s been in weeks. Whatever lecture awaits me, it was worth it.

I dismount, patting Atlas’s neck gratefully. “Good boy,” I murmur, before turning to face Diana.

Her eyes are wide, and her lips are pursed as though she’s holding something back—holding a lot back. Even as I brace myself for her reaction, part of me longs to be back in the saddle, racing across the fields again.

Chapter Twenty

Diana

The pounding of hoofbeats jerks my attention from mundane morning routines. Outside, my heart leaps to my throat at the sight of Cassius on Atlas, flying across the field at a full gallop.

My first instinct is to jump on Buddy and race after them, but I stay rooted in place, transfixed by their fluid movement. This isn’t the halting trot I’ve grown used to watching—the one where Cassius sometimes looks like he’ll bounce right out of the saddle. This is something else entirely. Man and horse move as one, their grace stealing my breath.

My emotions whirl like autumn leaves caught in a gust. Fear hits first, sharp and urgent as a knife. What if he falls? What if Atlas stumbles? Months of careful progress could shatter in an instant.

But as I watch him navigate the terrain, leaping over obstacles as though they were nothing more than shadows on the ground, my fear gives way to something closer to awe. Gone is the cautious, uncertain Cassius I’ve come to know. In his place rides a man utterly in his element, confident and powerful.

When he leans into a turn, his body moving in perfect harmony with Atlas, heat floods my cheeks, then flashes to other, more sexual parts of my body. The strength in his thighs as he grips the horse, the flex of his arms as he controls the reins, the wild joy written across his face—it’s enough to make my knees weak.

In the far field, as they race through knee-high grass and wildflowers, I try to gather my scattered thoughts. Part of me wants to scold him when he returns, to remind him of the risks he’s taking. But I push that impulse aside. He’s a grown man, not one of our troubled teens. And, I remind myself with a touch of irony, he’s technically my elder by about two thousand years.

Still, as I watch him guide Atlas back toward the barn, I can’t help but worry. This is a side of Cassius I haven’t seen before—wild, untamed, worlds away from the careful, considerate man I’ve grown attached to.

He brings Atlas to a stop in front of me, chest heaving, handsome face flushed with exertion and excitement. For a moment, we just stare at each other. I’m struck by how alive he looks, how present in his own body.

“Diana,” he says, dismounting with surprising grace. “You look… petrified. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

He’s sorry for scaring me, sure, but not for what he did. The thrill of the ride still dances in his eyes, evident in the way he stands taller, with more confidence.

I take a deep breath, pushing down the urge to lecture him. “Are you okay?” I ask instead, proud of how steady my voice sounds.

He nods, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Better than okay. I feel… like myself.”

His words hit me like a physical blow. Like himself. But which self? The man I’ve come to know over these past weeks—the one I’m falling for—or the one from his memories, the one who killed lions for sport?

The man I just saw ride like the wind isn’t the same one who needed help grooming a horse just a few months ago. He’s someone new—or perhaps someone very, very old.

As Cassius’s green eyes, still bright with the lingering excitement of his ride, focus on me, I realize I’m standing on a precipice. The Cassius I’ve come to care for is changing, evolving. The question is, am I ready for who he might become?

Chapter Twenty-One

Diana

The dining hall vibrates with its usual rowdy energy as I slide into my seat across from Cassius. A year ago, if someone had told me I’d enjoy meals surrounded by a bunch of boisterous, sometimes hygienically challenged men who revel in raunchy jokes and dirty songs, I’d have laughed in their faces. Yet here I am, grinning as Rurik and Quintus compete in their nightly farting contest.

“By Jupiter’s beard, Quintus!” Thrax roars with laughter. “That one could fell an ox!”

I shake my head, chuckling despite myself. These men, with their crude humor and playful ribbing, have become like family. Even their teasing, which once would have cut me to the quick, now feels warm and inclusive.

Cassius catches my eye from across the table, his smile soft and private. My heart does a little flip, but before I can dwell on it, Laura and Varro enter the hall. The room quiets as everyone senses an announcement coming.

“Everyone,” Laura begins, her voice carrying easily in the sudden hush. “We have news. Dara Hobson will visit tomorrow.”

A ripple of excitement runs through the room. I feel a thrill of anticipation. Dara Hobson, the third richest person in the world, Skye’s employer, coming here?

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