Page 46 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

Damian

“There’s a place I want to show you,” Sarah says the next morning, her eyes alight with excitement. “A sacred pool where the ancients performed purification rituals. Most outsiders don’t even know it exists.”

Maya raises an eyebrow at me. We’ve spent the morning in peaceful meditation, watching the sun paint the red rocks in ever-changing patterns. The dawn’s stillness feels tranquil after yesterday’s ecstatic dancing.

“It’s about an hour’s hike,” Sarah continues. “But worth every step.”

The path winds through narrow canyons where ancient painted handprints still mark the walls. Sarah points out medicinal plants along the way, her knowledge reminding me of the herbalists who once served Rome’s temples. Maya absorbs every detail, her natural curiosity shining through.

“Here,” Sarah says finally, leading us around a bend that opens into a hidden grotto. A waterfall feeds a deep pool of startlingly blue water that seems to glow with an inner light, while natural stone ledges provide perfect seating. “The water comes from an underground spring. Grandfather says it’s older than time itself.”

She produces a small bag of what looks like crushed herbs. “For purification,” she explains, sprinkling some on the water’s surface. The scent reminds me of temple incense, but wilder, more primal. “I’ll leave you to the spirits’ care. Just follow the canyon back when you’re ready to return.”

After she leaves, Maya and I exchange glances. The pool’s surface ripples invitingly, catching sunlight that filters between the canyon walls.

“It’s so perfect it almost seems unreal,” Maya says, trailing her fingers through the water. “Like something from a dream.”

The water’s touch sends a wave of anticipation through my skin—not cold despite coming from underground but charged with some subtle energy that raises the fine hairs on my arms. We shed our clothes in silence, the growing closeness between us dissolving Maya’s last hesitations.

The sunlight streaming through the jagged canyon peaks bathes her in golden radiance as she stands before me, unashamed in her nakedness. My breath catches at the vision she presents—her warrior’s body, both powerful and achingly feminine, lean muscle flowing in curves that make my hands ache to trace them. The cool morning air makes her nipples pucker into tight buds, the sight sending heat coursing through my veins.

Maya steps into the pool with a fighter’s confident grace, but her gaze never leaves mine. The invitation is unmistakable, drawing me forward as surely as if she’d spoken. When she rises to the surface, water cascades down her body, making her skin gleam like polished bronze. Each droplet catches the light like liquid diamonds against her tan skin. Her wet hair clings to her shoulders, framing her face in dark tendrils that accentuate the sharp intelligence in her eyes.

I follow her in, the water embracing me like a lover’s touch. All the aches from my long sleep and weeks of training, any remaining tension of our frantic flight, seem to dissolve. Maya floats nearby, her hair spreading around her head like a dark halo, water running in rivulets down her mounded breasts.

“I never thought I could feel this peaceful,” she murmurs. “Especially after everything that’s happened…”

Into my arms she comes, fingers twining behind my neck. Her skin glides against mine, the water turning every touch into liquid heat. Her kiss? It tastes of sweet water and desert air—wild, fresh, unforgettable.

Time loses meaning as we explore each other with unhurried touches. Every caress feels amplified by the charged water, every kiss deeper than any we’ve shared before.

I want to plunge into her, to bring her to the heights of physical joy along with our profound connection, but it seems too big a step with all that’s happening around us.

What if I get her pregnant with my child? The thought blasts through me as I realize that would put her and the babe directly in the sights of the men who are hunting me. I care for her too much to make her a target.

We float together in peaceful silence as sunlight paints shifting patterns on the canyon walls. I ease toward her in the pool and draw her back against my chest, my arms encircling her waist as we gaze up at the slice of sky visible between the canyon walls.

“You are more beautiful than any goddess Rome ever worshipped,” I whisper against her hair, letting her hear the reverence in my voice. She rewards me with a full-body shiver despite the warm air. Neither of us feels any urge to leave this sanctuary.

“Tell me more about your mother. I’ve been wanting to ask since you told me she gave you Tyche’s coin.”

The request surprises me, but the words come easily. I tell her about my mother’s grace, her quiet strength, how she served as Tyche’s priestess before marrying my father. How she taught me that fate’s wheel turns for all men, but how we face its turnings defines us.

Maya listens as we float on our backs in the water, watching the clouds, our hands linked. Occasionally, she asks questions that show her genuine interest in understanding my past. In return, she shares stories of her own mother—lost too young to illness, but remembered with fierce love.

I tell her about my father, about all he taught me that has saved my sanity and possibly my life. She eases closer as I tell her of losing my mother and sister, and how I went from a scholar to a gladiator-slave in the span of a few days.

She needn’t say a word. I know she traveled with me on the emotional journey as I told her of my past. Finally, she breaks her silence and simply says, “I ache for you, Damian.” She turns to me and pauses until our gazes meet. “I’m so sorry for all you’ve been through and truly regret the pain I’ve caused. I’m glad you have me now, and I hope I can make you happy.”

Her simple words hit me as powerfully as a barbarian’s war hammer. She apologized again and wants to make me happy. She’s right. I have her now.

“I wish the same,Fortis.” The nickname is perfect. It means strong. Her wide, lazy smile tells me she enjoys having something special, this pet name, between us. For the briefest moment, I picture us together decades from now. Her hair graying, pleats at the corners of her eyes. Yet, she’ll still look at me as she does now, and I’ll still be imagining new ways to tell her of my affection.

The sun has moved and has almost crested the edge of the rocks by the time we finally leave the pool, our skin wrinkled but our spirits lighter. The day has been a respite, with our cares far away and our connection growing stronger.

Suddenly, the mild emotions of the moment leap to something different. Perhaps it’s the spark of something in her eye, the way the soft expression on her face changes to something more focused, perhaps even desperate.

Is it that her gaze flashes to my phallus that makes it harden? Or was it already hardening when it caught her attention? It doesn’t matter. That we both want each other is clear, obvious, immediate.

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