Free Enslaved by Brittany Barefield Page B

found herself alone within those arms and their wielder, Canus Ateia. They became friends after his father, Ruga, the head trainer, introduced him as the new armorer and as communication liaison between her father and his gladiators.
    It was during spring solstice when Marcella saw him. His intense eyes, black as a panther’s coat, never wavered. His thin lips formed a straight line of non-emotion. They didn’t purse with anger as if he were bullied into this service, nor did they tremble in knowing the peril that accompanied it. And although he was lean, his frame copied that of his father. Ruga was six feet tall, muscled, and masked with a layer of protective fat that made him less susceptible to deeper injuries. When Canus attained his prime height and weight, with youth on his side and the best training, he would be infinitely powerful. She found that an enticing idea.
    “He chose to volunteer for this position,” Ruga explained to her father. “He will be more compliant than any slave, and I have taught him since he was a child. He will be the best fighter you ever promoted.”
    “We will have to fatten him up a bit first. Until then, he only works the stationary post, no hand-to-hand fighting yet. I want his body, stamina, and skills at their acme before he advances to sparring. He will be trained twice as long as the others before stepping foot in the arena.”
    “A year?”
    “Are your ears failing? I want him better than you before he fights. Keep him alive, and once you retire, he may take your job. Considering the amount of time under your tutelage, I presume this was your hope. Ready him for a demonstration in six months. If I see a hint of weakness, he goes home and forfeits his pay.” He looked at Canus. “Report to me this evening, boy.”
    “Yes, dominus,” he answered in a low baritone. He cast his gaze upon Marcella. “Domina.”
    She smiled, feeling a blush across her cheeks which she obscured behind her fan. He was handsome and very arousing indeed.
    She ogled his form like a hawk surveilling its quarry. She’d never been so smitten at first sight with anyone.
    That evening, as with all those that followed, Canus reported to her father the pertinent information related to gladiator business. After speaking with Bestia, he lingered in the house to catch a glimpse of Marcella. She was only two years younger than he, so they bonded swiftly. They spent many days playing dice and flirting when her father was at market.
    Once Canus started full-time gladiatorial exercises, his boyish curls of black hair were shaved off and he no longer had time to waste on childish games. The sport he played drew blood and scarred the soul. During his first demonstration at his sixth month mark, something in him changed. He graduated into manhood at the expense of an inexperienced slave. A wooden sword he held broke on impact, sending the jagged spike into his opponent’s neck, killing him.
    He withdrew more and more from the civilized world as months of grueling practice continued. Canus became unrecognizable. His face was bruised and puffy, his lips were split, and his nose displayed a new hump from being broken.
    When no doctor was available, Marcella eagerly volunteered to suture his cuts.
    “Without an escort?” Her father raised a graying eyebrow. “No.”
    “Father, Canus is in no condition to harm me. I must ensure his wounds are closed and free of infection. You said he is one of your best prospects. Why waste him?” This was the best argument she could offer.
    “There are guards about should you encounter trouble.” He rolled his eyes as if irritated he lost the debate. “When will you outgrow this medicinal obsession?”
    “When people stop dying.” She collected her medical bag and headed to the barracks. Canus had been so preoccupied with training that he hadn’t spoken to her in weeks.
    He sat on his bunk once she appeared in his cell. He was bigger than before, having gained the required