Free Heart of the Gladiator (Affairs of the Arena Book 1) by Lydia Pax Page A

deluged with images of what skin she bared in her stola. The shape of her calves, the long lines of her neck and jaw, the fine muscles of her arms. He wanted her body, and all of it
    When she made her rounds through the training grounds in the early afternoon, checking on who needed treatment and re-examining those who had been injured previously, he had a hard time focusing. Part of him wanted to train better, harder just to catch her eye and impress her.
    A stupid, boy’s notion that he couldn’t exorcise completely, no matter how he tried. Another part of him wanted just to stop, sit, and stare as she worked—to memorize the lovely turn of her chin, the sweet angle of her petite breasts in her robes, the rich chestnut color of her hair.
    But one way or the other, they had not been able to talk. A slave’s time was never truly his or her own, and always when there might have been a free moment long enough to be with her, she was gone. And once or twice, when he had been commissioned by Murus or Rufus to attend to some manual labor around the house (for who better for such heavy lifting than the strongest slaves in Rome?), he heard upon returning that Aeliana had wandered the barracks of the gladiators.
    His thoughts went wild at the knowledge. Had she been looking for him? It was possible.
    On the seventh day of his new tenure, he had a visitor in the evening.
    His living space was a small cell, the same as every gladiator’s except for the real champions like Lucius. Once upon a time, Caius had Lucius’s quarters—which contained room enough for living spaces for his wife Fabiana (a slave to the House of Varinius herself) and even for a child.
    For the past several nights, feeling generous, Lucius had called Caius in. Amphoras of wine littered the living space now. One corner was populated exclusively by shards of clay, the remnants of amphoras Lucius drunkenly tossed into the wall.
    Caius worried about his friend and all that drink.
    Women were thrown regularly at gladiators after victories in the games. Lucius had won enough that he could have a woman anytime he pleased, so long as he petitioned Murus and Rufus for one. But his affairs with Porcia—a miserable open secret if ever there was one—kept him committed to one woman. Wine seemed to be taking the place of all those other escapes he might have had.
    The cell Caius lived in now was just a little taller than himself and about five paces deep to four paces long. Torches burned along the wall, leaving a thin layer of smoke in the air. The cells were constructed to catch breezes to air them out continually, but there was no such breeze tonight. He was just settling down to rest his battered body from the day when Aeliana arrived at the front of his cell.
    “Greetings.” Caius sat up. “I’m happy to see you.”
    Aeliana smiled. “And I you. But I found someone wandering the grounds who looked rather lost.”
    Fabia burst into his cell, hopping up on his bed like a cat and tackling her father with a hug. A mix of surprise, affection, and concern passed through Caius.
    “Daughter!” He held her tight. Her arms were small around his neck. “What are you doing here?”
    “We came to see you, Papa.” She pushed her head into his chest and shoulders, holding tight. “I missed you.”
    Her speech was slightly garbled by the coils of youth, not all the way understandable for the untrained ear. But Caius knew her words well enough to hear her perfectly.
    Behind Fabia now, he saw the forms of his sister Camilla and her husband, Seneca. Camilla was younger than Caius, but was the third wife of Seneca, some twenty years her elder. His previous wives had died from the Antonine Plague shortly after marrying.
    Camilla was a stout woman, looking almost as Caius in female form with a sweeter face. Seneca had two children from his previous marriages, and she did her best to raise them—and now Fabia—as Seneca brought in the main income for the house. Occasionally,