by Monica Burns
"Bis vivit qui bene moritur," Ares said in a strong voice then threw himself forward in a low roll past the first two fighters of the corridor.
Taken by surprise, both fighters swung their swords but missed him as Ares rolled past them. The next two men did not. Emma inhaled a sharp breath as he blocked a blade with his forearm. The weapon drew blood. How much she couldn't tell, but the moonlight illuminated the glistening sleeve.
Behind him, the other fighter's sword seemed to dance off his back in what she prayed was little more than a scratch. Relief swept through her. Just as he had fighting Maximus, his telekinetic ability would help him survive. As Ares continued down the deadly corridor, the fighter on his left swung his weapon downward. In a lightning move, Ares stopped the sword's descent by clapping the blade between his palms.
With a quick twist of his hands, he knocked the sword free of the fighter's grip. As the weapon sailed up into the air, Ares snapped his hand out and reached for the sword's hilt. He wasn't fast enough. Instead, the airborne sword went spinning out of his reach as the Sicari warrior behind Ares smacked the weapon aside. In a seamless move, the fighter continued the smooth arc of her sword downward and sliced into the back of Ares's thigh. Emma moaned as she watched him grimace with pain and limp forward along the gauntlet. There were at least a dozen more fighters he had to pass.
She didn't even want to think about his odds, and her stomach lurched at the reality of his situation. He was suffering because of her. All of this was her fault. He'd warned her not to interfere. Her impulsive behavior had most likely sentenced him to death. The knowledge cut into her with the same physical strength as the blows Ares was enduring right now.
Although he hadn't cried out, she could tell he was in great pain because he barely missed the next pair of blades flying toward his head. He only managed to avoid them by throwing himself into the air in a handless cartwheel that ended with his injured leg crumpling beneath him and a sword plunging into his bicep.
She uttered a small cry of fear and took a step forward. Immediately, Lysander's strong hand gripped her arm. She glanced up at the scarred fighter.
"I'm not going to interfere," she choked out.
"Good," the warrior said in a dark tone. "Because he'll not survive a second run."
"He should be deflecting those blows." A rush of panic slid through her as Ares barely missed a thrust to his chest. "Why isn't he using his ability to protect himself?"
"Our ability drains quickly during a fight. He had little left after fighting Maximus."
"Oh my God," she breathed in horror.
The chill engulfing her deepened as she looked up at the fighter's grim expression. The icy cold penetrated her skin and sank its way into every part of her until even her bones felt brittle. Her gaze focused on Ares, silently willing him to keep moving. He stumbled forward as two swords headed straight for his chest.
Like a limbo dancer, he slid under the blades and then rolled forward like a log down a hill. The points of two swords pierced his arms, and for the first time she heard him utter a noise. Anger. He was angry. That was good. It had to be. If he was angry, it meant he wouldn't give up easily. And she didn't want him to give up. She wanted him to live.
Now more than halfway through the gauntlet, he staggered to his feet, barely dodging two more sword thrusts as he moved forward. Still, the tip of a sword sliced open his cheek. Blood gushed from the wound, and he grunted. Only six fighters left. He stumbled in his attempt to stay in the middle of the corridor, and watching him do so made her heart ache with a physical pain.
One of the Sicari he passed managed to land a kick in his groin and he sank to his knees with a loud whoosh of air leaving his lungs. The fighter on the other side of the corridor thrust her sword into Ares's other thigh. Tears streamed down Emma's face as she watched him crawl forward on his belly. The next four fighters jabbed at him as if he were a pin cushion.
Emma struggled to keep the bile from rising in her throat. One of the warriors laid a vicious kick into Ares's side, actually rolling him onto his back from the force of the blow. To her horror he simply lay there. He didn't move. He just lay still on the ground. No, he had to get up. Oh God, was he dead? No. She could see his chest moving from his ragged breathing. He had to get up. If he didn't, he would die for certain. He only had two more fighters to get past.
"Get up," she said softly. "Get up, Ares. Don't just lie there."
Beside her, Lysander grunted with approval. When she looked up at him, the warrior nodded his approval. "Encouragement is not interference."
She looked back at Ares and his still form in the gauntlet. The last two fighters stood ready to attack. A wave of fury swept over her. He was too damn close to stop now. Not moving would be the death of him.
"Goddamn you, Ares. Get up and move." At her loud command, dozens of heads turned in her direction. She ignored them and saw Ares stir. "Move, you bastard, or I'll take a sword to you myself."
With what appeared to be a Herculean effort, Ares rolled onto his stomach and began to crawl forward again. The sweater on his back was in ribbons, blood darkening his skin between the black knit pieces. She didn't know how he was able to move. It was easy to see he was exhausted. The last two fighters stabbed at his back, but they didn't draw any blood as he stretched his hand out to claw at the ground outside the gauntlet. With a sob of relief, Emma raced forward. The moment she drew close, several warriors closed ranks around Ares. Not about to let someone stop her from reaching him, she shoved her way past the fighters into the area where Ares lay still on the ground. The Prima Consul was kneeling at his side, and as Emma knelt opposite her, the woman's silvery eyes met hers with a look of condemnation.
"His injuries are severe, but he should survive the night."
The woman's detached observation made Emma stop breathing for a long moment. Guilt sliced through her at the accusatory look on the woman's face. Swallowing hard, she dragged her gaze away from the Prima Consul's harsh expression and leaned over Ares. Her fingers gently brushed through his short, matted hair.
He'd put his own life on the line to save her. Having witnessed the brutality of the gauntlet, she now understood why he'd forced her to accept him as her champion. He'd been right. She never would have survived that horrible corridor of punishment. The shallowness of his breathing deepened the icy fear she'd been living with since he first entered the gauntlet.
"He needs medical attention," she said as she looked at the woman.
"His wounds can be dressed, nothing more. No healer or doctor can touch him for twenty-four hours. Justice must have time to ensure he's a Sicari worth saving."
"Worth saving?" Emma rasped in furious disbelief. "The man put his life on the line for me, and you refuse him medical attention just to see if he's worth saving. If that's your sense of justice, I'll take anarchy any day."
"I'll forgive your disrespectful tone--"
"Right now, I don't give a damn what you forgive. I want him carried into the house, now." Emma leaned across Ares until her face was inches from the Prima Consul's face. "I'll take care of him myself. I don't have the ability to heal him, but I can at least make him comfortable. Unless, of course, the lot of you has something more barbaric to put him through."
A strong hand grasped her shoulders and gently pulled her away from the Prima Consul. Looking up, she saw Lysander towering over her with that stoic expression she vaguely realized was normal for him. He gave her a brief shake of his head.
"Come, we'll take him to the house."
Someone pulled her to her feet, and she trembled as she watched six fighters slide their hands under Ares's head and feet. The men locked arms then gently lifted him from the ground. Ares groaned the minute they moved him, and Emma's breath hitched with remorse. God, if only she'd listened to him. No, if only the past few weeks were nothing more than a nightmare from which she'd wake up.
The Sicari warriors moved slowly in an effort to minimize Ares's pain, and it took them t
wice as long to reach the house as it had to reach the funeral pyre. Once in the mansion, they carried Ares upstairs to a large bedroom and placed him on the bed. She dismissed the men with a sharp word of gratitude then stopped Lysander from following the men out of the room.
"I need bandages, tape, scissors, aspirin, and any antiseptic you can find."
The scarred fighter studied her for a long moment before he nodded his head and exited the room without a word. Emma turned back to Ares and studied him in silence for a moment. Pale and drawn, he looked worse now than when she'd first reached him. Fear coiled its way through her, but she pushed it aside. She could be afraid later. Right now, she needed to get him undressed and cleaned up.
Hot water. She needed hot water and washcloths. Basic first aid was something everyone on an archeological dig knew. Hospitals weren't always close at hand when someone was injured. She headed toward the bathroom, but paused when she heard a knock at the door. She almost ignored it, but something about the sound told her to answer the summons. Quickly crossing the floor, she tugged the door open and saw Phae standing in the doorway. The worry and fear on the other woman's face inflicted another lash of guilt across Emma's conscience.
"How is he?"
"He's bled a lot, I think, but I've not had a chance to look at his wounds." She stepped back to allow Phae to enter. "He needs your help."
Sorrow twisted the Sicari woman's face into a mask of pain and she took a quick step back from the door. "It's forbidden. It is dishonorable to heal him."
"He's your brother. You can't just let him suffer like this."
Phae shook her head. "You don't understand--"
"You're right. I don't understand how you can walk away from someone you love when they're hurting. If I could do it, I would. But I can't." Emma glared at the dark-haired fighter with fierce determination. Silently willing her to heal her brother.
A strange look crossed Phae's face, and she nodded sharply. She glanced up and down the hallway before slipping into the room. Emma closed the door behind her. With a frown, Phae nodded toward the door.
"No one should come to check on Ares until tomorrow. But whatever you do, don't let anyone in while I'm here. You've already seen that the Order believes in harsh punishments when rules are broken." Emma nodded as Phae quickly crossed the room to take her brother's hand. "I can't heal him completely or they'll know I helped him. And that means we'll all pay the price."
"Do what you can. I'll make him comfortable when you're done."
Clasping her brother's large hands in hers, the Sicari woman closed her eyes. In less than a minute, blood soaked Phae's shirt and pants as Ares's wounds became hers. Then with a gasp, she released her brother's hands and slid off the bed to collapse on the floor. Blood still trickled out from under her sleeve to drip slowly on the carpet.
The sharp knock on the door made Emma jump, but Phae simply looked at her with that same expression of resignation she'd seen on Ares's face earlier. The Sicari woman dropped her head as Emma turned toward the door.
"Who is it?" she asked quietly, her hand on the doorknob.
"Lysander." The Sicari fighter's deep voice reverberated through the heavy door.
"Let him in. He won't betray us."
From the bedside, Phae jerked her head at Emma in a silent command to open the door. The moment she let the fighter into the room, he handed her a first aid kit. A frown tightened his impassive features as he stared down at her.
"Is he worse than--merda." The frown on his face dissolved into one of furious outrage as he quickly crossed the room to kneel at Phae's side. "I should have known you'd try something like this, you little fool."
The emotion the man displayed seemed completely out of character and Emma was glad she wasn't on the receiving end of the man's quiet fury.
"Shut up, you arrogant bastard." Despite her weakened condition, Phae managed to send him a contemptuous glare. "I'll be all right in a few minutes."
Lysander uttered a dark word of Italian and lifted Phae up into his arms. "Perhaps, but if anyone sees you like this, they'll make you pay dearly."
The soft growl was dark with anger, but Phae didn't flinch. Instead she glared up at him. "Put me down, you big oaf. You carrying me is going to look a hell of a lot more suspicious than if I just lean on you as you're walking me to my room."
Lysander ignored the woman in his arms and directed his harsh, one-eyed stare toward Emma. "Check to see if it's clear. Phaedra's bedroom is just a short way down the hall."
Obeying his order without a word, Emma quietly opened the door. The empty corridor stretched off in both directions like a dark Roman archway. She pulled the door open wide.
"It's safe."
Her gaze met Lysander's black scowl, but he didn't say a word as he swept past her and out into the hall. As the Sicari warrior carried Phae out the door, the woman nodded toward her brother.
"Take care of him."
"I will," Emma said. "You did the right thing."
"I see now why my brother is fascinated by you." Phae's soft words whispered around her. "The two of you always do what's right, even if it means breaking the rules."
Emma watched the tall, disfigured Sicari stride quickly down the hall with Ares's sister. A moment later, the two of them disappeared into one of the rooms off the corridor. With a sigh of relief, she closed the door of Ares's room and turned to stare at the man on the bed. Pale and unconscious, he didn't look much different despite Phae's healing touch.
The woman had said she could only help ease his injuries slightly. She also knew that, like her brother, Phae drained her abilities every time she used them. The woman had healed Ares before he'd run the gauntlet. It was more than likely she'd been able to heal only the worst of Ares's injuries this second time.
Emma hurried toward the bathroom for hot water and towels. The sooner she helped Ares get back on his feet, the sooner she could tear him apart again when he was better. He could have saved both of them a lot of pain and trouble if he'd just explained how things worked in this world of his. All of this had been so unnecessary. Her conscience, and the stabbing pain in her hand, reminded her that she was the one at fault. He had told her not to interfere. She ignored the self-recrimination.
Emma kept her touch light as she gently wiped the dirt and blood from Ares's face. The gash on his cheek wasn't quite as bad as all the blood had made it look. She tried to examine his chest, but the minute she tried to raise his shirt upward, he groaned in pain.
God, if she'd only known what interfering in the Dux Provocare had meant. She never would have done it. No, that wasn't true. She would have interfered. Just the thought of something happening to Ares would have driven her forward no matter what the consequences.
The realization alarmed her. She didn't even know the man. Why would she feel such panic at the thought of him dying? Unwilling to examine the thought further, she reached for his black leather boots and removed them, along with his socks. She shifted her attention upward and unlatched his belt then unzipped his pants.
Black leather warmed her fingers as she gently tugged the snug-fitting trousers downward. The intimate act made her tremble, and she puffed out a breath of irritation. The man was injured. She didn't have any other choice but to undress him. Aggravated by her hesitation, she tugged the soft leather down to mid-thigh and stopped.
Unable to breathe, she simply stared. It was impossible not to look at him. He'd gone commando tonight, and what she saw sent heat crashing straight through her until her sex ached. He was beautiful. Nestled against dark curls, his relaxed staff aroused every wicked thought she'd ever had about a man. The sudden image of caressing him with her mouth made her even hotter. He'd grow thick and hard as she sucked on him.
She dragged in a sharp breath at the imagery. God, she was more insane than him or the rest of the Sicari. She bit down on her lip at the sensations ripping through her. Her reaction to him was natural. She could appreciate the beauty of a male body. She just
needed to remember she was his nurse. The best thing to do was cover him up. If someone came in and caught her staring at Ares's naked body--heat flooded her cheeks.
With a swift movement, she reached out to grab one of the bath towels she'd found in the bathroom. Her fingers wrapped around the soft fleece, and with a sharp snap of her wrist, the towel became a loincloth. There. Much better. At least, she wouldn't be embarrassed if someone like that woman called the Prima Consul actually did check up on Ares. Just because Phae had said no one would come until tomorrow didn't mean it wasn't possible.
She returned her focus to removing the black leather pants off Ares's long legs. The moment the gashes on his thighs were fully revealed, she winced. Even with Phae's healing touch, they were still brutal to look at. Last night she'd marveled at his mastery of pain. Tonight he was all the more impressive at his ability to have run the gauntlet. She dipped her head to examine his wounds more closely.