Arena Shifters (A Paranormal Romance Novel)

by Evans, Casey

  About that time the Lanista’s personal guards came out to bring her back to the Ludis. The agony of her shattered wrist was just coming home to roost. She had survived one more day and the best that the arena could throw at her.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER FIVE:

  The Fox and The Hound

  * * * * *

  “Hush child!” Petronia hissed as loudly as she dared. It was almost a certainty that there were more slaves around searching for them.

  “I’m not a child!” He hissed back, petulantly. “I’m nearly an adult. If I was but a little older I could have you and-“

  Petronia pressed her hand over his mouth as hard as she dared, knowing full well that any liberties taken with the boy out here would have to be reckoned with later back in the safety of the Villa. But the nerve of the boy, thinking about sex and asserting his authority over her when their very lives were at stake. The very thought of intimacy with him made her stomach crawl.

  “If you keep that up,” she began, “they’ll hear you.” By the look on his face, he clearly didn’t believe her.

  “They’re long gone! I don’t care where you go, but I’m going this way,” he said, pointing to a random direction which just happened to be the direction they’d last heard their pursuers. “I’m hungry, I’m thirsty and I hate this place!”

  At the present time they were crouched under a small outcropping of rock in a forest that Petronia had never been in before. His direction may be the right one, but she had no idea. All she wanted to do was get out of there in one piece and with a talkative kid who breathed as loud as an elephant, it didn’t seem too likely. Unfortunately for the time of the year, there was no foliage on the ground to speak of, and the surrounding trees were bare. It wasn’t much better than trying to hide in desert. If someone just happened to look in the right direction they would see the boy’s bright robes from a mile away.

  When Dominus had given her this assignment she was happy at first. Here was her chance to see the country around her and get familiar with where they were should she ever be able to escape. Her happiness quickly turned sour when she was informed that she would not be one of the gladiators in the guard detail, but she would be staying in the coach with Dominus’ 12 year old son, Lucius. The other gladiators had amused themselves by referring to her as his wet nurse. She was going to go all the way to Rome an back playing nursemaid to the boy and the thought of it was almost more than she could bear.

  Trouble began on the second day of the trip when they had apparently happened upon a group of Roman citizens who had had a run into with some escaped slaves. They had of course stopped to render aid to the wounded. Turns out, there were no wounded, and the people they had actually encountered were the escaped slaves. Petronia remembered how her nightmare all began.

  * * *

  Two Days Earlier…

  * * *

  One of the Dominus’ personal body guards stuck his head in through the window flap of the carriage. “We’ll be stopped here for a few minutes while we tend to the wounded and set up a detail to take them back to town.”

  He was of course speaking to the boy Lucius and not a lowly female slave.

  A few minutes later Petronia thought she heard the unmistakable sound of metal on metal, but she couldn’t be sure. Perhaps the slaves had returned to finish what they had started. She was just about to do the unthinkable and leave the carriage to see what was going on when the flap opened again and in popped the head of the guard who’d spoken to them not 5 minutes ago. Trouble was, it was only his head.

  Lucius screamed so loudly her ears vibrated painfully. So much for keeping a low profile. All hell broke loose.

  The carriage door burst asunder and a burly dark skinned Moor reached in for the boy. That was a mistake he’d not soon repeat. The moment Petronia had heard the strange sounds she’d unsheathed her dagger that she kept strapped to her thigh. The instant the Moor reached out to the boy she lashed out, catching the man’s arm just beneath the elbow, severing the muscles and tendons along the inside of his arm. He would likely never wield a weapon with that hand again; assuming he survived the encounter. The man yanked back his arm like he’d just been stung by a bee; a very large bee. As he moved to grab a dagger with his good hand Petronia slashed the man across his neck, opening him up from ear to ear. The fountain of blood carved a red swath across Petronia’s face. She could taste the coppery salty taste of the fluid in her mouth. One day she would learn to keep her mouth closed. She turned to see how the boy was faring. He was staring at the dead guard, eyes large as saucers. He was shaking his head back and forth, making no attempt to wipe the soldier’s blood from his own face.

  Petronia grabbed a pillow case from a nearby pillow and used it to get a majority of the blood wiped off both the boy’s face and hers. Dominus’ guards must have been giving a good account of themselves because no one else came to investigate the carriage; yet anyway. Once the battle was over, the carriage and whatever, whoever was in it would be of prime interest. It was time to leave.

  She looked around for anything useful to take with them. There were two leather flasks, one wine and the other probably water for the boy. She took them. There was also a small pack that was packed with rations for the road should they not be somewhere where it was safe to cook. She took those as well. As for weapons, she took her own dagger (she was permitted to carry it only when on guard detail) and the shorter of the two swords the escaped slave was carrying. It was another gladius.

  “What are you doing?” Asked the terrified boy.

  “Leaving…and so are you.”

  The sounds of battle were getting closer and closer and the occasional whoop of victory was sprinkled in with sounds of men dying. Time to leave now! She grabbed the boy’s wrist and yanked him to his feet as she leaned forward and peaked out around the side of their carriage. There were groups of men, two to three at a time, surrounding the last of Dominus’ personal guards that were still alive and had not run off to safety. No one was looking she looked at the boy and mouthed the word, run. Without waiting for a response she just took off sprinting for the tree line, the boy in tow. Fortunately he wasn’t resisting. At 12 years of age he was nearly as tall as her and strong for his age. The escape wasn’t going to work unless he was a willing participant. She didn’t think anyone saw them leave the carriage, but it wouldn’t take long before a search party was sent out after them. The quieter the sounds of battle behind them were, the more hope she permitted herself. Maybe they were going to get out this after all. Of course, she had no way of knowing where they were and just how many marauding slaves there were in the forest that would be searching for her and the boy. Petronia knew what the smart thing to do was, but she couldn’t bring herself to even think about killing the boy and making a run for freedom on her own. No, thanks to twisted sense of loyalty to the House of Tiberius, and a soft spot in her heart, she would not permit herself to do anything other than try to bring the boy back home to his father.

  For the tenth time he started to get up, but she was able to grab the bottom of his tunic and pull him back down beside her, and only just in time. Two of the slaves that had attacked their caravan two days ago had just come up over a rise and were heading right towards their position. From the brief flash that she had been able to see as she pulled the boy down to safety told her several things. They were tired, probably lost, by the way they were looking around bewildered. They probably had given the search and were just trying to find their comrades. Problem was, they were going right straight towards them and in about 60 seconds they’d be upon her.

  On sudden inspiration she grabbed a rock and hurled it through the trees and away from where they were lying. Unfortunately it hit a branch not 5 feet in front of them and fell down just a few feet from her. She couldn’t see them but she could hear their approaching footsteps. She didn’t dare rise up and look to see how far away they were. They’d spot her for sure. Instead she gripped her sword in one ha
nd, while the other still clutched the boy’s tunic. She looked over at him. He was staring at her, terrified. She tried to give her a comforting look but it didn’t work. It also didn’t help that at that very instant one of the slaves jumped down from the ledge they were hiding under. The fight was on!

  Letting go of the boy’s tunic she lunged forward, slashing at the man’s unprotected knees. Had the man actually thought she would crawl out of their burrow first and maybe announce herself before attacking? She was like a trapped scorpion in a cage. Get too close and her tail was going to lash out and sting you. The stung slave buckled at the knees, both hands going to the ground to break his fall. That garnered him a second sting, this time to both arms. Her blade glanced off his protected sword arm and sliced into his unprotected left arm. That’ll teach him to wear greaves on only one arm. The man’s face hit the mud just as Petronia was bounding out of their lair. The surprise was lost; the other man would be prepared. No way was she going to sit there while he figured a way to smoke her out of the fox hole. She dove out and rolled in a summersault coming up on both feet, right in front of the other slave. Almost before she could bring her sword up, he was slashing at her neck. The deflected blade nearly scalped her. She wasn’t quite fast enough for his back slash and she received a nasty cut across her right shoulder. She didn’t even feel the pain of it at first. She just felt her warm sticky blood sluicing down her arm. That was going to make holding onto her blade tricky.

  The man began to press his advantage. He was strong and her sword arm was taking a beating as she blocked each strike with the thick blade of the other slave’s short sword. A lesser weapon would have shattered by now. She may have youth on her side, but the man was strong and persistent. There was only one way this fight was going to go. She was going to get too tired and make a mistake that would cost her, her life and that of the boy’s unless she thought of something quick.

  The slave’s next slash just about knocked the weapon from her hand, so she ducked under the next strike to give her time to switch the sword to her left hand. As she narrowly sidestepped a kick aimed at her chest to knock her down she realized she was afraid. An odd feeling for an experienced gladiatrix; but it was there, the feeling of fear.

  Suddenly an object struck the slave in the face, bouncing off and rolling between Petronia’s outstretched feet. Someone…no, the boy, had thrown a rock at the slave. It took him maybe too seconds to recover from the unexpected blow, and it was one second too long. Petronia immediately thrust her blade straight into the man’s chest, right where the ribs connect to the bottom of the sternum. A straight thrust right there would sever the aorta and death would be nearly instantaneous. The man looked down at Petronia for a second, not seeming to understood what had just happened. He was dead from internal bleeding before he had been able to put two and two together.

  Petronia collapsed on the ground exhausted. She was so tired she almost forgot to make sure the other slave was dead; he was, having bled out from his severed left arm. She looked up at the boy who was standing there looking at the dead slaves. He wasn’t saying a word; just looking.

  Then, “You’re bleeding.” He was pointing to cut along her bare shoulder.

  “Just a scratch,”

  “I never seen a scratch that bled that much before. You need to see a doctor.”

  “Yeah, well why don’t you send for one. In the meantime start tearing up some strips of cloth from that slave’s tunic.”

  The boy clearly didn’t like being told what to do, but he complied anyway. They could not afford to build a fire to sterilize the wound so she would just have to make do with some relatively clean “bandages.” With a little help from a queasy boy, she managed to bind up her would pretty well. It should slow down the bleeding significantly. Now it was time to leave. Pretty soon trackers would find the place, see the dead slaves and be on their trail again. She jumped to her feet; too fast. Suddenly the world around her began to spin, then everything went black and something struck the back of her head. When she woke the boy’s face was just inches from her own. She put both hands on his chest and pushed with all she had.

  “Hey wait,” he protested, “I’m wasn’t trying to kiss you, honest, I wasn’t. You just stood up then passed out. You okay?”

  “Yeah…sure, I’m fine.”

  “Oh good, ‘cause I’m starving…and I’m thirsty too, so get me some water too.”

  “What? Are you serious? I just saved your life and lost a quart of blood in the process and now I have to go hunt something for you so you can have your dinner?”

  He looked uncertain for a moment, then continued with the demands. “And I need help walking, I seemed to have twisted my ankle. I’m pretty light, you could just carry me on your back.”

  Petronia looked at the boy like he was some alien or something. “You wanna survive? Or do you want to just wait around for more slaves to show up? You do what you want, but I’m heading north.”

  “What’s north?”

  “Home I hope.”

  They had gone on for no more than an hour when they a horn sounding in the not too far away distance.

  “What’s that?” The boy asked as they trudged along.

  “A horn.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then why not say what you mean?”

  He was about to reply when another horn sounded, this time a little closer and in another direction completely.

  “Is it a rescue party?” He asked enthusiastically. The prospect of being rescued energized him. Suddenly he was walking faster, and right towards the second horn blast.

  “Wait,” she protested. We don’t know who is blowing that horn. It could be a trap, and I don’t think I have any more fight left in me. If we get caught, you’re on your own kid.”

  Suddenly another horn blast rent the air. It was in the direction as the first one they heard. A minute later another horn sounded from the direction as the second, closer horn. She could tell now that they were two different types of horns. If she had to guess, she’d say that someone had escaped the slaughter of the caravan and the horn sounding was the Lanista’s soldiers on the way to rescue them. The other horn, she could only surmise, was the slaves trying to confuse her and get her to go to the wrong horn. Now she had a choice to make. Which horn was the rescue party? She had no idea, and in the end, the horn she chose was the near one, just because it was so close now that it was likely to overtake them anyway. And so she stood, sword drawn standing over the boy protectively when the Dominus himself rode up, along with some twenty soldiers in tow.

  When she woke up three days later, in the care of the House physician, she had no memory of their rescue, except that she had not wanted to give up her sword. She just could not believe that after nearly three days of wandering with no food and water, that they were actually safe.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER SIX:

  The Birthday and the Blood Orgy

  Part One

  Lucias

  * * * * *

  Dominus’ eldest son Dionysius Tiberius was turning 15 today and no longer considered a child. Nearly half of Roman children do not live to see 15, so it was a momentous day for the boy turned man. It was also a miserable day for his 12 year old brother Lucius. It there was any way he could rain on the festivities today and get away with it he would. Problem was, now that Dionysius was a man, any “pranks” done on him by Lucius would be considered a punishable attack and not a prank anymore. In other words, anything Lucius did could garner him public flogging if he brother should choose it.

  Lucius stomach turned when he walked into the Great Hall where the main celebration was being held. Of course on a night like this, nearly every room in the Villa would be occupied by party goers. There was a special chair set up for the Praetor, should he and his wife show up. Of course they were sent special invitations that implied the promise of luxurious gifts should he make an appearance. Lucius looked around, then spotted his brother si
tting on a large comfortable chair. Seated on either side of him were two slave girls who were fawning all over him. He could not understand his brother’s preoccupation with female slaves now. Just two years ago they were both sitting on that same chair giggling and making crude remarks about the hideous looking female slaves that were all over his father’s villa. In fact, one of those very slaves was sitting half in Dionysius’s lap, without a stitch of clothing on; positively disgusting!

  He stood there watching as the girls were whispering things in his ears, then turning and kissing each other while he looked on. It seemed the more whispering that took place the more disgusting things the girls did with each other. The last straw was when one girl began suckling on the other’s breast like an infant. For some unknown reason that seemed to drive his brother to distraction. He kept shifting the weight of the girl on his lap like he was suddenly uncomfortable. He could watch no more. This was supposed to be a happy day for everyone, including himself, but it was far from that.

  * * *

  Gaius

  * * *

  Gaius nearly fell over in shock, in fact he might have had he not been seated. Standing before him was the Praetor himself; looking highly displeased. How could he not have been forewarned of his coming? He would have sent out a proper greeting party to meet him at the edge of town. Not like the Praetor didn’t know the way to his villa; it was just proper decorum to meet him with an armed escort. Sometime, somewhere, he would pay for the slight; just not tonight, he hoped.

  “Splendid party Gaius,” said the Praetor. “And is that the lucky man of honor?” He asked, pointing to Dionysius.