Blood Debts (The Blood Book 3)

by Donnelly, Alianne

  Honoria would not win.

  In a circular room with benches set up around a stage of some kind the Caesar and her attendants were gathered. Honoria was red in the face, pacing like a rabid animal while the others warily kept their distance. Amelia expected her to start frothing at the mouth.

  “I’ll ask again and don’t you dare tell me you don’t know. Where. Is. Gladius?”

  Three slaves in loincloths knelt before her, foreheads to the floor, arms outstretched forward. “Glorious Caesar,” one of them said. “We did not find him among the de—”

  “Don’t tell me that!” she screamed and kicked the speaker viciously in the head.

  Amelia started forward but Lucia caught her arm and held her back.

  With good reason, it turned out, because Caesar rounded on her next. “You,” she said and Amelia took a small step back on instinct, only to meet with Lucia’s chest. “You helped him with this. What did you do? Where is he?”

  “I don’t—”

  Honoria rushed her, one hand latching on to her arm, the other holding the tip of a dagger to her throat. “Lie to me again and I’ll have the skin pulled off your body.”

  The tip pierced skin and a warm drop of blood ran down her chilled flesh. Amelia dug her nails into Caesar’s wrist. It did nothing to dislodge the hold on her arm.

  “My lady,” Lucia said, unmoved.

  “What?”

  “I would not presume to question you.”

  “Then don’t.” The tip pressed deeper and Amelia sucked in a sharp breath, squeezing her eyes shut for a second. Defiance made her open them again. If she was about to die, she would look Honoria in the eye and hold her gaze until the last breath left her body so the Caesar knew Amelia didn’t fear her.

  Lucia grasped the Caesar’s shoulder. “She is a bargaining chip. Wherever Gladius is, he will come back for her. But not if she’s dead.”

  Amelia’s eyes watered. The blade was about two pounds of pressure away from piercing through her trachea. If that happened, Amelia would start choking on her own blood.

  Honoria kept the pressure up a moment longer, then released her with a shove.

  Amelia fell back awkwardly against a bench, slapping a hand on the wound to stop the bleeding.

  “Get rid of them,” Honoria said to her assassin who nodded grimly.

  Amelia held her throat and winced in pain when she swallowed. Lucia pulled one of her knives and set her jaw as she walked over to the slaves.

  No! Amelia wanted to shout. No sound came out. Horrified, she could do nothing but watch as one by one, Lucia grasped the slaves’ hair, lifted their heads, and sliced across their throats like cattle. The last one, now kneeling in a pool of his friends’ blood, had enough time to beg for his life before he was mercilessly silenced.

  As Amelia struggled to process it, another group of slaves rushed in to clear away the bodies. It was so efficient and coordinated Amelia wanted to retch. Her eyes blurred with tears and she was glad of it; grateful she wouldn’t have to watch as they mopped away the blood.

  “Search the arena again,” Honoria ordered, untouched by the horror. “I want no corner left unchecked. Then spread out into the market. Find him.”

  Lucia nodded. “And what of her?” she asked, indicating Amelia.

  Amelia felt the Caesar’s gaze on her but refused to acknowledge her. Shock was beginning to wear off, leaving her shivering and cold, and terrified she would be the next one to die. Not for any good reason, except that Honoria was in a temper. She made an effort to lever herself up to sit but couldn’t brace her feet because they kept slipping over her skirt.

  Honoria came to crouch in front of her. She waited until Amelia looked at her before she said, “Either you helped him escape, or he got away on his own and left you behind to distract me. Either way, I’m going to show you why it’s ill advised to tangle with me.” With a quick strike she snatched the silver pendant at Amelia’s wrist and tore it off.

  She didn’t have time to gasp before Honoria pushed to her feet and ordered, “Take her to the slave barracks.”

  Amelia tried to scream when she was hauled up off the floor but her voice came out as a feeble croak. She fought against Lucia and the other soldier holding her with everything she had, furious tears streaming down her face uncontrollably. She might as well have been a fussing kitten in their grasp. Lucia was trained and very strong for her stature. The other soldier was a man, probably one of Soren’s troops. He wasn’t necessary to subdue her. In some corner of her mind not screaming in helpless, terrified fury, she knew he was there because he enjoyed it.

  They dragged her out of the chamber and past those damn unfeeling busts again. When they emerged in the streets, the larger sun was right in her face, blinding her. “Let go of me!” Each time she bucked in their grasp, her shoulders wrenched a little, her arms bruised more. It was useless to fight them but she couldn’t stop.

  “You’re only hurting yourself,” Lucia told her.

  “Let her,” the soldier said. “I like them feisty.”

  Lucia’s grasp on her loosened as she glared at the other soldier. It wasn’t much but it was enough that when an overzealous merchant got shoved out of the way by a passerby and barreled into Lucia, she lost hold of Amelia’s arm.

  Amelia swung wide, heedless of the consequences. She hit the male soldier purely by chance, right in the throat. He choked, his fingers on her loosening for a second before he could compensate. Amelia pulled her arm free, shoved away from him so hard she lost her balance and tripped over someone’s foot. She fell against a stall so hard it knocked the breath out of her. Legs unsteady, Amelia righted herself and ran for it, shoving her way through the crowds, weaving left and right as fast as she could.

  The two guards shouted and came after her. Their approach gave her a much needed boost of adrenaline and she ran faster.

  But she looked behind her.

  It only took a second, a foolish instinct to check if they were gaining on her. Without seeing where she was going, she ran right into someone. The burly merchant caught her to steady her. He might as well have been the guards’ accomplice. Amelia didn’t scream but she fought him until he released her. She stumbled against his table and nicked her palm on the blades he sold.

  Knives!

  They gleamed so sharp, so powerful in the sunlight. So many they could arm a battalion.

  “What’s yer hurry there, luv?” the merchant grumbled. “Fancy lady don’t like me grubby hands on ya, eh?”

  “Stop her!” the male soldier roared.

  Amelia gasped, palmed a needle thin, sharp knife, shouldered her way past the merchant and ran again.

  She ran straight into Lucia and screamed.

  “That would have been commendable if you’d run left instead of right,” the redhead said. “Now you pissed him off.”

  The soldier caught up, grabbed her arm again and yanked to make her face him. Then he backhanded her so hard Amelia’s vision went dark and she went limp in his hold. Her glasses flew off, instantly trampled by the crowds flooding through the market.

  Gabriel…

  She couldn’t even call his name, vain though the effort would have been.

  Amelia had no idea which way they took her after that. She had no recollection of the path they took while her head throbbed and her mind shut down. The next thing she knew, her ears had stopped ringing and it was silent all around. They were past the market, in a part of Rome that looked abandoned. The houses were damaged, some in ruins, others black after a fire.

  The few people they passed close enough for Amelia to make out details were disfigured with disease and injury, staring up at them with bleak eyes and hollow expressions on their gaunt faces. The air reeked with refuse and if Amelia didn’t keep smelling blood, she would have retched.

  She raised her head to look forward and could barely distinguish a big building at the end of the alley. There were no stairs leading up to a terrace, just a thick wooden door with a b
arred little window.

  The male soldier banged his fist on the portal and it opened from the inside. Some other guard let them pass. “A new concubine? Ah, Julian, you spoil me.”

  When he reached for Amelia Lucia caught his hand. The man was twice her size, yet the redhead had no fear of him. “This one isn’t for you,” she said.

  “Caesar said—”

  Lucia cut the male soldier off. “She said to bring her here. Not to hand her out.”

  “You know that’s why she’s here,” the soldier growled and his fingers dug into Amelia’s arm more. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  “You presume to know Caesar’s mind, Julian?”

  The other guard scratched the back of his bald head. “I always try out the new ones,” he said. “Caesar would understand.”

  Lucia drew a knife. This one was long and curved. “Unless I hear otherwise, she is not to be touched,” she whispered menacingly. “Is that clear? To both of you?”

  The two men pulled back from her as if they feared her. How many times had she had to prove herself to earn that sort of reaction?

  “Clear,” the guard said.

  Lucia looked to Julian, waiting for his answer. The man nodded, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down in a nervous swallow.

  “Stay here,” Lucia said.

  Julian let go of Amelia and Lucia shouldered her entire weight, taking her the rest of the way alone.

  “Thank you,” Amelia said, getting her feet under her to walk on her own.

  “Don’t thank me,” the redhead replied. “I bought you a few extra hours. If I were you, I’d be praying for a rescue before time runs out.”

  Chapter 30

  There were soldiers everywhere, combing through every corner and shadowy passageway of the arena and the catacombs beneath it. Their agitation translated into the very air and sand. The ground rumbled with their footsteps, the hallways echoed with their voices.

  “Nothing!”

  “Search again. Search a hundred times. Find him!”

  “Caesar dismissed Soren,” someone whispered. That was curious. The news traveled through the ranks and soon the entire complex was humming with it. Soren has lost favor with Caesar. Caesar had him punished. The general is gone.

  In the way of rumor, the message escalated and soon they were saying Soren was dead.

  Gabriel listened patiently, waited for everything to quiet again. The gladiators who’d survived were nursing their wounds. Those sponsored by influential nobles had already been seen by healers and compensated for their services with a good meal and a warm body to take away the chill of battle.

  The others had to see to themselves.

  As the news spread that Caesar’s champion was missing and her general wasn’t in command any longer, more whispers joined the shouted commands. The gladiators were stirring. Order as they’d known it was disrupted. If it was true, they said, Caesar was losing control over her underlings.

  The soldiers searching the catacombs were doing as ordered, but their discontent was obvious.

  “Look at that one, he’s about ready to kill someone,” a man said, chuckling.

  “And three already gave up!”

  “Gladius is gone?”

  “Wasn’t among the dead,” someone answered.

  Gabriel huffed and turned away from the noise to pace. He couldn’t shut out their voices but he could damn well ignore them. They weren’t saying anything of use. He didn’t give a damn about Soren and Honoria having a lover’s spat; he wanted to know what happened to Amelia.

  A snarl pulled on his mouth. He had to get out of here.

  “He’s not here.”

  “Spread out, search the market.”

  Fools. If he’d gotten out of the arena he could have been miles away from Rome by now and they’d still be clueless. Honoria was slipping. Or perhaps this was a true show of her genius. She searched first where he was least likely to be—the best hiding place. But they would never find him here.

  Gabriel flexed his claws, raking the sand in anticipation. It had been a huge risk to shift but a calculated one. In the madness of the fight, when the beasts flooded into the arena, no one had noticed. He’d been able to stay out of the worst of it and unless he got in someone’s way no one bothered to engage him. He’d been led out right along with the other beasts with no one the wiser.

  Now that their snacks were devoured, many of the animals drowsed in their individual pens. But some were still alert. They sensed something was off and they didn’t like it. A tiger in the next pen over kept growling and scratching at the wall between them. On Gabriel’s other side, a hyena was yipping. It threw itself against the wall every so often and then promptly retreated to the other side, as far from him as possible.

  The doors were thick transparent plastic, reinforced with iron bars. Through it he could see into the pen across from him. The two lionesses in it stared at him, watched every move he made. Seemingly calm, lounging one against the other, there was tension in their bodies and their tails were twitching. Their steady gazes unnerved him. They told him his presence was tolerated only as long as he didn’t cause trouble. The second he broke that unspoken rule, they would rip into him like a lame deer.

  Riled from the fight, impatient to get out and frustrated with the wait, Gabriel roared and raked at the door. They didn’t twitch, not in the least bit intimidated. They would have learned nothing was getting through these doors unless humans allowed it.

  Biding their time.

  Eerie.

  He went all the way to the back of his pen and lay down there, keeping his eye on them. The larger sun was setting. Even though no natural light penetrated here he could feel it somehow. The soldiers were gone, leaving only gladiators and the beasts. Soon the trainers would be coming by to fill water trays for the animals as Gabriel had seen them do dozens of times in the past. The water was dosed with a tranquilizer so the animals could be safely seen to.

  He would wait them out. There would be only one chance to get this right. He wasn’t about to screw it up; too much rested on his ability to get out of here and find Amelia.

  * * * *

  The suns had set. Rome plunged into darkness pierced only by the light of torches and candles in every window. Honoria stood on her balcony, translucent drapes billowing in the evening breeze over her naked skin. She looked out across her beautiful city, watching her soldiers search through each street, house, and sewer like efficient little cats seeking out a rat.

  They’d left the arena, having found no trace of Gladius. The sergeant in charge had passed his message on through a slave, the coward. She’d deal with him when he showed his face next time. Honoria had no patience for weakness; didn’t allow it in herself and refused to tolerate it in others. Rome was far too magnificent for that.

  “You are restless, my lady.”

  She didn’t turn. “You have not pleased me well enough,” she said. How could he have, when all she could think was that her most prized weapon had slipped her grasp? Her champion, her sword, was free, sharp as ever, deadly as always, and out for her blood. She’d grown complacent with him; let her guard down far too much. She’d hoped he was broken, finally hers to command.

  It should have been him in her bower this night, not the useless pile of muscle currently chained to her bedposts.

  The chains rattled. “Allow me to make amends,” he said.

  His tone made it clear he wasn’t talking about finding Gladius and taking his head, as she needed. Honoria caressed the railing, deep in thought. She was the most beautiful, intelligent, cunning and powerful female in Rome. She was Caesar, for all the gods’ sake. She should be mating with her equal. Why couldn’t he have accepted her? Everything would have worked out perfectly if he’d swallowed his pride and accepted her. With Gladius as her consort, guarding her blind side, she would have been unsurpassable. With him inside her every night, pleasuring her as she knew he could, she would have been a happy Caesar indeed.


  Years of strategizing, tactical missteps that would have undermined her rule if anyone had suspected the cause, sacrifices—true, none of them her own, but they still counted for something—all of it had led them together. Caesar and her Champion.

  He could have been epic.

  Instead he’d spat blood in her face, taken harsh punishments rather than the pleasures she’d offered him. Insult on top of injury, and he’d continued to refuse her. Was it any wonder she’d reacted harshly?

  Her council had advised to be rid of him. Every time Gladius spurned her and she allowed him to live undermined her authority. They’d warned it would all come to a bad end. She had not listened.

  Anger filled her to the brim. That she had sunk so low as to be rejected by a slave!

  Honoria turned her back on the night and faced her bower. The sight disgusted her. Another man tied to her bed, his cheeks and chest red where she’d beaten him, his wrists and ankles chafed raw where he’d strained to touch her. She hadn’t allowed it; hadn’t wanted his filthy, incompetent hands on her. She’d ridden him hard, losing herself in climax, struck him whenever he’d spoken and marred her fantasy. She wanted it to be Gladius. This one was a paltry replacement.

  A temporary one.

  He gave her a lecherous smile, hips curling up off the bed, his cock already hard and thick, weeping a drop of pre-semen for her. It maddened Honoria, the way her body tingled, hungry for the feel of it inside her. But she had more self-control than that.

  “Come to me,” he commanded. He dared! His own lust made him reckless. He’d craved this for so long he didn’t care how he achieved his ends, only that he did. For hours he’d endured her screaming rage, taking her blows without a sound, meeting her each time she slammed down over him, taking him so deep it hurt. He’d watched her the entire time, his eyes burning as they had for months at her side. Every touch, gentle or harsh, had only aroused him more. She’d allowed him to come three times, never inside her, and he still hadn’t had enough.