My Spartan Hellion

by Nadia Aidan

  From thousands of men, to just a few hundred. The Spartans had crushed the Roman army and taken the rest as prisoners. He would likely be turned into a slave or, if he was lucky, executed.

  When the Spartan king had learned it was Marcus who’d kept Cornelius from striking down his wife and her friend, he’d been placed into solitary quarters. The king considered it a small tribute, since they both knew he would have been murdered in his sleep if he were put in a cell with the rest of the prisoners. The punishment for treason, for killing one of your own soldiers—no matter that Cornelius had been a bloodthirsty barbarian—was death.

  He appreciated the king’s gesture of goodwill, but he could not have cared less if he’d lived or died. His rising career in the Roman military was over, and his home, his lands and his title would all be stripped from him if he dared to return to Rome… That was if he wasn’t first charged and executed for treason as soon as he set foot on Roman territory.

  “I—I brought you some things,” a small voice called, interrupting his dark thoughts. “I know it isn’t much but it was the least I could do.”

  Marcus squinted, straining to get a glimpse of the woman with the soft, husky voice. She stepped forward, the embers of the torchlight casting a warm glow across her face.

  He recognised her immediately. The woman from the battle. The woman whose life he’d saved. The woman who was the very reason why he no longer had a home to return to.

  He glared at her, the bitterness inside him driving him to snarl out, “The least you could do? I would think so.” He sneered at her comely face, a fresh wave of anger hitting him. He’d thrown his entire life away for a woman who wasn’t even a great beauty.

  He swept her with his disdainful gaze. And she was plump—though pleasantly so. His ideal woman had always been tall and toned, not short and lush, but he found the petite Spartan’s voluptuous figure quite enticing as her ripe breasts and wide hips strained against her obscenely thin peplos, which did little to hide her supple figure. He decided then that she wasn’t plump at all, just abundantly endowed. But apparently she was simple-minded because she failed to heed the warning in his angry gaze and continued to walk forward, stopping just within his arm’s length on the other side of the bars.

  “Again, I know it is not much. But I wanted to thank you in person for saving my life.” She held out a bed roll, a jug of water and a small sack of food to him, which he begrudgingly took and set aside. “My father is a wealthy man, a member of the gerousia. I-if you are released, he has promised to reward you in kind, but this is all I could do for now to show my gratitude since you are still a prisoner.”

  He arched one brow. She was wealthy. Interesting. Maybe the gods had chosen to smile down upon him after all.

  “Thank you,” he said gruffly.

  “You’re welcome.”

  With the slight bow of her head, she turned and prepared to leave. But before she could take a step, he lunged for her and a sharp cry fell from her lips as he gripped the back of her peplos to drag her against the bars. He reached both arms through the bars, one at her neck and the other around her waist, trapping her against the sturdy metal poles.

  He held her tightly, his lips within inches of her ear.

  “I have lost everything because of you and a few measly coins from your father will not be enough to satisfy me.”

  She gasped. “What is it that you want then? Land, a home—he can give you that—”

  He curled his lips into a sardonic smile, his mouth against her ear. “And I shall gladly accept his gracious gesture if he should offer.” He dipped his head lower so that his breath fanned out across her neck. He smiled when goosebumps broke out across her skin. “But what I truly want is you.”

  “Me?” She now struggled to wrench herself from his grasp, but he held fast.

  “Yes, you,” he whispered hotly. “When they are done torturing me. Done flogging me because I won’t give them the information they seek, they will release me and I will come for you.” She shivered against the iron rods and he smiled triumphantly. He affected her. That was good.

  “And when I find you, I shall take your lush and supple body to my bed as my just reward. I fully intend to mount you, to spend myself so deeply inside you until I have had my fill of you—and then I shall take you all over again.” He slid the arm around her waist upward to brush against the swells of her heavy breasts, and he had to bite back a groan as blood rushed to his cock. “I have no doubt that, after my torture, your tempting flesh will be more than enough to soothe all of my aches.”

  He moved his hand to cup her breast, delighting in her sharp intake of breath when he stroked her pebbled nipple with his thumb.

  “You have beautiful breasts,” he murmured close to her ear, his cock hardening some more as he gently fondled her. “I will spend my eves behind these bars dreaming of how wondrous it will be when I finally have you beneath me, my cock tunnelling between your supple tits—”

  The press of a blade against his groin stilled his roaming hand, and he instantly released her from his grasp.

  She pulled the dagger from between the bars and spun around, her emerald eyes shooting fire.

  “There are many things my father can give you as a reward, but I am not one of them,” she gritted out between clenched teeth before she spun back around and stormed off.

  He gripped the bars and a smug grin curled his lips as he stared after her until she disappeared from sight. “But you shall be, my lovely Spartan spitfire,” he promised, thinking she was the only thing he wanted as his reward.

  And Marcus would not rest until he had her.

  Callisto tripped up the stairs as she rushed from the prison, slipping her dagger back inside the small pocket at the side of her peplos. She nodded to the guard and waited for him to unlock the gates, silently fuming. She should have never gone down there, never should have visited him.

  “Thank you,” she said, flashing the guard a weak smile as she stepped outside onto the street.

  It had been a mistake to take that prisoner anything. He was arrogant and cruel and not deserving of it, but she felt it was the least she could do for the man who’d saved her life.

  “Do not lie to yourself,” she muttered angrily. “You wanted to see him.”

  Ever since that eve on the hill she had been unable to get his handsome face out of her head. She gulped deeply, hating that even in her anger her nipples were hard and tight and the folds at the centre of her womanhood dripped with liquid heat. He’d touched her—groped her—and she groaned at her body’s traitorous response as she hurried through the streets towards her father’s home.

  A frown crossed her face when she thought of her beloved father, Pericles. This was all his fault. Her father was possessed of far too much honour to allow the Roman’s actions to go unrewarded. But Pericles had now placed her in a difficult position. If the Roman was released—and she knew, for also saving Lamia’s life, that was Thanos’ intent—by the Spartan code of honour her father was obligated to give him anything he wanted—lands, a home, coins…anything. But Callisto knew he would refuse it all.

  The Roman didn’t desire lands and coins—he wanted the one thing that had cost him all he held dear, and that one thing was her.

  * * * *

  There was nothing luxurious or comfortable about the barracks where the army of hoplites under thirty annos lived. Simple structures made of wood, there were no couches, no beds, or even tables. The earthen ground was bare and hard. The only luxury the young soldiers were afforded was the warmth of the fire that burned in the communal hearth.

  The food was disgusting, and gods only knew what was ever in the muddy broth they ate. Thanos had come to appreciate the crude conditions of the barracks, enjoying the camaraderie of his fellow hoplites, but he would readily admit that he would never willingly trade his lavish home and comfortable bed for even the softest mat of hay in the barracks. He was a Spartan solider, and he could deal with anything and do with no
thing if he had to, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that, ever since Lamia had come into his home and taken up residence in his bed, there was no other place he’d rather be.

  “Your foreign wife has made you weak.”

  Thanos stiffened at the familiar voice baiting him. Turning slowly, he met Cleomenes’ wizened gaze with a tight smile. With measured steps, he moved towards the older man, who enjoyed taunting him.

  As Thanos now mentored Adonis, Cleomenes had played a central role in his upbringing and training, along with his own father, Icolos. That was why Thanos was slow to anger when it came to Cleomenes’ words. The older king would poke and prod until he reacted, and when he did, Cleomenes would always know his weakness, the one thing that galled him, and he would use it to bait him, trap him. Thanos was no longer the hotheaded youth he’d once been, quick to anger and easily defeated by Cleomenes’ cunning.

  He knew what Cleomenes was doing, making subtle references to his actions on the battlefield when he’d raced to Lamia’s side. He taunted him so that he would react and admit how foolish he’d been, but Thanos knew his actions were neither weak nor foolish so he tempered his emotions, his expression as blank as an empty piece of parchment.

  “You think Lamia makes me weak, but you are wrong. My wife has made me stronger. Far stronger than my father, even stronger than you.”

  The older man’s eyebrows lifted, and a small smirk crossed his face, telling Thanos that he recognised his own strategy being used against him.

  “Really? And how is that? How does forgetting all of your training, abandoning command, breaking the phalanx and leaving your soldiers and your city vulnerable for one woman make you strong?”

  Thanos shrugged, as if he had no care in the world, and truthfully he didn’t, at least not when it came to his feelings for his wife, and his actions. He’d acted on impulse, but he’d do it all again in a heartbeat, without question and without hesitation.

  “No, I never said doing all of that made me strong—just Lamia.”

  His impudence must have annoyed Cleomenes because the older man’s cheeks reddened, but other than that, the elder king showed no other signs he was frustrated with Thanos.

  “Your love for that woman will one dawn cost you. It will make you do things you would otherwise not do and, because of it, you will become careless, leaving yourself vulnerable.”

  Thanos’ smile was slow. “That is what you believe, although what you say may be true. Maybe it will cost me one dawn, but I care not. Yes, our love for one another makes us vulnerable…but to each other, no one else. She is my strength, just as I am hers. And had it not been for Lamia and her leadership, you would never have been able to hold back the Romans. What she gives to me, she gives to all of Sparta, and we are all blessed to have her as our queen.”

  Cleomenes’ lips twitched and he was sure the old man thought him a love-besotted fool. Thanos did not care. He was not ashamed to revel in his admiration and love for his wife, not anymore. Lamia was his partner, the keeper of his heart and soul, his equal in every way. Sparta owed her queen her life, and she deserved every measure of praise he heaped upon her.

  “I can see you are determined to be stubborn about your wife, but I simply caution you, because when I am gone you will be expected to lead, along with Adonis.” Cleomenes sighed, his expression darkening, and Thanos knew then what troubled him.

  “I am a hothead and now a lovesick fool,” Thanos acknowledged. “And Adonis is impulsive, sometimes acting too swiftly. No, we are not perfect, just as the kings before us have not been, just as you and my father weren’t. We will make mistakes, but our duty to Sparta will always be foremost in our hearts and minds.”

  “Foremost in your minds, maybe.” Cleomenes’ grin was knowing. “But we know who is foremost in your heart.”

  Thanos couldn’t argue with that, but he had nothing to prove to anyone. He would die for Sparta, just as he would die for Lamia, but, unlike Cleomenes, he saw nothing wrong with the fact that his heart belonged both to his wife and to Sparta. Thanos thought a man should only be so lucky to find a wife whom he would willingly die for, one who also wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice her own life for him.

  Thinking of his vow to Lamia and all he would do for her reminded him of why he’d asked Cleomenes to meet with him in the first place—the promise he’d made to her before he’d left for Athens.

  “I need to ask a favour of you, Cleomenes.”

  He nodded. “Go on.”

  “I want to put out a warrant for Atallus’ arrest.”

  “For treason, I take it?”

  That and one personal offence, but Thanos kept that to himself. “Yes. He drew the forces of Greece into a trap and betrayed us all. He should be arrested and tried for treason.”

  “You don’t have to convince me, but you are already too late.”

  Thanos froze. Too late? Had someone already got to the snivelling coward? If Lamia hadn’t made a promise to him, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d somehow slipped out of Sparta and managed to get to him before anyone else could.

  She did not yet know that Atallus was the one behind the Roman attack—he’d not had a moment to tell her as he’d watched over her while she healed. Thanos also had not wanted to upset her in her condition, for if she’d discovered Atallus’ treachery she would have redoubled her efforts for vengeance. Atallus had almost cost them both their lives and the life of every Spartan—death almost seemed too kind for the monster Atallus was.

  “What do you mean I am too late?”

  “Euripydes has already issued a warrant for Atallus’ arrest. There is no city-state in Greece where he is safe. As soon as he comes out of hiding, we will find him, and he will be tried for all of his misdeeds against Greece.”

  Good.

  Every city-state in Greece was eager to convict Atallus of treason, and with that conviction came the punishment of death. Lamia would have her revenge as he’d promised, and he wanted to be the first to tell her.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It had been two dawns since Thanos’ departure to the barracks and Lamia was now mostly back to full strength. The wound, which had seemed so large at first, was now just a tiny speck marring the otherwise smooth skin along her waist. She barely even noticed it—only when she moved too quickly would her side twinge with pain. Thus far, she was fine, mainly because she’d kept her promise to Thanos and the physician to not burden herself physically.

  She still could not remain idle, however, so she’d taken to menial tasks, mostly bookkeeping duties, to keep herself occupied until the physician allowed her to return to her swordsmithing. Lamia had spent most of this dawn poring over the ledger. Not an arduous task, at least not physically, but her mind, now swimming in a pool of numbers, was thoroughly exhausted.

  “Mother?”

  Glancing up from the parchment before her, Lamia sighed, grateful for the interruption. Lifting from her stool, she marched towards Armine, smiling warmly. Armine had begun using the title ever since her official adoption—and it had been so natural, so seamless, as if she’d given birth to the child from her own body.

  “Yes, Armine?”

  The girl wrinkled her pretty face into a frown. “A Governor Atallus is here to see you?”

  Lamia froze.

  She had not expected to hear that name ever again, at least not coming from the lips of her daughter, within the walls of her home. What could he possibly be doing in Sparta? She nodded to Armine who had been left in charge of ‘watching’ her while Basha returned to her home to gather some fresh garments for herself.

  “Thank you, Armine. I will go to meet him.”

  When the child did not make any move to let her out of her chambers, Lamia sighed. “I will be fine,” she insisted.

  Thanos was bad enough. Not her too.

  “Armine,” she said firmly. The little girl pursed her lips into a sullen frown, but she finally stepped aside. “I will just be a moment,” Lamia said, her voic
e softer now and she gently stroked Armine’s smooth cheek before she turned to leave.

  Straightening her peplos, she lifted her chin as she headed towards the open vestibule in the centre of her home where she knew Atallus waited.

  “Governor Atallus. What a surprise,” she said dryly, her voice as devoid of warmth as a frigid mountain pass.

  Disgust rose inside her when he turned to face her, his beady eyes roaming over her figure. He was a thin man, almost frail-looking, but she knew he was surprisingly strong. She schooled her features into a stoic mask, praising herself for not stepping back when he stalked towards her, just as she admired her fortitude for not openly wincing when he smiled, revealing mangled, rotten teeth. He was as hideous on the outside as she knew him to be on the inside.

  “Ah, I see you have done quite well for yourself here,” he cooed.

  His voice grated on her ears, the high-pitched squeal sounding more like it belonged to a small girl than the twisted monster who stood before her.

  “What do you want, Atallus?”

  His gaze dropped to her breasts and she swallowed the rising bile as she forced herself not to slap his face.

  He shrugged. “I simply came to pay you a visit since I am in Sparta for—”

  “Yes, and why is that, seeing as my husband just left from Athens under the apparent guise of defending your feeble little city?”

  Like most Greeks, the Athenians were very proud of the state they’d built, and his sinister eyes instantly darkened at the insult to his city. “How dare you speak to me with such disrespect? You would never have dared as my slave—”

  “Well, seeing as I am not your slave, I can dare all I like. Either state your business or get out.”

  Malevolence crossed his face, but she did not flinch. He did not have the power to frighten her. He was a coward.

  “Thanos has let you run wild. You are nothing but a stupid cunt,” he spat out angrily, his eyes bloodshot red. “I would have broken you, Lamia. I would have broken you until all you did was crave my cock like the whore you are—”