Mark of the Gladiator by Vane Violetta & Belleau Heidi

Author:Vane, Violetta & Belleau, Heidi [Vane, Violetta]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: erotic MM, Romance MM
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2012-11-23T23:00:00+00:00

The next morning, Anazâr was escorted through the city under the light guard of Quintus and the cousins whom Anazâr hadn’t seen since the baths. A quiet indignity, quickly overshadowed by the fact that when they arrived at the domus, Quintus had him shackled, offering no explanation or apology. The weighted metal of the cuffs dragged on his wrists, heavier than their size would suggest. It pulled the rigidness out of his shoulders and neck and left him slumped and hunched like a beaten animal.

The night before seemed a distant dream, though one he was desperate to recall in every detail, haunted as he was by the fragile image of Felix’s last strange, tentative smile as he slipped out the window on his makeshift rope.

Anazâr followed Quintus through the silent, strangely empty house, back to the garden where Marianus sat half-dressed on a stool at the head of a dainty man-made pond, attended by a young male body slave who massaged glistening oil into his chest and shoulders. Despite the tranquil setting and the slave’s ministrations, he didn’t look remotely relaxed.

And he didn’t even deign to look up when Quintus cleared his throat to announce their arrival. Just said, “Have him kneel.”

Quintus’s foot jabbed at the back of Anazâr’s knee, but Anazâr knelt of his own accord before he could be knocked into position. He lowered his head, awaiting his master’s judgment.

“Leave us.”

The moments it took the footsteps to recede stretched like whole days, but finally they were alone. Anazâr still didn’t look up.

He knows. He knows about Amanikhabale’s lies. About Aelia’s infidelity. He knows about Felix. About our—

“My brother-in-law thinks I should have you all killed. Sent to the cross before anyone else in your pit of snakes can be convinced to rise against me.” Marianus sighed. “But I’m too damn softhearted and I . . . I’m fond of you, Cyrenaicus. Against my better judgment, it seems. And no matter how often my advisors tell me I should just have you killed, I can’t shake the feeling that sparing your life and trusting your loyalty will increase both our fortunes in the long run. That we rise or fall together, and as a freedman, you will honor me with the kind of loyalty a slave can never offer. But I need you to get to the bottom of this and prove yourself worthy of the gifts I so desperately want to give you. Do you understand?”

Cold fear settled into hot shame. How could he ever think this generous, overtaxed man a murderer? “Yes, Dominus,” Anazâr murmured.

“Now is the time to prove it, then. Tell me what you’ve learned.”

Anazâr’s heart pounded, pulse throbbing in his forehead. That morning, before Quintus had come to collect him, he’d spoken with Amanikhabale. She’d given up on the “talking in her sleep” story for what she promised was the truth but was likely just a more convincing lie.

The truth—he was kneeling alone in the vastness of the desert, taunted by mirages. Would he really become complicit in her deception? Betray his master that way? No choice.

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