Page 57 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

“Her team created a false electronic trail leading the security forces toward Oklahoma. Meanwhile, we—well, Dara—had federal agents stationed along the likely pursuit route to check vehicles for customs violations. Legitimate enough to delay them without revealing our involvement.”

“And the tribal lands? Did you do anything to help them escape retribution?” I would hate for the tribe to suffer for saving our lives.

“Protected. Joseph’s people filed immediate complaints with three separate federal agencies about unauthorized surveillance on sovereign land. Even pharmaceutical companies hesitate to openly violate tribal sovereignty with federal scrutiny involved.”

It’s only when my body relaxes that I realize I’ve been worried about Joseph, Sarah, and the others more than I care to admit.

When my father shifts uncomfortably, all eyes turn to him. After an awkward moment, Varro steps forward.

“You brought our brother home,” he says simply. “Whatever else lies between us can wait until everyone has rested.”

After we eat, as Laura leads us toward our quarters, I catch glimpses of the life they’ve built here. A training area combines modern equipment with traditional methods—I can’t wait to see it in action. Gardens and workshops suggest self-sufficiency. Everything speaks of ancient wisdom adapting to modern needs.

“There’s a small cabin on the north edge for your father,” Laura mentions quietly. “Varro thought he might want some space… and you two might want some privacy.” I nod gratefully, watching as another sanctuary member guides my dad toward his temporary quarters.

She leads us to what I can only describe as a tiny home. It’s small and rustic and set back from the testosterone-filled barracks. It has everything we need. A large bed, a sitting area, and windows overlooking the valley to the north and the horse corral to the south.

There’s a small kitchen and table laden with fruit, wine, bread, and dried meats—things I assume Damian will find comforting—everything we need to finally rest without fear.

“Shower, sleep, and relax—possibly for the first time since you woke up.” Laura’s kind gaze lands on Damian.

The moment she’s gone, Damian pulls me close. The tension he’s been carrying since the reunion finally eases.

“You’re home,” I whisper against his chest, even as I wonder what my place is here. Do I belong? Have I even been invited?

“Is this home?” His arms tighten around me. “I only know one thing. Home is where you are, Maya. The rest… that will take time to sort through.”

Outside our window, the sun shines over Second Chance sanctuary. Somewhere out there, corporate forces still search. My father still needs to face the consequences of his choices. And Damian must find his place among brothers who knew him in another life.

But for now, we have this moment. This peace. This chance to breathe without fear for the first time in what feels like forever.

Chapter Forty-Five

Maya

We’re now in our own private sanctuary within a sanctuary. Damian’s eyes find mine in the soft lamplight, his gaze carrying such tender intensity that my breath catches.

Taking my hand he gently pulls me to the table and sits with me on his lap. A sudden growl in my stomach and an answering growl from Damian’s has us both smiling. He reaches for a grape just as I reach for a piece of cheese. We hold our offerings to each other’s lips, our gazes never faltering from each other. We take our time feeding each other, quenching our thirst, reveling in the quiet with the pressures of the past weeks blessedly gone.

“Maya,” he says with the same gravity he might use in prayer to his patron Goddess, Tyche. In just one word, he conveys everything we’ve been through together—every lie, every truth, every hardship, and every moment of connection.

“After our journey, perhaps we should…” his eyes drift toward the bathroom with meaning.

“Yes,” I breathe. We’ve waited so long for this, I want everything to be perfect and unhurried.

Soon, steam is filling the small bathroom as water cascades from the shower head. Damian’s hands are gentle as he helps me undress, his fingers lingering at each button, each clasp.

His touch is reverent, as though he’s unwrapping something infinitely precious. When he kneels to help me step out of my pants, his lips brush my hip bone, sending shivers up my spine and spiking my desire.

I return the favor, my hands trembling slightly as I help him out of his clothes. Even after all we’ve shared, the sight of him still takes my breath away—the perfect sculpture of his muscles, the scars that tell his story, the evidence of his desire for me growing more obvious with each passing moment.

Under the spray of hot water, we take turns washing each other. His strong hands work shampoo through my hair, massaging my scalp with such tenderness that my eyes flutter closed. I lean back against his chest, feeling his hardness press against me.

“Turn,” he whispers, his voice low and husky.

I do, and his hands slide soap-slick across my shoulders, down my arms, then move to my breasts. His touch is purposeful but unhurried, thumbs circling my nipples until they tighten into hard peaks that ache for more attention.

“Damian,” I sigh, as his hands drift lower, tracing the curve of my waist, the flare of my hips.

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