Page 14 of Thawed Gladiator: Lucius
In the car, he finally lowers the jacket, blinking as his eyes adjust. Dust coats us both, making him look like he’s been dipped in ash.
“Well,” I say with forced lightness, “that was more excitement than I planned.”
“Indeed,” he replies, a hint of humor touching his lips. “Though the experience was… illuminating in unexpected ways.”
“The ritual you performed—it wasn’t what I expected. Simple. Respectful.”
“Most genuine spiritual practices are,” he says. “The theatrical elements humans add serve their needs for spectacle, not the spirits’.”
The gentle rebuke strikes home. How much of my podcast falls into exactly that category?
“Thank you,” I say finally. “For sharing that with me. And for shoving me out of the way of that falling beam.”
“You’re welcome.” His eyes hold mine, searching. “You were honest back there. About your motivations, about who you are.”
“Being nearly crushed tends to cut through the bullshit,” I admit with a weak laugh.
“Indeed.” His hand reaches up, brushing dust from my cheek with unexpected gentleness. “The question is whether that honesty survives beyond the moment of danger.”
The touch of his fingers sends electricity darting through me. My breath catches.
“I guess you’ll have to stick around to find out,” I say breathlessly.
Something shifts in his expression—interest, perhaps? Then he withdraws his hand. “Perhaps I will.”
The simple withdrawal of his touch leaves my skin tingling where his fingers brushed my cheek. I find myself leaning slightly forward, drawn by the warmth radiating from his bodydespite the cool night air. The scent of him makes me want to close the remaining distance between us.
This is dangerous territory. I’m supposed to be documenting his story, not becoming part of it.
Chapter Six
Raven
The Second Chance Sanctuary is bathed in soft morning light as I ease through the gates, my car loaded with carefully chosen supplies. After yesterday’s scare in the mine, I spent half the night researching—digging up specialized sunscreen, UV-protective clothing, and sunglasses designed for people with extreme light sensitivity.
I got a few hours of sleep, then visited the sporting goods store in nearby Arcadia early enough to arrive before lunchtime.
A guard at the gate—not one I recognize from my previous visit—eyes me suspiciously before calling someone on his radio. Minutes later, Laura appears, her practical clothing and no-nonsense demeanor radiating efficiency.
“Raven, right?” She extends a hand. “Lucius mentioned you might be stopping by.”
“I brought some things for him.” The explanation sounds flimsy even to my ears. “After yesterday, I realized he might need better protection from the sun.”
Laura’s expression softens slightly. “That’s… unexpectedly thoughtful. He’s in the training yard with the others.”
Following her through the compound reveals a place utterly different from what I’d imagined. Instead of the clinical research facility portrayed in news reports, Second Chance resembles a working farm mixed with a high-end security compound. Gardens flourish alongside training areas where men, and a few women, move through combat exercises with fluid precision.
My pulse quickens as I spot Lucius among them, his pale form unmistakable even from a distance. Despite wearing only a simple loincloth that leaves little to the imagination, he commands attention through sheer presence rather than modesty.
My mouth goes dry watching the interplay of muscle beneath his pale skin, the controlled power in every calculated movement. The sight of him like this—primal, focused, beautiful in his lethal grace—sends heat arcing through me that has nothing to do with the morning sun. I have to remind myself to breathe as I watch him pivot and strike, his body a study in functional strength that makes my pulse race for reasons entirely unrelated to our professional arrangement.
He moves through some kind of defensive routine with a massive partner—a mountain of a man with a huge tat on his back of what looks like an ancient Roman woman in flowing, colorful robes. It does a fairly good job of hiding what looks like hundreds of scars, although I had to look hard to see them.
“That’s Thrax,” Laura explains, following my gaze. “He and Lucius traveled on theFortunatogether.”
Their movements look almost choreographed—beautiful despite their obvious lethality. Though outmatched in size, Lucius moves with swift, surgical precision—each motion calculated and exact.
“Impressive, aren’t they?” Laura’s voice carries pride. “Two thousand years asleep, and their muscle memory remained intact.”
