It wasn't until the small hours of the morning that I was able to return to my room. I would need to move quickly if I wanted to get beyond the city walls before daybreak.

After the gladiator match, the guests had mingled for a while longer, trailing home in twos and threes until all that remained were those so drunk they couldn't even find their feet, much less their houses. I would need to move carefully.

I was careful not to rush to my room—to appear as worn down and bedraggled as the other slaves. But as soon as I crossed the threshold and shut the door behind me, I became a whirlwind of movement.

I lit the small stub of candle sitting on the floor and knelt beside my pallet, feeling along the edge for the seam I had created. Nestled amongst the straw were the few things I had managed to steal to aid in my escape. A small dagger I had lifted from a vendor at the market several days ago, some of the hard biscuits we were rationed, bits of cheese taken from the pantry.

And an old toga of Mistress' I was supposed to be mending.

It wasn't much, but I only needed it to get me out of Rome. After that, I would have to hope the countryside kept me fed.

I had barely popped the first thread when the door to my room banged open and a man came stumbling in. Cursing every god I could think of, I leapt to my feet.

The door slammed and the man whirled, lunging at the door. He collided with the wood just as the lock clicked. He slammed both fists against it and yelled, "I'm to be returned by daybreak. Your master has no right!"

"Oh, you'll be returned, gladiator." I recognized the voice of Gemellus, one of the guards. "My mistress wished to give you a small gift for your performance." There was a nasty chuckle, then the sound of retreating footsteps.

"Puffed up bastard," the gladiator hissed. He shoved his shoulder against the door, but the lock only rattled. Finally, he turned, freezing when his eyes landed on me. The surprise melted into disdain. "A gift," he muttered. "Right."

I didn't know what to do. The dagger was still hidden away in the pallet. Even if I did manage to get to it, what good would it do? I'd just watched him fight a few short hours ago. He was much stronger than me, lean muscle corded over ever inch of his body. Bile rose in my throat as I realized how defenseless I was.

The gladiator scoffed as I shrank back against the wall. "No offense," he said with a sigh as he lowered himself to the ground, back resting against the cool stone, "but you're not really the type that interests me."

I blinked a few times, not understanding at first. The gladiator leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes. The bruise on his chest was now purple and black, spreading out from the point where the shield had hit him. He lightly probed at it, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow.

When he didn't move for a few long seconds, I relaxed, eyes darting toward my pallet, then to the door. Hatred bubbled in me. At the master, at the gladiator currently standing between me and freedom, at Rome in general.

"There are other girls," I said stiffly, sickened by myself but desperate enough to say the words.

A smile twitched at his mouth as he shook his head.

"Or do you prefer men?" I crossed my arms, wanting any way to rid myself of this new complication. "Either way, I'm sure something can be arranged."

The gladiator opened his eyes, nose wrinkling in amusement. "No," he said with a laugh. "No, I don't prefer men." He heaved a sigh, wincing. "Mostly I just want to rest. It's been a long day and I'm tired."

Now it was my turn to scoff. The gladiator cocked his head back so he could look me in the eye. He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his lips. "Unless you want me to take you to bed?" His smile changed to a slash of a grin. "If that's the case, I suppose I could muster up the energy."

I sneered. "I thought I didn't interest you?"

He laughed outright, then gasped and winced, a hand going to the bruise on his chest. His skin grew pale and he gritted his teeth against the pain. "If he cracked my ribs again, I'll slit his godsdamned throat," he muttered under his breath. Then he looked at me again. "Saying I'm not interested in you, specifically, isn't exactly right."

I risked lowering myself to the ground, kneeling uncertainly beside the candle. I heard a soft intake of breath, but when I looked up, the gladiator had his eyes closed again.

"You're beautiful," he murmured. "I saw you in the crowd, watching. Gilded in torchlight. Stunning."

I was shocked by the blush rising in my cheeks. I was by no means innocent, but I had never been complimented like that by a man. Oh, the master had told me I was beautiful. Between panting breaths whenever he used me as he saw fit.

This was a far cry from that.

"But you're...not interested?" I couldn't stop my confusion and curiosity. The part of me that's Abby was dryly amused by how this mirrored my time with Deniel.

The gladiator leaned forward so that the glow of the candle fell fully over his face. Something inside me stuttered at the familiar green color of his irises. 

It was no longer a shock. Abby had fully expected to be confronted by that gaze. But it didn't bring the comfort I had expected. Mostly, it brought longing. Heartache. Fear against the inevitable pain of separation. I didn't want to wake up with another broken heart.

I still couldn't stop myself from being curious.

"I'm not interested in forcing myself on anyone," he said. "I don't need to."

My eyebrows shot toward my hairline and I must have made some sound of disbelief because a smug smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You don't believe me?"

"I'm not sure that I care," I said with a shrug, though that wasn't exactly true.

Something on the gladiator's face said he could see right through me. He leaned a little farther forward, voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Entertaining the masses isn't all I'm good for. There are plenty of rich matrons who pay handsomely for me to give them what their fat, old husbands can't."

A laugh bubbled in my throat and I covered my mouth to stifle it. But my mirth was soon replaced with sympathy. Perhaps pity. He tilted his head curiously at my sudden sobriety.

With an apologetic grimace, I said, "And you don't mind that? Playing the part of a...a w-whore."

His smile faded and he leaned back against the wall. He traced the bruise on his chest. "I suppose I simply got used to it. I'm a whore one way or the other." He snorted. "At least with the matrons I don't need to bleed to please them. At least there is some pleasure in it for me." 

I didn't know what to say in response. The gladiator seemed to sense that because he let out a soft laugh. "Please don't pity me. My lot isn't so terrible as you might think."

"Knowing that you might die with people screaming for your blood isn't terrible?" I asked, incredulous. 

"That's better than dying because your master loses his temper and beats you to death," he snapped. "Or sells you to the salt mines where they work you into a shallow grave. Or starving in the hot sun, working to feed him and every other free son of a bitch."

I shrank back at his outburst, my heart leaping into a startled gallop.

"Please," he said, lowering his voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you." He offered another smile. "We don't really die all that often. That costs too much money." A soft laugh gusted from him. "Truth be told, most of our battles are choreographed beforehand. Practiced over and over to give the masses a good show."

"That's why the battle didn't end sooner!"

He jumped slightly at my raised voice, brows furrowing. 

I laughed. "Early into the match, you had a perfect shot to draw first blood. It confused me when you didn't."

The gladiator blinked slowly, then gave me a new kind of grin—a joyful one. "Yes. Janus was supposed to win tonight. But then he decided to change the script and slammed his shield into my chest. I couldn't let that go unpunished."

He touched the bruise as he spoke.

I bit my lip, feeling time steadily slipping away from me. "Does that hurt?"

"Some," he said. "Not as bad as this did." He pointed at a slashing scar down the side of his throat. "I caught the end of a laquearius' noose here. He'd studded the rope with little barbs." Then he pointed at a scar carving across his bicep. "This nearly severed the muscle. A lucky blow from a secutor."

I let out a small sigh, glancing at the candle. There was an hour's worth of wax left. 

"Perhaps you should sleep?" I said, trying to keep my voice nonchalant. "You might as well rest since you're stuck here."

He was silent for so long I thought he might just refuse me. Then, he got to his feet and drew closer. I held my ground, even when he knelt in front of me, barely half a foot away. I gasped in horror when his hand went immediately to the seam in the pallet.

His green eyes flashed up to mine when his fingers met the hard edge of the dagger hidden in the straw.

Fear began to sing in my veins as he gripped the edges of the seam and tore it open, revealing the things I'd stolen.

The gladiator stared down at the dagger, toga and provisions for a long time before he looked up.

"Going somewhere, are we?"