Page 20 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius (Awakened From the Ice #3)
Chapter Twenty
D iana
The pounding of hoofbeats jerks my attention from mundane morning routines. Outside, my heart leaps to my throat at the sight of Cassius on Atlas, flying across the field at a full gallop.
My first instinct is to jump on Buddy and race after them, but I stay rooted in place, transfixed by their fluid movement. This isn’t the halting trot I’ve grown used to watching—the one where Cassius sometimes looks like he’ll bounce right out of the saddle. This is something else entirely. Man and horse move as one, their grace stealing my breath.
My emotions whirl like autumn leaves caught in a gust. Fear hits first, sharp and urgent as a knife. What if he falls? What if Atlas stumbles? Months of careful progress could shatter in an instant.
But as I watch him navigate the terrain, leaping over obstacles as though they were nothing more than shadows on the ground, my fear gives way to something closer to awe. Gone is the cautious, uncertain Cassius I’ve come to know. In his place rides a man utterly in his element, confident and powerful.
When he leans into a turn, his body moving in perfect harmony with Atlas, heat floods my cheeks, then flashes to other, more sexual parts of my body. The strength in his thighs as he grips the horse, the flex of his arms as he controls the reins, the wild joy written across his face—it’s enough to make my knees weak.
In the far field, as they race through knee-high grass and wildflowers, I try to gather my scattered thoughts. Part of me wants to scold him when he returns, to remind him of the risks he’s taking. But I push that impulse aside. He’s a grown man, not one of our troubled teens. And, I remind myself with a touch of irony, he’s technically my elder by about two thousand years.
Still, as I watch him guide Atlas back toward the barn, I can’t help but worry. This is a side of Cassius I haven’t seen before—wild, untamed, worlds away from the careful, considerate man I’ve grown attached to.
He brings Atlas to a stop in front of me, chest heaving, handsome face flushed with exertion and excitement. For a moment, we just stare at each other. I’m struck by how alive he looks, how present in his own body.
“Diana,” he says, dismounting with surprising grace. “You look… petrified. I’m sorry if I worried you.”
He’s sorry for scaring me, sure, but not for what he did. The thrill of the ride still dances in his eyes, evident in the way he stands taller, with more confidence.
I take a deep breath, pushing down the urge to lecture him. “Are you okay?” I ask instead, proud of how steady my voice sounds.
He nods, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Better than okay. I feel… like myself.”
His words hit me like a physical blow. Like himself. But which self? The man I’ve come to know over these past weeks—the one I’m falling for—or the one from his memories, the one who killed lions for sport?
The man I just saw ride like the wind isn’t the same one who needed help grooming a horse just a few months ago. He’s someone new—or perhaps someone very, very old.
As Cassius’s green eyes, still bright with the lingering excitement of his ride, focus on me, I realize I’m standing on a precipice. The Cassius I’ve come to care for is changing, evolving. The question is, am I ready for who he might become?