Page 9 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius (Awakened From the Ice #3)

Chapter Nine

C assius

The memory replays in my mind for what must be the hundredth time since yesterday. A naked woman, her back arched invitingly, her voice husky with desire as she commands me in Latin. “ Futue me , Cassius.” Fuck me.

I’ve examined every detail, trying to squeeze more information from this tantalizingly brief glimpse into my past. Was she my wife? A lover? A prostitute? The setting suggests wealth—fine linens and ornate furniture glimpsed at the filmy edges of the memory. Was I a prostitute? A free man? If so, how did I fall into slavery?

Questions without answers. The harder I search, the less I see. It’s maddening.

Sighing, I push myself up from my bunk. My head throbs dully. A constant companion these days. The barracks are quiet; most of the others are already at breakfast. I should join them, but the thought of food doesn’t interest me.

Instead, I walk toward the corral. It’s not time for my session with Diana, but some part of me hopes to catch a glimpse of her. Pathetic, really. I’m acting like a lovesick boy, not a grown man—let alone a gladiator, if that’s what I was.

The sound of hoofbeats draws me closer. Diana sits astride Buddy, her body moving in perfect harmony with the horse as they weave between bright blue barrels. Her face is flushed with exertion, her hair flying wild behind her. But it’s her expression that catches my breath—pure, unbridled joy.

This is… glorious watching Diana and Buddy move as one. When she trills to the horse, the sound shoots straight through me, settling low in my belly. The morning sun catches in her hair, turning it to molten gold, and my fingers itch to discover if it’s as soft as it looks.

A bead of sweat trails down her neck, disappearing beneath her collar, and I follow its path with my eyes, imagining how her skin would taste there, where her pulse beats at her throat. The joy in her expression, the flush of exertion on her cheeks, the way her body moves with such natural grace—it’s intoxicating. More potent than any wine I can remember tasting.

But it’s more than mere physical attraction. The competence in her movements speaks to something deeper, more primal. This is a woman who knows her own strength, who commands respect not through force but through understanding. When she praises the horse, her voice warm and encouraging, I imagine that same tone directed at me, and my whole body responds.

I should look away. Should focus on something—anything—else. These feelings, this hunger, it can only lead to complications. She’s my teacher, my guide in this strange new world. I have nothing to offer her but confusion and broken memories.

Yet I can’t tear my eyes away from the picture she makes, so alive, so vibrant it almost hurts to look at her. My chest aches with the growing realization that I grow more attracted to her every day.

Laura and Varro didn’t invite Diana here as a meretrix to service the gladiators. She’s a professional, like Dr. Reid. What do I do with my attraction that’s almost grown to obsession? The smart thing would be to pull back, to keep a distance and let her work with me, just as she’s contracted to do. I should focus on my recovery and nothing else. But the thought of distancing myself from her, of giving up the moments of connection we share, is almost physically painful.

Diana dismounts gracefully, leading Buddy in a cool-down walk. She hasn’t noticed me yet, and I debate whether to make my presence known. In another life, I might have boldly approached, but uncertainty holds me back now. What could I possibly offer her—a man who can’t even remember who he is? I have nothing worthwhile to give except broken pieces and unanswered questions.