Page 16 of Thawed Gladiator: Quintus (Awakened From the Ice #6)

Quintus

Something has shifted, and I can’t pinpoint exactly when it happened. But the balance between us is wrong now—like a sword weighted off-center, every movement threatening to slip from my grasp.

During this morning’s self-defense training, I watch Nicole execute a perfect defensive sequence against Alaric, her technique flawless and her confidence evident.

But when she catches me observing from across the yard, she offers only a brief nod before turning her attention back to Maya’s instruction.

A few days ago, that same accomplishment would have earned me a radiant smile, maybe even a subtle request for additional feedback later. Now she seems determined to keep our interactions purely professional during daylight hours.

“Excellent form today,” I tell her as the session ends and participants head toward the dining hall for lunch.

“Thank you.” Her response is polite but distant, like I’m any other instructor offering routine encouragement. The distance cuts sharper than steel, and I have no defense against it. “Maya’s been pushing us harder lately. It’s paying off.”

She falls into step with Jessica and Karen, immediately engaging them in animated conversation about their upcoming learning module. The message is clear—she has no interest in talking privately with me.

I study her interactions throughout the day, searching for clues to explain this gradual withdrawal. She’s present physically but emotionally absent, going through the motions of our arrangement while keeping her heart carefully locked away.

This evening, she comes to my quarters as she has for the past week.

The sex is still incredible—if anything, more intense because of the emotional distance she’s trying to maintain.

Her body yields with urgency, but the intimacy feels like combat where the rules keep shifting, every touch both an invitation and a withdrawal.

She takes me with fierce determination, like she’s trying to burn away her feelings through physical pleasure, but won’t meet my eyes when she reaches her peak. Afterward, she pulls away, dressing quickly, leaving silence where our conversations used to be.

“Stay,” I suggest as she reaches for her clothes. “We could talk.”

“I have an assignment due tomorrow. Need to get back to it.” Her smile is apologetic but firm. “Rain check?”

She’s gone before I can respond, leaving me staring at the door and wondering when passionate connection started feeling like a scheduled appointment she’s fulfilling out of obligation rather than desire.

The feeling isn’t entirely unfamiliar. This sense of being needed but not truly wanted.

The memory surfaces unbidden—year seven in the ludus. Maximus lay dying in the corner where they’d dumped him after his final fight, stomach ripped open by a retiarius’s trident. The ludus doctor had shrugged—too much damage, not worth the cost of trying to save a gladiator past his prime.

I should have walked away. Should have preserved my strength for my own survival. Yet I stayed, rooted beside him in the stinking darkness, using my water ration to clean wounds that would never heal.

“Why?” he’d gasped, blood frothing at the corners of his mouth. “Why waste… your time on… a dead man?”

I’d had no answer then that made sense. But sitting there, holding pressure on wounds that wouldn’t close, singing the old songs my mother had taught me, I felt something settle in my chest. Purpose.

Control. When everything else was chaos and death and the whims of masters who saw us as livestock, this was something I could do. Someone I could ease.

He died anyway, of course. But he died hearing music instead of screams. Died knowing someone thought he was worth the effort.

After that, they came to me more often. The young ones with nightmares, the injured ones the doctor abandoned, the broken ones who just needed someone to acknowledge their humanity.

Fixing their problems became my way of fixing what I couldn’t fix about my own life.

Every person I helped was proof that I was more than a weapon, more than property.

It gave me the illusion of control when I actually had none.

But in the ludus, I understood the transaction. They needed help. I provided it, and in return I felt human instead of monstrous. Clear boundaries, honest exchange.

With Nicole, the lines blur in ways that make a band of pressure clamp around my ribs. She comes to me with the same physical hunger as always, but disappears emotionally the moment we catch our breath. She gives her body but guards her heart with walls that seem to grow higher each day.

It’s not enough anymore. A realization settles in my chest like a stone. Its weight drags at every breath, heavier than chains, because I know I can no longer accept scraps of her heart while giving her all of mine.

When dawn comes, the training yard calls to me, offering familiar comfort as I work through combat forms with Thrax. Muscle memory guides movements while my mind puzzles over Nicole’s withdrawal.

“You’re distracted,” Thrax observes as he blocks a strike that should have been faster.

“Thinking.”

“About her.” It’s not a question.

I adjust my grip on the practice sword, finding my center again. “She’s retreating. I can’t determine why.”

“What does your combat instinct tell you?”

The question focuses my thoughts as we circle each other.

“She connects, then withdraws. Advances, then retreats.” The pattern becomes clearer as I articulate it. “She’s protecting herself from something.”

Thrax presses an attack that requires my full attention to counter. “From what?”

“That’s what I cannot see. The enemy she’s fighting exists in her past, not in this moment.” I redirect his momentum, using his strength against him. “She’s battling ghosts.”

We separate, both breathing hard from the exertion. Thrax removes his translator earpiece and speaks in Latin, voice pitched low.

“Sometimes the fiercest warriors are the ones who’ve been broken before. They know exactly how much damage love can do.”

His words carry the weight of personal experience. Skye had needed time to trust too, had pulled away when their connection deepened beyond what felt safe.

“How long did you wait?”

“As long as it took. But I also made sure she knew I was fighting for us, not just accepting whatever scraps she offered.” Thrax cleans his practice sword with methodical care. “Patience without action is just surrender wearing a different name.”

The wisdom stays with me as evening settles over the sanctuary, and I find myself at dinner with my gladiator brothers.

Varro and Cassius join us after settling their respective families for the night—a reminder of what’s possible when patience and courage align.

The conversation flows in Latin, the language we use when discussing matters of the heart.

“She’s afraid,” I tell them without preamble. “But I can’t determine what she fears most.”

“Have you asked her?” Varro’s question is gentle but pointed.

“She insists everything is fine. Says she’s focused on her studies.

But I know evasion when I hear it—I’ve watched men on their deathbeds whisper ‘it’s nothing’ with blood bubbling from their lips.

” I push food around my plate without appetite.

“Meanwhile, she gives herself completely to me when we are in bed together.”

Cassius winces in sympathy. “She pulls back emotionally while maintaining physical intimacy, as if walls can protect her from wanting more.”

“What could change her mind?”

“You could stop accepting less than what you both deserve.” Cassius’s green eyes are serious. “Sometimes you have to fight for what matters. Not against her, but for her—for the relationship you both want, but she’s too scared to reach for.”

Thrax nods agreement. “Fear makes people do foolish things. The question is whether you’re willing to risk everything to show her that the right person amplifies who you are instead of shrinking you.”

“In the arena, I never surrendered when victory mattered,” I say slowly. “But this feels different. More complex.”

“Because the stakes are higher,” Varro observes. “In combat, you risked your life. Here, you’re risking your heart.”

The truth of it settles over me like armor—heavy but necessary protection for what comes next.

“She’s afraid of losing herself,” Cassius continues. “Show her that loving you makes her more of who she is, not less.”

“And if she still chooses fear over courage?”

“Then you’ll know you tried everything,” Thrax says simply. “But my money’s on her being stronger than her fears, once she realizes what she’s about to throw away.”

Their words follow me back to my quarters, where I spend the dark hours staring at the ceiling and acknowledging what I’ve been avoiding for days.

I’m tired of this—tired of emotional games, tired of pretending that physical connection without emotional honesty is enough.

Like my brothers, I crave partnership, real intimacy, a love that’s all or nothing.

I want everything. I’m tired of accepting scraps.

In the arena, survival meant never giving up on what mattered most—life, freedom, the slim hope that someday the fighting would end.

Those instincts served me well for decades of mortal combat, and Nicole matters more than my own life ever did.

She’s worth fighting for, even if the enemy I’m facing is her own fear.

The gladiator who survived the Colosseum by refusing to yield doesn’t surrender just because the battle moved from sand to heart. Thrax is right. Some fights are too important to lose through inaction.

Tomorrow, I’ll demand honesty—from her and from myself. No more careful diplomacy, no more respecting boundaries that serve no one’s best interests. If she wants casual, she’ll have to explain why. If she’s afraid, she’ll have to name her fears.

And if she chooses to end this rather than risk vulnerability, at least I’ll know I didn’t lose her through cowardice.

The decision settles in my chest like armor clicking into place before a crucial battle. Better to risk losing her by being honest than lose myself by accepting less than what we both deserve.

For the first time in days, the storm inside me stills.

Resolve spreads through my body the way strength used to fill every muscle before stepping into the arena—terrifying, yet clarifying.

I know what I want. I know what I will fight for.

And the man who once survived the roar of the Colosseum refuses to shrink now, not when love is the prize.

Dawn finds me in the training yard earlier than usual, working through forms with the kind of focused intensity I once reserved for preparation before major arena bouts.

My brothers arrive for their own morning routines and give me a wide berth—they recognize the signs of a gladiator preparing for battle.

By the time the sanctuary comes fully alive with morning activities, I’ve made peace with my decision. Fear has governed this situation long enough—mine and hers.

Time to discover what lies on the other side of honesty. Time to find out if the woman who’s been learning to fight for herself is ready to fight for us.

The morning sun catches the windows of the guest quarters, and somewhere behind one of them, Nicole is probably getting ready for another day of careful distance and emotional walls.

Not today. Today, we face this honestly, whatever the cost. The Colosseum sand may be gone, but the battle is real—and I will not yield until I know whether love can survive the fight.