Page 17 of Thawed Gladiator: Quintus (Awakened From the Ice #6)
Quintus
I rise from bed with determination burning in my chest. I’ve been patient long enough. In the arena, reading opponents meant survival—understanding their motivations, recognizing patterns that revealed intentions. Nicole is protecting herself from something, and that something is us.
The training yard empties as participants head toward lunch, but I remain, watching Nicole gather her things with determined efficiency. She’s perfecting the art of being present while remaining untouchable. Patience has carried me as far as it can—I won’t wait in silence any longer.
“We need to talk. Really talk.”
My voice, though low, stops her. The other women continue toward the dining hall, their laughter and conversation fading as they leave us alone.
“Can’t it wait? I have assignments due, and Professor Muransky is expecting my grant proposal revisions by tonight.” She’s already backing away, but I shake my head.
“No. It can’t wait.”
There’s something in my tone—the firmness I once used in the arena when survival demanded action—that makes her pause.
This isn’t the patient, accommodating man who’s been letting her set all the terms. This is the gladiator who survived years of mortal combat by never surrendering what mattered most. And today, what matters most is her.
Her jaw visibly clenches, and I realize she’s been waiting for this conversation, dreading it, knowing it was inevitable.
“Fine. But somewhere private.”
I lead her toward the stables, past the main buildings to a quiet area near the equipment shed where we won’t be interrupted. The pounding in my chest is the same rhythm I carried into the arena before a fight that could decide my life.
“What are we doing here?” I ask without preamble, abandoning the careful diplomacy I’ve maintained for weeks. “Because this isn’t casual anymore, at least not for me.”
The directness hits her. She tries to mask it, but the flicker in her eyes betrays her. No gentle leading up to the topic, no careful phrasing. Just the truth she’s been avoiding.
“We agreed. No complications, no expectations.” She crosses her arms over her chest, building barriers. “You said you understood.”
“I tried to follow your rules.” My voice cracks with the frustration I’ve been swallowing for too long. “But I can’t pretend I don’t want more. Can’t pretend this is just sex when you’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing before I sleep.”
Panic flashes across her face—exactly what I was afraid of, the moment when casual becomes complicated, when someone starts wanting more than she feels safe giving.
“This was supposed to be simple!” Her voice cracks, panic breaking through the brittle calm she’s tried to maintain.
“Simple for who?” My hands clench at my sides. “You get everything you want—the physical connection, the emotional safety of someone who won’t push for more than you’re willing to give. And I get what’s left over.”
“That’s not entirely true, Quintus.”
“Isn’t it? You come to me in the night, take what you want, and then leave before the sun.
You treat me like a shadow—summoned when convenient, dismissed when daylight comes.
Not a man of flesh and bone who aches for more than sweat and release.
” The admission rips free like tearing sinew, more raw than any wound I ever carried from the sand.
She flinches as if I’ve struck her, and I realize the accusation hit home. She has been treating me like a convenience, something she can control completely. Did it never occur to her how this has touched me?
“I told you from the beginning this was temporary. I’m leaving when the program ends.”
“Are you? Because I heard Maya mention you were talking about staying for a second session. You’re taking online classes that don’t require you to be somewhere else.” I study her face, seeing the truth she won’t admit. “Sometimes it seems like you’re looking for reasons to stay.”
The observation lands hard because we both know it’s true. But admitting that means acknowledging she doesn’t want to leave, which leads to conversations she’s clearly not ready for.
“My life is in another state. I have commitments, responsibilities—”
“Excuses.” The word cuts through her protests. “What is it you fear from me, Nicole?”
Her mouth opens, then shuts, her jaw tightening like she’s holding back a scream.
Finally, the words rip free, ragged and sharp: “That I’ll disappear again.
That I’ll build my world around you and lose myself the way I did before—becoming what you need instead of who I am.
I just found myself again. I can’t lose that. ”
The confession slams into me with the weight of a mace I never saw coming. At last her fear has a name—and it’s me.
“I seek not your surrender, but your partnership,” I say gently. “To share in your triumphs, not diminish them.”
“You don’t understand.” Her voice cracks despite her efforts to stay controlled. “When I love someone, I disappear. I become what they need instead of who I am. I just found myself again—I can’t lose that.”
The pain in her voice hits me harder than any gladius ever did. No wonder she’s terrified of vulnerability.
“So you’ll throw away something real because you’re afraid it might not be perfect?”
The question hangs between us like a challenge. I watch her internal battle—the part that wants to trust warring with the part that remembers being broken.
“We should end this.” The words seem to tear something essential from her chest. “Clean breaks heal faster than drawn-out endings.” The moment splinters between us, sharp and jagged, leaving me bleeding though no wound mars my skin.
The pronouncement steals my breath, crushing my chest with the weight of loss, but I force myself to remain still—because in the arena, showing weakness invited death, and here, showing desperation would confirm her worst fears.
“If that’s what you truly want,” I say, each word deliberate and weighted. “But understand—I am not accepting this because I agree with your reasoning. I am accepting it because I respect your right to choose, even when that choice breaks both our hearts.”
The words scrape my throat raw, because all I want is to beg her to stay. To drop to my knees like a gladiator broken in the sand, stripped of everything but pain. But gladiators don’t beg—they bleed in silence. And the silence now feels louder than any Colosseum crowd I ever faced.
Something flickers in her eyes—surprise, maybe even doubt—but she nods once and turns toward the path back to the main buildings.
“Nicole.”
She stops but doesn’t turn around.
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Strong enough to love someone without losing yourself.” Letting my voice carry all the conviction I feel, I add, “I hope someday you’ll believe that too.”
I watch her walk away, every step taking her further from the best thing that’s happened to me in over two millennia. In the arena, I faced men twice my size with blades thirsting for my blood, but none of them left me this gutted. None of them ever walked away carrying my heart in their hands.
But this isn’t the arena. My enemy isn’t Nicole—it’s the ghosts she still carries, the phantoms of a past that still dictate her future. And sometimes the strongest thing a warrior can do is give ground, let the opponent reveal their true position.
She thinks she’s protecting herself from losing her identity. What she’s actually doing is throwing away the first person who’s ever wanted to enhance it.
The realization settles in my chest like armor—heavy but necessary protection for what comes next. This isn’t over. Not because I won’t accept her choice, but because that choice was made from fear rather than wisdom.
I’ve faced death itself and emerged victorious. Fear won’t defeat me now. The woman who’s been learning to fight for herself will eventually realize she’s worth fighting for.
Until then, I’ll do what gladiators do best—endure, survive, and wait for the right moment to strike.
Some battles are too important to lose. And surrender has never lived in me—not in the arena, and not now. This is not defeat, only the pause before the next advance.