Page 9 of Thawed Gladiator: Quintus (Awakened From the Ice #6)

Nicole

I wake up with purpose thrumming through my veins like caffeine, except this energy comes from somewhere deeper. Today’s the day I stop overthinking and start acting on what I want.

What I want is Quintus. The realization sits in my chest like a secret I’m finally ready to share.

Morning self-defense training provides the perfect opportunity. Maya’s drilling us on redirection techniques—the same moves Quintus demonstrated yesterday while making my pulse race with every careful touch. I could probably execute them flawlessly now, but that’s not the point.

The point is having a legitimate reason to seek him out.

I wait until training ends, and the other women drift toward the dining hall for lunch. Quintus is organizing equipment in the storage shed adjacent to the training yard, methodical as always, completely focused.

Perfect.

“Quintus?” My voice comes out steady despite the butterflies staging a riot in my stomach. “I was hoping you could show me that redirection move again. I think I’m doing it wrong.”

He looks up, something flickering in his expression—surprise, maybe, or interest. “Of course. But Maya said you executed it perfectly this morning.”

“Maya’s being kind. I felt off-balance during the sequence.” Not exactly a lie. I was definitely off-balance, just not in the way I’m implying.

“Let me see your form.”

He sets down the practice sword he’s been holding and steps into the training area. I follow, hyperaware of every inch between us, my skin too tight to contain me. Standing closer than necessary, I’m not overtly flirtatious, but I’m close enough that the air hums.

“Show me the problem.” His eyes track down my body—a professional assessment, though his gaze lingers just a beat too long.

I demonstrate, deliberately awkward so he’ll correct me. His hands settle on my hips, and the contact sends electricity darting up my spine.

“Ah. Your weight distribution is wrong. May I?”

“Please.”

His hands settle more firmly on my hips to adjust my stance. I let myself lean into the correction more than necessary, and feel him pause for just a moment before continuing the instruction.

“In the ludus, we learned to read opponents instantly—their strengths, weaknesses, where they’d break under pressure. With you, I see only strength taking root.”

He shifts his stance, one foot tracing a deliberate line across the mat as if marking out a path. “Better. The body must follow that line. Now—watch the hand position. Do you feel how the leverage turns in your favor?

“I think so. Maybe run through it once more?”

Something in his expression shifts—awareness creeping in that this might be about more than technique. But he doesn’t call me on it, just nods and positions himself as my practice partner.

“Remember, use my momentum against me.”

This time, when he grabs my wrist, I execute the move flawlessly, but I don’t step away afterward.

Instead, I stay in his space, close enough to see that his gray eyes are darker than usual and observe the slight catch in his breathing.

Every nerve feels caught in the charged air, like a live wire waiting to snap.

“Much better,” he says quietly, but he doesn’t release my wrist immediately. His thumb brushes across my pulse point—probably accidental, but my body doesn’t care. Heat races through me, swift and undeniable.

We freeze, his hand circling my wrist, both of us breathing harder than the exercise warrants. Then he steps back, professional mask restored.

“You learn quickly,” he says, tone layered.

“I’m a very hands-on learner.”

The double entendre hangs. His pupils dilate before he clears his throat and takes a half-step toward the shed.

“I should finish organizing.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

As I walk away, I feel his eyes on me. The knowledge sends a thrill through me—excitement Scott never gave me.

For once, I feel fully inside my own body instead of apologizing for it. Desired. Powerful. Alive.

The day becomes a dance of escalating attraction. At the stables, I make sure to dismount in a way that requires his steadying hand.

“Careful,” he murmurs, not removing his hands right away.

“Thanks for the save.”

“Always.”

The single word lands too heavily. Something dangerous coils in my stomach. I remind myself this is just attraction, not a future. Red flags wave, but I shove them down.

Evening finds me in my room with my laptop, reviewing the budget I’d just completed for a mock nonprofit proposal.

The numbers balanced perfectly, every line item justified, every calculation precise.

This was done entirely on my own—no help, no second-guessing, just my brain working exactly as it should.

I give myself a mental high-five—another example of my personal growth. Validation comes from me now, not borrowed from anyone else.

My phone buzzes with a text from Ava: How’s the gladiator situation?

What gladiator situation? I type back, though if we were FaceTiming, my expression would probably give me away.

Mom…

Fine. Maybe there is a situation.

DETAILS. NOW.

Instead of typing a response, I call her. She picks up on the first ring, her face appearing on screen with an expression of gleeful anticipation.

“Spill everything.”

“There’s nothing to spill yet. But I may have… expressed some interest today.”

“You what?” Her voice goes up an octave. “Mom, you’re actually flirting with a gladiator?”

“I’m testing the waters. Seeing if he’s interested.”

Ava squeals, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God, Mom. You’re actually doing this.”

“Don’t make it sound so outrageous,” I mutter, though even I can’t pull off the casual tone I’m going for.

“And?”

I think about the way his hands lingered on my skin, the way his breathing changed when I stood close, the heat in his eyes when I held his gaze a beat too long.

“I think he might be.”

“This is amazing! What’s he like?”

“Competent. Quiet. He fixes things.” I pause, trying to find words for the complexity I’ve discovered beneath his practical exterior. “He’s… different. Not what I expected.”

“Good different or concerning different?”

“Good different. Very good different.” The memory of his midnight singing surfaces, but that feels too private to share, even with Ava. “He makes me feel… capable. Like he sees me as an equal, not someone who needs managing.”

“That’s huge, Mom. That’s the difference between Dad and an actual partner.”

After we hang up, I sit with Ava’s words. Partnership versus management. Choice versus control. The difference between being seen as a problem to be solved and a person to be valued.

Quintus has never once made me feel like I need fixing. Even when he was literally fixing my broken window, it felt like helping, not rescuing.

Later, the dinner conversation swirls around me as I observe him from across the communal hall. He’s at his usual table with Thrax and Cassius, listening intently as Thrax describes some woodworking project.

“Any word from Draco?” Cassius asks quietly.

Quintus shakes his head. “Laura says he’s doing well.

Making money with street performances, but…

” He pauses, and concern creases his brow.

“He was always different from us. More curious about this world than the one we came from. He’d practice coin tricks while watching their television shows, trying to understand both the skill and the culture behind them.

I think he left to live among them, not just to learn about them.

But I worry he hides a loneliness none of us can quite outrun. ”

When someone interrupts with a question about the sanctuary’s security protocols, Quintus answers thoughtfully, giving the query his complete attention.

Other people seek his advice constantly—about practical problems, interpersonal conflicts, decisions large and small. He listens without judgment, offers solutions without condescension, and somehow makes everyone feel heard.

He’s exactly the kind of man I thought didn’t exist. Competent without being controlling. Strong without being intimidating. Present without being overwhelming.

Perfect, in other words. Ideal for casual fun.

Amazing sex doesn’t have to come with dangerous feelings. I’m in control of this—of my body, my choices, my desires. I’ve learned to throw men twice my size and ride horses and stand up for myself.

The rationalization feels solid as I watch him move through the dining hall—helping an older woman with her tray, pausing to listen when Flavius waves him over with some dramatic tale. Gentle humor softens his face, and he gives his full attention to whoever needs it.

But never overwhelming. Never demanding. Just quietly, competently present in whatever way people need him to be.

Which means he’ll probably be exactly what I need him to be, too—a partner for mutual pleasure without expectations or complications. Someone who can make me feel good about my body and my desires without trying to control either one.

As dinner winds down and people drift toward their evening activities, I make my decision. No more testing the waters. Time to jump in.

I catch up with him near the exit, timing it so we’re walking in the same direction.

“Would you like to take a walk?” The invitation comes out steadier than I expected, though my heart is hammering against my ribs. “The stars are beautiful tonight.”

He pauses, studying my face with an intensity that makes me wonder if he can see straight through to my intentions. Then he smiles—not the careful, polite expression I’m used to, but something warmer and more genuine.

“I’d like that.”

We fall into step together, heading toward the paths that wind around the sanctuary grounds. The evening air carries the scent of damp leaves laced with distant woodsmoke, and overhead, the Missouri sky sparkles with more stars than I’ve ever seen.

“You were right about the stars,” he says as we walk. “In the ludus, we rarely saw them clearly. Too much smoke, too many torches.”

“It must be strange, seeing how different the night sky looks now, between the lapse of so many years and the different geography.”

“Everything is strange. But not unpleasant.” He glances at me sideways. “Some things are quite… pleasant.”

The way he says it, with just enough emphasis to suggest he might be talking about more than astronomy, sends heat curling through my stomach.

My pulse stutters, and for a moment I’m afraid he can see everything written on my face.

I match his smile before I can stop myself—the kind of smile that feels like opening a door I won’t be able to close again.

We’re heading into uncharted territory now, both literally and figuratively. The path we’re following leads away from the main compound, toward the more secluded areas where I first heard him sing. Where privacy is possible and conversations can become something more.

My pulse races with anticipation and nerves, but for the first time in my life, I’m taking charge of my own desires. I’m the one initiating, the one choosing, the one deciding what I want and going after it.

It’s terrifying and exhilarating and absolutely addictive.

Whatever happens next, it’s happening because I made it happen. Because I decided I deserved to want someone and be wanted in return.

Because I’m finally alive enough to find out what I’ve been missing all these years.