Page 65 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro (Awakened From the Ice #1)

A modern woman unraveling an ancient mystery…

Skye never imagined her programming skills would lead her to Thrax, a Roman gladiator preserved in ice for two thousand years. As she introduces him to the 21st century, she finds herself falling for this primal warrior in a dangerous world.

But when a ruthless scientist threatens to expose their secret, Skye must fight to protect not just her heart, but Thrax’s freedom, future… and his very life.

…a gladiator awakening to a second chance…

Thrax opens his eyes to a world he doesn’t recognize--that wants him dead. Compassionate Skye becomes his only anchor. As he struggles to find his place, he discovers a chance at love and freedom he never dreamed possible.

Yet the modern world holds dangers he’s ill-equipped to face, threatening to destroy his newfound peace.

…and a love story that rewrites history…

As Skye and Thrax’s relationship deepens, they must navigate not only their own fears and doubts but also a world unprepared for their reality. Is their love strong enough to challenge the rules of both past and present?

Chapter One

Skye

If I could have turned down this assignment and still kept my job, I would have vehemently refused. My immediate boss said this order came all the way from the top, Dara Hobson herself. Why the world’s third richest person would get involved with a low-level programmer like me is above my pay grade.

Luckily, NextGenTech sweetened their demand with a generous bonus, free room and board, plus a per diem that would let me live like a queen. I couldn’t refuse the command to leave the country to work ‘on loan,’ even though the project is so hush-hush I have no idea what I’ll be doing or who I’ll be doing it for.

So here I am, climbing out of a limo in front of a hospital in Switzerland. I guess I shouldn’t be too angry. It’s beautiful here in mid-summer, the temp is nice, and in all honesty, I don’t have a lot waiting for me back home.

Usually, I sit in my cube at the office, or, better yet, work from home Tuesday through Thursday. Although I try to stay out of the blow-back zone, keep my head down, and do my job, I’m aware that corporate espionage is common, especially in high tech. But the amount of secrecy surrounding this trip and my new duties has been astounding.

Although they’ve kept me in the dark, the last thing I expected was to wind up at a hospital. My mind flies with hypotheses as the limo driver pulls my two roller bags out of the trunk. With no more clarity than I’ve had since they ordered me on this assignment, I decide I might as well march through the door marked "Ancillary Services," and find out just what I’ve gotten myself into.

Perhaps the driver radioed ahead, because the moment I’m through the double doors, a smiling woman strides toward me, reaches for a handshake, and asks, "Skye Carter?"

"Um, hi?"

"I’m Skye Turner, kind of the head of the operation. Well, co-head." My new boss doesn’t even know her title? What kind of operation is she running? "At any rate, I imagine you’d like to see your room and either unpack or sack out. Sorry to tell you that before we get to that, you’ll need to sign a stack of non-disclosure agreements."

My head is spinning from how fast she’s talking. Perhaps I’m jet lagged.

"Don’t worry, once you hear more about the project you’ll be working on, you’ll understand the need for all the secrecy."

She nods to the armed security guard, who wears the same blank expression as a Buckingham Palace guard. Then she leads me down a no-nonsense hospital hallway and into an unimposing office, making it clear that aesthetics are the last thing on her mind.

"I know this is all very mysterious," Skye says, her tone softening as she motions to a chair across from a desk covered with a stack of legal documents with those little yellow ‘sign here’ Post-its sticking out from the edges. "But I promise, once your signature is on these NDAs, you’ll understand why all the secrecy is necessary."

I breathe deeply as my mind flies with questions. Perhaps to calm me, Skye adds, "Once you sign these and I tell you about the project, you can walk out that door. But we’ll be assured you won’t tell anyone our secret. Please see it from our point of view."

Okay. When she puts it like that, I’ve got nothing to lose.

The signing process seems to take forever. As my signature and initials add up, excitement builds, speeding through my veins.

The moment I’m done and push the stack back across the desk to her, she leans forward, her eyes shining with barely contained excitement. "What I’m about to tell you will sound absolutely crazy, but I swear every word is true."

My pulse quickens. What could possibly warrant this level of secrecy, not to mention a warning that I won’t believe her?

Skye takes a deep breath. "We’ve discovered—and successfully retrieved—a group of ancient Roman gladiators who were frozen in ice for nearly two thousand years."

The words hang in the air between us. I wait for the punchline, but Skye’s expression remains deadly serious.

"That’s… impossible," I stammer.

"I thought so too," Skye admits. "Until I met Varro."

"Varro?"

"My partner," she explains, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Both in this project and… well, in life. I’m an archaeologist, the one responsible for finding him in a shipwreck and having him chipped out of the ice at the bottom of a trench in the Norwegian Sea. Through a series of events…" She tries to hide her wince, but it’s obvious those events were unpleasant. "The body I expected to remain lifeless accidentally thawed—then began to breathe. He’s a gorgeous, kind, brilliant man who fought in the Colosseum when it was new."

My mind reels, struggling to process this information. "You’re saying there’s a real, living ancient Roman? Here? Walking the halls of this Swiss hospital? Right now? "

Skye nods. "Yes. But there were others who we chipped out of the ice and transported here. They’re cryogenically frozen in this state-of-the-art facility. Our first intentional revival is happening right now. We’re worried sick, of course. We don’t know if Varro was a fluke. Don’t know if any of the others will survive their… resurrection. Varro’s sorry he couldn’t be here to greet you, but he needed to be there when—if—his friend, Thrax, wakes up."

"This is insane," I mutter, rubbing my temples. "And the need for this level of secrecy?"

"We need to shelter them," Skye explains, her voice taking on a protective edge. "Can you imagine the media frenzy if this got out? These men have been through enough trauma. The last thing they need is to become a worldwide spectacle before they come to terms with what’s happened to them."

As she neatens the stack of NDAs, I ask, "This operation sounds… pricey. How are you paying for it?"

"The reason I was fascinated with the Fortuna, so dedicated that I spent all my free time for years trying to find what amounted to a needle in a haystack, was that it was rumored to have two chests of gold on board."

My thoughts flash to Pirates of the Caribbean. This sounds just as believable as that movie.

"We found them. The gladiators were just a serendipitous find that made the gold fade in importance. It did, however, give up enough money to rent this wing of the hospital and pay for the best specialists and equipment money can buy… including you."

She gives me a moment to absorb that, then I nod slowly, beginning to understand the gravity and extent of the project. "So… what do you need from me?"

"A translation program. As you can imagine, once these men are revived…" Her gaze flicks heavenward as though she just gave a little internal prayer, "Communication will be a big hurdle. Latin may be the root of many modern languages, but it’s considered a dead language. No one truly knows how it was pronounced in daily speech."

"And you need me to…?"

"We need you to develop a program for real-time Latin to English translation. Varro will help with pronunciation once your project reaches that stage." Skye leans in, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Your boss, Dara Hobson, assured us she has people who, once you’ve done the programming, can help produce wearable earpieces. The goal is for the gladiators to communicate seamlessly, to understand and be understood."

The magnitude of the task before me is staggering. My heart races as my mind tries to catch up with this info dump.

"This is… a lot to take in," I manage.

Skye reaches across the desk, squeezing my hand. "I know. But think of the possibilities, Skye. You have the chance to bridge a gap of two millennia, to give voices to men history has silenced."

Her words stir something within me. The programmer in me sees the monumental challenge, but the human in me recognizes the profound impact this could have not just on the men involved, but on the modern-day world.

"Okay," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Where and when do I start?"

"How about you get some rest after I show you to your room? Ms. Hobson—I still can’t believe I had an actual conversation with the third richest person in the world—assures me you’re more than capable of the programming part. Because Varro is the only person on earth who knows how to pronounce ancient Latin, as I said earlier, when you get to that stage, he’ll help you with those specifics."

The hospital layout is straightforward, four patient hallways surrounding a lovely atrium in the middle. My room is sparse—clearly a converted patient room—but clean and functional .

"Get some rest," Skye says kindly. "Tomorrow, you meet your first gladiator."

As the door closes behind her, I sink onto the bed, my head swirling. Ancient Romans. Secret revivals. Translation devices resting on my skills and abilities.

What have I gotten myself into?