AN: Despite my lack of respect for the author, I do give her props for creating characters which I totally wanted to abuse. Francine Rivers, these characters are yours. I don't want them, I just like to muck 'em up a bit.

PS AN: I have no love for this book, but writing stupid little fanfics was how I survived a year of the worst religion classes I have ever taken. That's over two years ago now, but I still have a good time going over the fics I wrote with a friend who survived the class with me.

PSA: If you are a religion teacher, DO NOT make your students read crappy romance novels as part of the curriculum. It's stupid, and irritating.

It was cold when he woke up again. Hardly a clear memory was left in his head, and he would've sworn his brain was as much pooled behind his head as it was set inside it. His long hair was matted with blood, and could feel it prickling against his forehead and sticking to his shoulders.

The stone beneath him was cold, colder than it should have been seeing as it had been many hours since he'd been tethered to it. Feeling his strength stir within him once again after who knew how much sleep, he yanked hard at the shackels around his wrists. Growling as they held as firm as ever, Atretis swore in German and settled to just shake them violently, satisfied with creating a great racket and letting his captors know the Germanic monster in their hold was once again awake and still furious.

The laceration above his brow had clotted during his unconciousness. Those bastard Romans, that general Severus and his damned companion, they'd gotten so irate as he'd rattled his chains and cussed and cursed that the roman and raised the butt of his short sword and brought it down hard on the Blonde's brow. There'd been a brief second where he'd fought to say awake, but the roaring in his ears had drowned him into blackness.

He had no idea how long it had been since then, but he felt more than ready for another round, and he stirred his hands and feet to call the Roman's back. He was a great warrior chief! Chains and stone walls would not hold him forever; he would have these roman dogs on their knees, begging for mercy before him!

Opening his mouth, he roared from where he lay upon his back, ignoring the bright spots that formed in the corners of his eyes and the bouts of dizziness which kept washing over him. No Romans would take him, never! Tiwaz would free him from his chains and he would have these soldiers' heads! He would bathe in their blood before the moon had changed its face!

His voice croaked as the roar died. Panting as his breath gave out, he growled while the fire in his heart began to cool just as soon as it had been born. As the ringing in his ears quieted, a shadow in the heavy cell door caught his attention. The smell of the general's oiled armor floated to rest under Atretis's nose; the German turned his head and spat in disgust.

That damned Severus only smirked.

Some foreign noise reached the blonde where he was chained, and he strained to look down his body at the open door, the blots in his eyes breaking up the dark haired man whom he knew was in front of him. There was something in his hand, unwound and falling to the floor next to him –

Must you be such a bother? The man drawled, his pompous anger a constant underscore to his words. Atretis didn't understand, but that tone was enough to make that red boil up in him again.

CRACK

Atretis howled, sharp agony welling up along his thigh; hot blood pooled on either side, dripping past his groin and under his leg.

Severus pulled the whip back to him, raising his hand, preparing to give the German a matching mark. It was about time he taught this barbarian to hold his filthy heathen tongue!