DAY ONE – THE PROPOSITION

Part Two – Pain

"Did you hear? Spartacus and Crixus finally face each other sine missione under our very roof!"

"Now, we shall see that bitch of a Thracian fall and the true Champion of this ludus rise again!"

"You favor the fallen Gaul because you are a Gaul. You have no other cause for support. Spartacus is the superior gladiator."

Word spread quickly through the house; whispers of blood rang in Mira's ears as she descended nervously into the ludus. Spartacus sent for her on this night and, knowing well his intentions (or lack thereof) toward her, she would not allow heart to control mind. He did not love her and this audience would not change that. The soldier nudged her forward using what she thought was his sword. When she ignored his gesture, he pushed her back against the wall and pressed himself against her crotch.

His smirk sought intimidation but Mira did not oblige. "Does your champion feel like that, whore?"

"Like what?" She said bitterly and the soldier raised his hand to slap her.

"Apologies." Doctore stood at the ludus gates; Mira ducked away from the soldier and stood at his side. "The Champion requires the girl. Hadrian stands guard at his door to keep watch."

The soldier grunted and lumbered away, defeated. So close to having the girl's cunt and she would not have told a soul under fear of death, but the Doctore was well-liked by the lanista and the offense would not go unnoticed.

Doctore raised a chastising brow at Mira, who ducked her head. She realized then, had he not come to her at that very moment, the soldier could have rammed his sword or his cock into her. "That was unwise." The man commented as he walked with her to Spartacus' chamber.

"I am weary of wisdom." Mira shook her head in lament. "Gratitude for your aid."

Doctore nodded and motioned for the guard to allow her entrance.

The walls were still stained with blood where Spartacus' self-loathing manifested after the death of Varro, but the bed and shelves were replaced. In a single motion, Spartacus gathered Mira in his arms and placed his mouth hotly upon hers.

The kiss was for show; she could sense his open eyes watching the guard through the bars. But she savored the taste as if she would never have his lips again. He pulled from her suddenly.

"I would ask a favor and I must speak with haste. You heard of my match with Crixus in two days' time." He crushed her mouth once again when he saw the guard shift his weight.

"I have." She responded breathlessly and turned him so she could keep watch. His calloused hands traveled over her body and she instinctively groaned with pleasure.

"You must open the ludus gates during our match. You must!"

She drew his lower lip into her mouth, and then turned away from the door. He buried his face into the back of her neck, pressing against her. The request and his touch caused her heart to beat ferociously in her ears. "For what purpose? With what key?" His silence answered her query.

"Hadrian! Stop watching the chattel fuck and carry these swords to the armory!"

The guard at the door cast a quick glance into the cell at the seemingly passionate lovers before heeding his superior's call. Mira was relieved to see him depart; she needed answers and if Spartacus wanted his favor fulfilled, he would provide them.

"You ask the impossible."

Despite the terrible tragedies that befell Spartacus' wife since Glaber's betrayal, Mira's envy for Sura burned painfully in her chest. This was a woman who held a man's heart for the rest of his life even when hers ended, felt his wild passions and gentle embraces, was privy to his deepest sorrows and his secret concerns. She often wished to erase Spartacus' pain more than her own, but in payment for the perilous task set before her she would ask a selfish thing.

"This is my price. To feel you inside me. To know a pale shadow of the love you felt for her."

She never witnessed such softness in his eyes as he touched her face and unfastened her dress. In stark contrast to the men she fucked by Dominus' orders, his hands were careful as he lay her on the cot, touching her hair lovingly as he kissed her. Her hands moved toward his subligaria, but he removed them and placed one palm to his cheek.

"Not yet." He whispered, his voice breathy and deep, and he slid his hand between her legs. He brought his mouth to her ear. "Feel my touch." She nearly wept as he brought her close to quaking, slowing his touch as her breath hastened and hastening his touch as her breath slowed. After an agonizingly delicious period, she could barely contain herself and her hands greedily removed the cloth.

"Spartacus." She gasped as he entered her. He covered her mouth in a deep kiss, plunging his tongue into her mouth with every thrust. She worried the name offended him and he meant to silence her.

He lifted his face and looked into her eyes in earnest. "I am your Spartacus."

Aurelia wished the slaves would stop the incessant chattering about the match; hearing that man's name repeated with such reverence sickened her. Words of Spartacus' glory and Lucretia's impending child sharpened the dull aches in her stomach. She made attempt to quell her rage after her display in front of Ashur, who seemed more intrigued than before. She had not considered what would be expected of her as a slave and with his former gift banished from the villa, Ashur's eyes searched for what his loins desired.

Perhaps a demonstration would shut their fucking mouths. She struck her pillow with a heavy hand and slammed her head against it.

"Juno's cunt!"

Silence. She closed her eyes and prayed to the Gods, who may have already abandoned her. Please. Please. Kill Spartacus. Maybe then my heart will find a measure of peace.