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  Passions of New Pompeii

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Passions of New Pompeii © 2013 Aubrey Ross

  Cover art by Dar Albert

  Electronic book Publication, December 2013

  Other Smashwords books by Aubrey Ross

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Author’s Note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.

  Passions of New Pompeii

  Aubrey Ross

  New Pompeii, playground of the rich and decadent, has been operational for two years when Elaina decides something drastic must be done. Her brother and the other founders are out of control. Their cruelty and disregard for the lives and dignity of the city’s inhabitants has become widespread and twisted.

  Elaina accepts her brother’s invitation and attends the gladiator games. She finds the battle revolting and barbaric yet stirring in ways she didn’t anticipate. Theos, her brother’s new champion, is mesmerizing. His sculpted body and untamed spirit leave her aching for an up-close-and-personal demonstration of his strength.

  Theos is torn between frustration and anger. His master has requested before that he pleasure Fedoran women and he has always refused, but this time is different. He must convince Elaina he is content, that New Pompeii exists for the pleasure of all Fedorans. If she succeeds in closing the city, she will nullify his reason for living.

  Chapter One

  Scooting to the edge of her seat, Elaina Xyell pressed her hand to her chest and reminded herself to breathe. Sunlight gleamed off the straining bodies of the gladiators on the arena floor below. Their muscles rippled and bunched as they lunged and twisted with lethal grace and focused determination.

  Metal scraped then rang as their swords clashed and parried, arced and swung. The strangely musical sound cut through the shouts and cheers of the raucous crowd all around her. Brimmed helmets concealed the opponents’ faces, but most of their sculpted bodies were vulnerable to the slashing bite of their enemy’s gladius.

  “Are you starting to see the appeal?”

  Elaina tried not to let the smug confidence in Laetif’s question provoke her. There was undeniable appeal in these barbaric displays. They were savage and violent, primal—erotic. She shivered as heat cascaded through her body and pooled between her thighs. Life on Fedoros had become predictable, homogenized and bland. It was little wonder bored Fedorans flocked to New Pompeii.

  “The appeal has never been in question.” She dragged her gaze away from the spectacle and looked at her sister-in-law. Dressed in a linen tunic and pleated stola, Laetif effortlessly blended with the inhabitants of New Pompeii. Elaina wore a similar costume, but she was far less comfortable in the primitive outfit. “The morality of this endeavor is what bothers me.”

  “We saved these people from certain death and delivered them to a city so similar to their own that their lives were hardly disrupted. How can you fault the morality of that?”

  A sudden cheer drew Elaina’s gaze back to the arena floor. Dario, the crowd favorite, had just opened a gaping slash in his opponent’s upper chest. Blood streamed across the Roman’s impressive pec and dripped onto his washboard abs. Elaina winced and reinforced her purpose for coming here. They’d been duped, manipulated, and it had to stop, no matter the risk or personal sacrifice.

  She returned her gaze to Laetif’s flushed face, but her sister-in-law was absorbed in the action. “They’re being held captive by their own superstitions.”

  Laetif waved away her concern. “You might consider it superstition, but these people take their gods very seriously.”

  “Be that as it may, they are slaves and slavery has been illegal on Fedoros for centuries.”

  “They’re ghosts,” Laetif countered. “Without our interference they would all be dead.”

  Elaina sighed. Her compassionate heart refused to accept the conclusion, but there was logic in Laetif’s argument. Her brother and the other founders of New Pompeii had not created this brutal way of life—they had simply allowed the inhabitants to escape the volcano’s eruption and preserved the status quo.

  For the entertainment of Fedorans!

  Dario drove the Roman backward with a frantic series of thrusts. The Roman patiently deflected each blow, waiting for an opportunity to launch his own offensive. Sunlight gleamed off their sweat-slicked skin, emphasizing the bunch and flex of their highly defined muscles.

  “They’re not animals,” Elaina tried again. They looked more like pagan gods, locked in a battle for the fate of mankind. They emanated strength and power, a sort of savage nobility no Fedoran could hope to emulate. She shook away the fanciful thought and refocused on her mission, convincing Laetif that these exhibitions were wrong. “We cannot treat them like—”

  “We treat them as they have always been treated,” Laetif cut in. “No better, no worse. We are allowing their culture to develop naturally, without Fedoran interference.”

  It was an old argument—one Elaina had begun debating days after her husband died. Her husband had been a silent partner in these games, offering political and financial support from the shadows. His death had freed Elaina to speak her mind, to tell all of Fedoros how immoral she found these games and all the other atrocities that made up daily life for these people.

  Deafening cheers interrupted Elaina’s response. The audience surged to their feet as Dario overextended his thrust. The upstart Roman sidestepped, pivoted and slammed his elbow into the center of Dario’s back. A collective gasp silenced the arena as Dario stumbled then fell. The Roman followed him down, straddling his hips and raising his gladius with both hands. The sword point was aimed at the base of Dario’s spine. And the Roman paused.

  “Ingula! Ingula!” burst from the onlookers, bloodlust glazing their eyes.

  “What are they saying?” Elaina’s decision to attend had been spontaneous, so she hadn’t undergone a Latin infusion.

  Laetif leaned close and spoke into her ear. “Kill him. They’re demanding blood.”

  “I thought Dario was the favorite,” she called over the chanting crowd.

  “Never underestimate the fickle nature of these crowds.”

  With his foot on the center of Dario’s back and his sword still poised to kill, the Roman turned his head and looked at Mikko, who was seated on the other side of his wife. Mikko stood and moved closer to the wide stone barrier isolating the editor’s private box from the rest of the teaming onlookers. Mikko raised his arms and called out to the crowd, but Elaina couldn’t understand him.

  “What’s he saying?”

  “He’s reminding the audience that the fight was to last until ‘the finger’,” Laetif explained. “Gladiators are too valuable to waste on the whim of a crowd. Death is only encouraged when a gladiator fights a criminal or group of criminals. The price of admission for death matches is much higher than these skill rounds. If this fool will ask for mercy, Mikko will grant it.”

  “What if Dario won’t yield?” Unable to restrain her morbid curiosity, Elaina came out of her chair and joined her brother at the half-w
all.

  An anxious hush fell over the arena as every eye focused on Dario. Tension pulsed around her and trapped her breath in her lungs. If Dario refused to yield, she was about to witness a murder. This wasn’t a sim or some graphic special effect. Despite their primitive culture, these were living, breathing human beings! The Roman nudged Dario with his foot and Dario slowly opened his hand, releasing his hold on his sword. Another moment passed in anxious silence and then Dario extended his index finger, signaling his surrender.

  Thank God, or Jupiter, or whatever benevolent force had kept this from happening. Elaina blew out a shaky breath and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.

  The Roman stepped back and offered his hand to his defeated opponent. Murmurs of disapproval rippled through the crowd as the new champion helped Dario to his feet. Dario snatched his sword off the sandy ground and limped toward the nearest archway.

  Elaina prepared to take her seat when the Roman took off his helmet and faced Mikko, head held high. Smears of dirt and blood emphasized his blatant masculinity rather than distracting from his barbaric appeal. His hair was short and brown, little more than a shadow against his gold-toned skin. Even from this distance, his eyes flashed dark and dangerous.

  He’d obviously won the day. Would he be bathed and fed then offered the most desirable women? Wasn’t that how conquerors expected to be treated?

  “What do you think of my champion?” Mikko asked with a challenging smile.

  “He’s very impressive,” she admitted, her mouth suddenly dry. She could almost feel the gladiator’s arms crushing her against his massive chest and his mouth plundering hers. He would not be a gentle lover. He would demand, overwhelm and… She was being ridiculous! For all she knew, gladiators might not be allowed women. Maybe they considered sex a weakness and focused entirely on bashing heads together.

  Her brother turned to the gladiator and called out in a congratulatory tone. The gladiator accepted the praise with an incline of his head. Then Mikko raised his voice even louder, obviously addressing the crowd.

  The people cheered and erupted in another echoing chant. “Theos! Theos! Theos!”

  “Theos. Is that his name?” she asked her brother.

  “Yes.” Mikko looked at her, green eyes narrowed with speculation. “Does he seem abused and manipulated? Can’t you see that he revels in this life?”

  Theos raised his arms and turned in a slow circle, absorbing the adoration and the cheers.

  But he was a slave! He had no idea any other life was possible. “I want to meet him.” The words slipped out before she analyzed the repercussions.

  Mikko laughed. “So you can fill his head with seditious nonsense? Impossible.”

  “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea.” Laetif insinuated herself between them and slipped her arm around her husband’s waist. “If anyone can help our resident do-gooder understand that we are not abusing the inhabitants of our humble community, it’s Theos.”

  Motioning them away from the half-wall, Mikko drew them back into the shade of the velaria. The canvas awning flapped gently overhead, its protection inadequate relief from the cloying heat. “It’s against the law to intentionally pollute the social structure of New Pompeii. Even my sister would not escape prosecution. You would not be able to say anything to Theos that contradicts what he was told by the founders.”

  “I signed the noninterference clause just like everyone else,” Elaina muttered.

  “Then why do you want to meet him?”

  It was Laetif’s turn to laugh. “Are you really so blind? I know she’s your sister, but Elaina is a woman. Theos has always been our most popular gladiator largely because of his appeal with females.”

  “I can summon him, but I don’t pimp my gladiators. Not even for my sister.”

  Elaina gasped, moving deeper into the shadows. “I wasn’t asking you to pimp him. Just forget I asked.”

  Laetif patted her on the back and glared at her husband. “Ignore him. It’s a good idea. We were both thrilled when you finally agreed to come watch the games. This is the next logical step. You need to interact with one of the inhabitants, try to see New Pompeii through their eyes.”

  “Then she can interview the house servants or talk to my vendors,” Mikko grumbled. “It doesn’t need to be a gladiator.”

  “We run the largest ludus in New Pompeii. To understand our world, she needs to understand gladiators,” Laetif countered.

  “It’s all moot, Laetif. I couldn’t talk to him even if Mikko summoned him. I can’t speak Latin.”

  “Not everyone who visits New Pompeii chooses to undergo the language infusion,” Laetif argued. “The guards have a bad habit of speaking Fedoros to each other. I suspect a good many of our gladiators speak Fedoros better than they let on.”

  Elaina shook her head. The thought of meeting Theos, perhaps being alone with him, had her insides tense and tumbling. Why had she suggested it in the first place? “I said I’d watch one of the matches and I did. Now I’d like to go home.”

  “You saw what gladiators do,” Mikko mused, moving closer to his wife. “I think Laetif is right. You still don’t understand who they are or how they feel about this life. I’ve decided to allow it.”

  Laetif grinned, clearly pleased with herself. Elaina’s belly was so tense she felt nauseous. “This isn’t necessary. I told you I’d soften my reports and stop giving interviews.” She’d orchestrated the media blitz to keep her mind off her husband’s betrayal and subsequent death. But her informal posts had been picked up for global syndication, making her a minor celebrity overnight. She nodded toward the packed arena. “It doesn’t appear that my efforts had much impact on your bottom line anyway.”

  “You’re my sister and I love you. I don’t expect you to become a proud supporter of our enterprise, but I’d like for you to admit that we don’t mistreat these people.”

  Elaina recognized the stubborn set of his jaw and the determination in his eyes. He wasn’t going to relent. And she had no one to blame but herself!

  “We can have him brought to you in chains if that will make you feel more secure,” Laetif suggested.

  “No!” Thinking of anyone bound in chains was abhorrent to Elaina.

  “I will give Theos very specific instructions,” Mikko promised with an enigmatic smile. “You have nothing to fear.”

  * * * * *

  Theos rolled his shoulders and raised his arms, testing the neat row of stitches the medicus had just sewn into his chest. With the crowd’s cheers still echoing in his mind, he’d been escorted through the underground passage and returned to Ludus Xyellus. House Xyell was the largest and most profitable gladiator brotherhood in New Pompeii, so the complex had been built adjacent to the arena. He’d scrubbed his body clean of blood, sand and sweat before entering the hospes to have his wounds tended.

  “Is it true? Did you defeat Dario?”

  He turned his head and found Patricius Maximus standing in the doorway, his expression inscrutable. Dark brown hair flowed away from his face and brushed his broad shoulders. Though counterproductive to his ferocious appearance, his light blue eyes saw everything.

  “Dario is a fierce opponent. Venus simply smiled on me today.” Dario belonged to a rival house now, but Max had been his doctore for over a year before the games grew popular enough to support more than one ludus.

  “Do not minimize your achievement. I knew the day would come. It was inevitable.” A smile curved the corners of Max’s mouth. “I did not realize it would come so soon.”

  “So soon? We have passed two winters in this strange place. How long did you expect it to take?”

  The hint of a smile vanished as quickly as it had formed. “Our location is irrelevant. I have fought all over the civilized world and the games remain the same. We fight for honor and for the adulation of the crowd. Don’t allow Venus’ gift to cloud your mind.”

  Scooting off the end of the treatment table, Theos stood and faced his trainer. “Nothi
ng clouds my mind. I am a gladiator. I understand my role.”

  “You have a new role now, Theos.” They were joined by Mikko, Master of House Xyell. “You are Champion of New Pompeii.”

  Theos glanced at Max, hoping to gauge the doctore’s reaction to the development. As usual, Max’s features gave nothing away.

  Rather than dwell on the enigmatic trainer, Theos turned to Mikko and said, “I am pleased to bring honor to House Xyell.”

  “Walk with me.” Mikko motioned toward the garden beyond one of the grilled archways that separated the gladiator barracks from the adjoining villa. Fedoros guards snapped to attention and moved aside so Mikko could open the gate. A bright yellow beam swept the length of Mikko’s body, causing the gate to hiss and swing inward with a subtle scraping sound. There were so many small marvels on Fedoros. Theos couldn’t help wondering what lay beyond the energy barrier surrounding New Pompeii. “I have an unusual task for you,” Mikko told him.

  “I am, as always, your servant.”

  Mikko didn’t respond until they were deep in the verdant garden, far away from curious ears. “This is beyond the scope of your duties, so I will ask for your cooperation rather than command your obedience.”

  Theos tensed. The only time Mikko asked for his assistance was when some wealthy matron wished to experience the savage pleasure of a gladiator’s mentula thrusting deep into her cunnus. “What would you have me do?”

  Mikko chuckled. “Do not look so distressed. This task is different than any other I have put before you. It is more challenging and more important.”

  “Who do you want me to kill?” Mikko’s sharp burst of laughter reinforced Theos’ original conclusion. This wasn’t about killing, it was about fututiones.

  “I need to access your other skills.” Mikko stressed the concept with a sly smile. “Forego the pretense that you do not know what I am talking about. You refuse to pleasure Fedoran females, but the few slaves you have…mounted have begged for more.”