Secrets of New Pompeii

  Secrets of New Pompeii

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Secrets 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.

  Secrets of New Pompeii

  Aubrey Ross

  Princess Naloni attends the Festival of Venus expecting to expose the decadence and brutality within New Pompeii, but instead becomes fascinated by the uninhibited sexual displays. She sees two magnificent gladiators wrestling—their naked bodies sliding, straining. She can’t help but imagine herself between them, lost in forbidden pleasures. An instant later, she finds herself not only sandwiched between their gleaming, hard bodies, but trapped in the middle of a gladiator uprising.

  Max knew his friend was going to attempt an escape. However, he had no idea a hostage would be taken. Naloni does not go quietly. She struggles, attempting to sabotage them at every turn. Max is intrigued by her resistance and aroused by her supple form. His pulse pounds as he imagines how he will take her. How he will stoke her fire until she burns out of control. Their passion is forbidden, but their hearts don’t seem to care. They abandon themselves to a romance that will change the course of their world—or destroy it forever.

  Chapter One

  Max watched Sextus swing his practice sword in another wild arc. Trepidation twisted his entrails and he tightly clenched his fists. Sextus stood opposite a trembling armor bearer. The boy had been ordered to spar with Sextus until a worthy opponent could be transferred from a lesser ludus.

  Sextus brought the wooden sword down in a vicious chop and the boy raised his sword arm rather than his shield. The boy’s shrill scream cloaked the sickening crack of breaking bone and still Sextus advanced.

  Ignoring one of his own rules, Max threw himself between the burly gladiator and the screaming boy. Max grabbed the boy’s shield and intercepted the next blind swing. His body shuddered with the impact, but he planted his feet in the sand and kept his stance firmly squared.

  “Are you trying to kill him?” he shouted, shoving Sextus back with the shield.

  The gladiator stumbled, cursed, then lowered his wooden sword. If the blade had been real, he would have severed the boy’s arm rather than breaking it. “Forgive me.” He flung the sword over his shoulder, too infuriated—and too humiliated—to face the chaos he had wrought.

  “Continue!” Max called to the other gladiators as the moaning boy was carried into the barracks. He moved in front of Sextus, not allowing his self-pity. “He was my friend too,” he said quietly.

  “For two years I stood in this yard, face-to-face with Theos. Can anyone gaze into another’s eyes for that long and not know their true nature?” Sextus finally raised his gaze, his expression twisted with frustration. “He was a good and loyal gladiator. He respected the games. He was not a traitor!”

  His voice grew louder with each claim. Max looked up to the villa’s balcony, but it was empty. Their master must be too busy planning his disgusting festival to bother with his gladiators today. It was just as well. The news of Theos’ execution had disrupted the rhythm of the ludus. Sextus was not the only one upset by their master’s report.

  “Things are not always what they seem. If your heart tells you Theos was true, then ignore the gossip and concentrate on your skills. But concentrate!” He shoved Sextus back toward the practice yard. “I have no more armor bearers to spare.”

  Sextus joined the double-row formation. The rotating exercise allowed for an odd number of participants. Max stood at the edge of the yard, arms loose at his side, eyes carefully assessing each man’s form and technique.

  He was doctore, a trainer of gladiators, respected by those who knew him, feared by those who did not. His strategies were proven, his techniques both brutal and effective. Being a gladiator was a hard life, but he taught these men how to stay alive in the arena and bring honor to the brotherhood.

  “Doctore, come here.”

  Taking a deep breath to hide his loathing, he turned and approached Mikko, head of House Xyell and owner of this ludus. “How can I serve you, dominus?”

  “Dominus?” Mikko chuckled. “I can’t remember the last time you called me master. I should execute spies more often. It makes everyone so respectful.” Resplendent in his gold-trimmed tunic, Mikko’s ordinary features did not reveal the evil residing inside the man. It was only when one looked into his bright green eyes that his depravity became evident.

  Max knew Theos had not been executed as Mikko claimed. He knew because he had been instrumental in Theos’ escape from New Pompeii. He also knew Theos was not a spy because the spy Mikko had attempted to trap that night was Max.

  “Did you need something, sir?” “Sir” was less offensive to Max than master. Max had earned his freedom long before coming to Fedoros, a planet far removed from his native Earth. “The men are restless. I need to oversee their practice.”

  “So I gathered. Who broke the boy’s arm?”

  “Sextus.”

  “Of course. He was frequently paired with Theos. He must be taking this hard.”

  Mikko’s smug tone made Max want to demonstrate some of his more violent techniques. If his options were not so limited, he would have snapped Mikko’s neck long ago. “It has been confusing for everyone.”

  “And no one more so than me.” Mikko raised his chin and huffed. “I trusted that brute with my own sister and look how he repaid me.”

  A glaring inconsistency in Mikko’s cover story, Max realized. “How is Mistress Xyell? I have not seen her since Theos disappeared.” And he would not see her again until Theos returned. The two were lovers and they were together, waiting out the dangerous upheaval.

  “She is in seclusion, utterly devastated as you can imagine.”

  He could imagine many things, but none of them coincided with Mikko’s ridiculous tale. “Why did you require my attention?” Each moment he spent in Mikko’s presence tested his self-control.

  “The Festival of Venus is tomorrow night, perhaps you have heard about it?”

  He tensed. Anything he could learn about the festival was vital to the resistance. The main detail still missing was the proposed location. “I have heard rumors.”

  “Every form of entertainment imaginable will be available to our guests.” Max clenched his fists, struggling to keep his expression bland. Every form of entertainment the bastard concocted required the abuse of innocent Pompeians! “We had not planned to have a wrestling pit, but one of Prince Tarhee’s best customers asked about it. We can’t disappoint our best customers, so we’ve decided to assemble a small roster of participants.”

  His tension turned to dread. Though most participated willingly, such had not been the case for Max. His initiation into the sport had been abrupt and violent. He’d been thrown into the pit with six other men, having no idea what was expected of him.

  “I a
m not interested.” He turned, meaning to return to his men, but Mikko grabbed his upper arm. Any other man would have found himself on his back with Max’s foot on his throat, but this was Mikko Xyell, a founder, one of the most powerful men in New Pompeii.

  “Hear me out.” Mikko’s tone took on a steely edge, his hand squeezing before he let go. “I know how you feel about full-contact wrestling.”

  If that were true, Xyell wouldn’t have bothered asking him to participate.

  “After his defeat in the arena, Dario is looking for a way to regain a bit of his reputation. He knows that you are undefeated, and House Olla has officially challenged House Xyell to a wrestling match. It would be just you and Dario.”

  House Olla and House Xyell were the two ruling powers in New Pompeii. Prince Tarhee Olla was Mikko Xyell’s business partner—and some said lover—but they had created a friendly rivalry to increase interest in the gladiator games.

  “Dario wants to wrestle with me?” This was beyond strange. Dario was rebellious and bitter. He despised Prince Tarhee and was far more open about his disdain than Max. Why would he volunteer to represent his hated master?

  “This is outside your contracted duties, so I cannot demand your cooperation. However,” he paused for emphasis, “if you accept the challenge, I would offer you a boon.”

  “What sort of boon?”

  “You tell me. What can I offer that would make it worth your while to accept this challenge?”

  He thought about his physical circumstances. His room was a stone cubicle. He was not even allowed a privacy curtain. A narrow cot, stool and a trunk in which he stored what little clothing he possessed. Any form of comfort would send the wrong message to his men. The barracks were even more austere than his cubicle.

  An image appeared in his mind, achingly beautiful, young and full of life. Naloni’s hair was so black it gleamed with silver highlights and her eyes combined brown, gold and green into a fascinating, changeable hazel. Soft, full lips and a delicate nose. He had never seen a woman more beautiful than the princess, and he doubted he ever would.

  He sighed and looked away. “What I want you cannot give me.”

  “Tell me what it is. You’d be surprised what I can provide.”

  Max shook his head. His memories were far too precious to share with this monster. Rather than argue with Mikko for another hour, he stated terms he knew Mikko wouldn’t consider. “Winner takes the loser.”

  Mikko snorted then smiled. “Isn’t that how these matches end, with the winner vigorously ‘taking’ the loser?”

  “That is not what I meant. If I win, Dario becomes part of this ludus, under my command. If he wins, you transfer my contract to House Olla.”

  He’d proposed the terms because he thought they were too outrageous to consider, but Mikko scratched his chin and squinted into the distance. “A fascinating proposition. I’ll have to run it by Prince Tarhee, of course, but such high stakes would dramatically increase interest in a simple wrestling match.”

  Without further discussion, Mikko turned around and walked away.

  Max returned to his men, unable to shake the feeling that something significant was behind Dario’s challenge.

  * * * * *

  Princess Naloni Olla lay on her stomach on a padded massage table, arms folded beneath her cheek, anything but relaxed. Bertrom, her physical therapist-slash-confidant, was working her left calf with patient skill and focused determination.

  “Are you worried about tomorrow, or is all this tension the result of your friend’s unexpected ‘vacation’?”

  She pushed to her elbow and looked back at him. “How did you find out about Elaina?” Naloni had been so careful when she arranged the escape. It was imperative that Mikko not be able to locate Elaina and Theos. Had she left a trail Xyell or her brother could detect?

  “Relax.” Bertrom ran his hand from her ankle to her knee, the firm pressure making her moan. “You left no indication of your actions. Sometimes I just know things. Only someone you care about deeply could affect you this profoundly.”

  If her father had any concept of how often and accurately Bertrom “knew” things, he would have the therapist banished from the palace.

  Determined to clear her mind and allow Bertrom’s hands to work their magic, she lay back down and tried not to think. It was useless. Thoughts and speculation rolled through her mind like the continual surge of a storm-swollen tide.

  She had supported Elaina’s decision to spend time with Theos. Elaina had been so closed off emotionally, Naloni was sure a weekend fling with a hunky gladiator was exactly what her friend needed to restart her heart.

  But Elaina had returned from her fantasy weekend with reports of abuse, gross negligence and murder. New Pompeii had always pushed the limits of propriety as far as Naloni was concerned, but it was hard to believe things were as bad as Elaina described.

  Until Naloni did some digging on her own.

  New Pompeii was the brainchild of her brothers and Mikko Xyell. Everyone referred to them as the founders. When they realized a volcano was about to wipe out the city, they had enacted a bold and convoluted plan. They told the population that Vulcan was furious with Venus because she loved their city more than she loved him. Vulcan was the god of fire, so he caused the mountain to burst into flames and spew ash and rock all over the valley. The founders hadn’t caused the volcano’s eruption. They had simply taken advantage of the opportunity and evacuated the unsuspecting people to a new home on a new planet where they would be safe from Vulcan’s wrath.

  Wasn’t it better to allow the primitive people to continue in their simplistic reality? The few who had been exposed to Fedoran technology had been completely overwhelmed by the contrast.

  “Your mind is whirling again.” Bertrom moved to the other side of the table and gently lifted her right foot. “Would it help if you discuss these issues rather than fixate on them?”

  She raised her head, resting her chin on her folded arms. A large mirror in front of her allowed her to see Bertrom. He was such an odd-looking man yet so dear. His height was accentuated by the fact he was painfully thin, and his skin had a faint blue cast that made his lavender eyes glow. Most people presumed he was from another star system. In truth he was simply “enhanced”. So many of the colonists had been enhanced—with or without their permission.

  “You have an objective perspective on the conflict,” she decided. “What are your feelings about New Pompeii?”

  A distant smile curved his thin lips, but his gaze remained focused on his task. “In what regard?”

  She tugged her foot out of his grasp and sat up, tucking the sheet beneath her arms. “I want your honest opinion. I need your candor more than your approval.”

  He wiped the lotion from his hands then tossed the cloth onto his shoulder, making her think of a bartender. “Fedorans have always been too quick to tinker with the lives of others. They have an expectant attitude that many find offensive.”

  This was nothing she hadn’t thought herself from time to time. “Go on.”

  One boney shoulder rolled in a subtle shrug and his words came pouring out. “They flit and flutter about the galaxies indiscriminately enhancing populations with no better reason than morbid curiosity.”

  “Now that’s not true.” Gathering the sheet about her, she swung her legs over the side of the table. “The seeding programs have always been implemented for the protection of our species. To our knowledge, we are the most highly advanced humanoid civilization in existence. It’s our duty to monitor and at times guide those civilizations less evolved than ours.”

  His silvery brows arched and he asked, “Who deemed you man’s guardian? If these civilizations asked for your assistance, it would be completely different.”

  “At the root of all our ‘meddling’ is a determination to survive,” she defended. “Fedoros has been overcrowded for generations. If we hadn’t branched out and colonized other worlds, who knows what would have happened.”<
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  “But Fedorans obliterated the indigenous populations of many of the worlds they targeted for colonization.”

  “That’s not true either. We assimilate the population into our colonies.”

  “And if the population resists assimilation, you genetically alter them until they fit your needs.”

  It was hard to argue that point when the result of the practice was staring her in the face. She tucked her hair behind her ears and reminded, “We were talking about New Pompeii.”

  Bertrom chuckled, his eyes warming until they appeared purple. “Shall I temper my candor? You seem agitated.”

  “No. I suspect a great many share your views. How do you perceive New Pompeii?”

  It took him a moment to answer, and when he did his words were precise, obviously chosen with utmost care. “The only way most Fedorans can access the ‘wonders’ of New Pompeii is through entertainment simulations. The actual resort is an extravagant luxury far beyond the means of ordinary people. An entertainment sim can be generated without enslaving living, breathing human beings, so most of the people I know find it distasteful and unnecessary.”

  “But we didn’t enslave them. We rescued them from certain death and provided them with a home very similar to the one destroyed by the volcano.”

  He smiled and patted the table. “Lie back down. You don’t believe your brother’s rhetoric, so you’ll never convince me. The people in New Pompeii might not realize they exist for the entertainment of the idle élite, but we both know better.”

  With a frustrated sigh she returned to her earlier position, her mind more conflicted than before. Bertrom’s hands were strong and sure, his rhythmic motions usually enough to melt her anxiety.

  “I know you don’t believe in my gift,” he said after a long, silent pause, “but your soul strands are especially tangled.”

  Soul strands, auras, chakras and tao all meant little to Naloni. She believed in things she could see, hear, smell and touch. “So untangle them,” she murmured. His hands stilled and the air around her grew noticeably warmer. The hairs on her arms and the nape of her neck rose so quickly she turned her head. “I was kidding. What are you doing?”