Secrets of New Pompeii

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Secrets of New Pompeii © 2013 Aubrey Ross

Cover art by Dar Albert

Electronic book Publication, December
2013

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Smashwords books by
Aubrey Ross

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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.

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 am 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.