she glanced back at the arena and saw Darius pointing right toward her, his black eyes burning 7
Joanna Wylde
through hers like coals of fire. Pure male and more than a little hungry. They telegraphed naked need and want and she felt a sudden burst of unholy, giddy excitement—could he really be choosing her?
K’rilla swayed, overwhelmed. In that moment, she wanted to howl her excitement with the rest of them. How could she resist a man like that?
“It’s meeeee!” shrieked a girl standing behind them and she started jumping up and down. K’rilla took a deep breath, forcing herself to laugh. Of course it was someone else, as if Saul Darius would choose someone like K’rilla. An engineer. Two of the ceremonial lictors started moving through the crowd toward them and K’rilla shrank back against her seat, allowing the chosen girl to brush past her toward the lictors.
Kimme did the same, her expression wistful.
“I thought he was looking at me, at first,” she said to K’rilla. “How silly is that?”
“Not silly at all,” K’rilla said. She reached an arm around her niece’s shoulders, pulling her close. “Any man would be thrilled to pick you.”
“Do you think?” Kimme said. “Not that I’d really want him anyway. He’s old. And everyone knows he’ll probably die soon.”
K’rilla stiffened. Of course he was old, at least for an unmated male. They didn’t tend to live that long. Although she doubted he was much older than she was and she didn’t think of herself as ancient.
But maybe she should.
The chosen girl raced toward the lictors, then gave out a squeal of outrage as one of them shook his head with determination. A rush of murmurs ran through the crowd.
K’rilla strained her head, trying to figure out what had happened. The lictors gestured broadly and one of them caught her gaze, nodding. K’rilla narrowed her eyes, confused, and he nodded at her again.
“Aunt K’rilla, he’s trying to catch your attention,” Kimme said, her voice filled with wonder. “He wants you to go to him.”
8
Gladiator’s Prize
“That’s impossible,” K’rilla said flatly. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”
The lictor offered her a reassuring smile and Kimme pushed her forward. The roar of the crowd rose in K’rilla’s ears, surreal and intense, forcing her to acknowledge the truth.
It wasn’t a misunderstanding.
Saul refused a flagon of wine from an awestruck trainer, opting for water instead.
He let the cool fluid slide down his throat, perfect after the long, hot day. The darkness of the arena’s tunnel shielded him, providing a welcome respite from the sun. He’d barely had time to wipe away the worst of the sweat, although someone had slapped a quick-healing patch on his forehead, staunching the flow of blood running down his face. He heard the crowd roaring with laughter as they enjoyed a farce being staged out on the sands, waiting for his coronation with the laurels of victory. He shifted his feet, wishing his erection would go down a little. Having one was a good sign—traditionally it meant luck for the winner and his allies. But it was damn uncomfortable…
Those of his opponents still capable of walking would escort him to his coronation, laying their weapons before him as he mounted the victory podium. Lictors in twenty-five different liveries would follow them, representing the First Families of Saurellia.
Saul smiled—he’d never dreamed he’d find himself in such exalted company. Never dreamed he’d survive his first tour of duty, let alone become an admiral. And now one of Saurellia’s finest women would crown him. His cock gave another twinge and he stifled a groan. She seemed to be bringing him more luck than any man should have to display in public, he thought ruefully. Damn she was pretty, though. The best of the lot.
She’d stood out from the flutter of girls pretending to be women, an adult filled with beauty and poise. Not to mention her full,
Joanna Wylde
through hers like coals of fire. Pure male and more than a little hungry. They telegraphed naked need and want and she felt a sudden burst of unholy, giddy excitement—could he really be choosing her?
K’rilla swayed, overwhelmed. In that moment, she wanted to howl her excitement with the rest of them. How could she resist a man like that?
“It’s meeeee!” shrieked a girl standing behind them and she started jumping up and down. K’rilla took a deep breath, forcing herself to laugh. Of course it was someone else, as if Saul Darius would choose someone like K’rilla. An engineer. Two of the ceremonial lictors started moving through the crowd toward them and K’rilla shrank back against her seat, allowing the chosen girl to brush past her toward the lictors.
Kimme did the same, her expression wistful.
“I thought he was looking at me, at first,” she said to K’rilla. “How silly is that?”
“Not silly at all,” K’rilla said. She reached an arm around her niece’s shoulders, pulling her close. “Any man would be thrilled to pick you.”
“Do you think?” Kimme said. “Not that I’d really want him anyway. He’s old. And everyone knows he’ll probably die soon.”
K’rilla stiffened. Of course he was old, at least for an unmated male. They didn’t tend to live that long. Although she doubted he was much older than she was and she didn’t think of herself as ancient.
But maybe she should.
The chosen girl raced toward the lictors, then gave out a squeal of outrage as one of them shook his head with determination. A rush of murmurs ran through the crowd.
K’rilla strained her head, trying to figure out what had happened. The lictors gestured broadly and one of them caught her gaze, nodding. K’rilla narrowed her eyes, confused, and he nodded at her again.
“Aunt K’rilla, he’s trying to catch your attention,” Kimme said, her voice filled with wonder. “He wants you to go to him.”
8
Gladiator’s Prize
“That’s impossible,” K’rilla said flatly. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”
The lictor offered her a reassuring smile and Kimme pushed her forward. The roar of the crowd rose in K’rilla’s ears, surreal and intense, forcing her to acknowledge the truth.
It wasn’t a misunderstanding.
Saul refused a flagon of wine from an awestruck trainer, opting for water instead.
He let the cool fluid slide down his throat, perfect after the long, hot day. The darkness of the arena’s tunnel shielded him, providing a welcome respite from the sun. He’d barely had time to wipe away the worst of the sweat, although someone had slapped a quick-healing patch on his forehead, staunching the flow of blood running down his face. He heard the crowd roaring with laughter as they enjoyed a farce being staged out on the sands, waiting for his coronation with the laurels of victory. He shifted his feet, wishing his erection would go down a little. Having one was a good sign—traditionally it meant luck for the winner and his allies. But it was damn uncomfortable…
Those of his opponents still capable of walking would escort him to his coronation, laying their weapons before him as he mounted the victory podium. Lictors in twenty-five different liveries would follow them, representing the First Families of Saurellia.
Saul smiled—he’d never dreamed he’d find himself in such exalted company. Never dreamed he’d survive his first tour of duty, let alone become an admiral. And now one of Saurellia’s finest women would crown him. His cock gave another twinge and he stifled a groan. She seemed to be bringing him more luck than any man should have to display in public, he thought ruefully. Damn she was pretty, though. The best of the lot.
She’d stood out from the flutter of girls pretending to be women, an adult filled with beauty and poise. Not to mention her full,
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