“Nope,” she lied. “Flushed. And I know, you don’t have to say it. Strider is a lucky man.”
“That’s the truth.”
Quashing a spark of guilt before it could form—she absolutely hated lying to her twin—Kaia glanced around the room. Taliyah nodded in acknowledgment before returning to her blade-sharpening task. Gwen blew her a loving kiss. Neeka offered her a small smile and the others waved.
“Catch me up,” she said.
Bianka pulled her forward. Kaia’s other hand was intertwined with Strider’s and stayed that way until the last possible second. As she and her twin sat on the floor of the Team Kaia tent, she saw Sabin, Lysander and Strider gather in a corner and put their heads together, chatting, their voices low.
She tried to listen, her ears twitching, but she couldn’t make out the words. She tried to read their lips, but they kept their bodies angled away from her, not allowing her a single peek.
She was very close to standing up, stomping over, gripping her man by the shoulders and shaking him. Then she would demand he tell her what was going on, what he didn’t want her to know.
You trust him. You know he would never hurt you. And that was true. She did. She trusted him with her life. Obviously. Otherwise, she never would have slept, truly slept, with him.
Gods, that had been amazing. Rousing from seductive dreams and feeling her man beside her. She’d been cocooned, had luxuriated in his strength, his thick arms banded around her. Sleep had still held him in a tight fist and his features had been relaxed, boyish.
Never in her life had she been so content.
“So…what do you think? You in?” Bianka asked, drawing her attention.
Shit. She hadn’t heard a single word her sister had said. “In what, exactly? Tell me again, because your explanation was so lame it confused me.”
Bianka knew her very well and rolled her eyes. “You are such a bad liar.”
Am I? she almost asked with a smug lift of her chin. You didn’t catch my last one. “You’re projecting. Continue.”
“I was telling you how we’re in Rome, in the Coliseum. And get this. It’s the Coliseum of old, exactly the same as it used to be—only way different.”
Kaia supposed that, when you were as pretty as Bianka, you didn’t need to be smart. “Bee, darling. You are so, so exquisite, but you are also highly deranged. Do you have any idea how contradictory that statement was?”
“What are you talking about? I make perfect sense if you don’t actually ponder anything I say. Now guess what? The Coliseum is hidden from the mortal eye. We’re hidden from the mortal eye, in a realm we didn’t need a portal to access. Here, but not here.”
“And how’d we manage that?”
“Juliette. Somehow.”
Just the name had her gritting her teeth. Juliette had set her up, had arranged for mere mortals—and Strider’s enemies—to slaughter her. Bitch needed to pay. Soon. “And?”
“And we’ll be fighting like Gladiators. Which is what I was trying to tell you before, if only you’d paid attention. So anyway, you’re very good with your hands and our team needs you this round. You up for it? You were hit pretty badly in Alaska.”
They needed her? When they’d brought home their first victory without her? She eyed her sister critically, searching for any sign of duplicity or placation. Only innocence and assurance rested in those lovely amber eyes. Only determination hardened those red lips.
No placation, then. No recrimination over her past defeats, either. Bianka believed in her.
Could she believe in herself?
Her new ability might hurt her sisters, yes, but it would definitely aid her in a second victory. A victory Strider needed her to achieve for his very survival.
She glanced over at him. He was still in that circle with his friends, but he was facing her now. His blond hair was mussed, his cheeks flushed. They were always flushed around her, as if he were constantly aroused. She liked that.
His lashes were so long they curled upward. And wow, were they the perfect frame for those wicked blue eyes. His lips were swollen, delightfully red. They may not have had sex again, but they’d certainly kissed. A lot. At every possible opportunity she had sucked on his tongue.
No question, she was addicted to him.
Her study intensified. There were cuts on his fingers and palms, she noted. He’d borne those same injuries before, but those had healed. Hadn’t they? She frowned, hating that he was hurt again. Hating more that she didn’t know why or how. Had she inflicted the damage?
The thought caused her stomach to cramp. She just, well, she loved him so damn much. She hadn’t known for sure until she’d shouted the words, but she did. He was strength personified. He was devilish. He was fun and charming, with a smart-ass mouth she couldn’t resist. He made her laugh. He pushed her to the edge, knowing she could take it. He teased her, didn’t fear her. He knew her, understood her, was sometimes tender, sometimes harsh. He worried about her, trusted her.
He’d also married them.
The knowledge had shocked the hell out of her. Yeah, he thought that was still his little secret, but she was onto him. She wasn’t sure why he hadn’t confessed, or even why he’d done it, but she was stubborn enough to wait him out. And she was just devious enough to tease him until he came clean.
After all, she liked his methods.
She also loved the knowledge that she was as much his as he was hers. And that’s exactly how she knew he’d done it. She felt him. He was a part of her mind, in her blood, her soul, her heart, that bone-deep connection stronger than anything she’d ever experienced.
Since waking up in his arms, she’d known something was different between them and had spent many, many hours puzzling over what it could be. Little flashes of memory had come and gone—the glint of a blade, the drip of crimson, the press of Strider’s skin, the whisper of his breath. The words, “You are mine, and I am yours. We are one. From this moment, we are one.”
Oh, yes. They were wed and she’d never been happier. She owed this man so very much.
She watched as he pulled a packet of Red Hots from his back pocket and shook the contents into his mouth. He chewed, his strong jaw working. Her chest constricted at the sensuality of him.
He must have felt her gaze because he glanced over at her and winked. Again her chest constricted. She had to keep him safe. Whatever that entailed, she had to keep him safe.
She had to get that Rod.
She turned her attention back to her sister and lifted her chin. “I’ll fight,” she said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ONCE AGAIN STRIDER SAT in the stands to watch his woman—wife!—compete. But the Roman Coliseum was a far cry from the bleachers in “Brew City,” Wisconsin. He’d been here a time or two, remembered the travertine, tufa, brick and marble, and had never thought to see such things again. Not in such pristine condition, at least. As if no time had passed, as if the ancient world had somehow blended into the present.
There were four floors. The first three boasted wide, arched entryways fit for nobility, and the fourth, the bottom, had rectangular doorways meant for the common man. Nets rose from the arena to protect the spectators.
And the arena itself, well, he remembered that, too. A wooden floor stained with the blood of thousands covered the entire area, but it was a floor that could be removed, the land then flooded with water to reenact navel battles. Oh, how the Romans had loved their games.
And how the Harpies loved their games. The combatants occupied one of the subterranean chambers, waiting to be summoned. Meanwhile, Juliette droned on and on about what was to happen. If ever there’d been a blah, blah, blah moment, this was it. He wanted to stab his own ears more now than when the twins had been singing.