The Last Pack

4. THE GLADIATOR

After a minimal amount of sleep, Fidella was woken by a bulky, grey-haired woman screaming in her face. Portliness in a slave was a sure indicator of being a favourite of the Dominus, and this already made Fidella wary.

“Get up you lazy, arrogant slave, how dare you still sleep, you’re no pleasure slave, you don’t have the privilege of sleeping in!” During this rant from the matriarch, Fidella had already rolled out of bed, and put her clothes on in the hope of avoiding the spittle that was splattering over her from the woman’s enraged mouth, raining down on Fidella’s bedsheets.

Stepping into the same culina as last night, Fidella was given a jug full of fresh orange juice and followed the other slaves to the balcony where the Heatons were dining. Fidella was about to place the jug on the table when another slave directed her to the corner of the veranda, instructing her to stay there and fill the cups when asked. Later, Fidella learned that this was considered the worst job because breakfast could often take hours and the other she-wolves found the jug to be heavy after a while. Being an alpha, this was not a problem that Fidella would ever have to face.

Below the balcony was a metal cage where a line of men were walking towards the training ground. They wore loin-cloths to cover their dignity and sandals to protect their feet, but the rest of their bodies were completely exposed. A shine of sweat that covered their muscles made it seem as if they had already started training before arriving on the sands. Some of the men were scarred with claw marks down their chests and faces from previous fights they had had in the arena, some had scars of straight lines from the whip’s bite criss-crossed over their skin. Ewan walked along the line inspecting the men before instructing them to complete a hundred push-ups, placing his foot onto the backs of the men that were leaner than the others, claiming the extra weight would build the muscles. Ewan was responsible for preparing the wolves for tournaments in the arena and he took this part of his work very seriously, knowing that failing to prepare them properly could lead them to their death.

Suddenly, from the cage behind the warriors came the tallest man Fidella had ever seen. He had ebony hair and forest green eyes, a square jaw that seemed to be clenched in anger. His broad shoulders gave him a triangular shape, his pectoral muscles were so solid they seemed to stand slightly away from his body. His stomach was chiselled with abdominal muscles that were bound together in neat squares until they came to a point where his hips cut through the muscular maze to form a tight acute angle like the tip of a perfectly cut diamond, that descended into the cover of his modesty cloth. At her own wolf’s insistence, Fidella inhaled a deep breath, and was arrested by the scent of raspberries and lemon, so alluring that if his scent had been a liquid she would be drowning in it.

Continuing to stare at the paragon below her, she failed to notice her master’s clicking fingers or the aggravated tapping on his glass. Fidella was longing for him to look up at her, she had to know, and she wished he could hear her plea for him to just look into her eyes. Then, as if answering her silent prayers, he fixed his eyes upon hers. The glare of hostility was palpable to the extent that her own eyes began to burn with utter misery. The perplexity of emotions were quickly interrupted when a tight grasp pulled her off balance and she landed on her knees next to the Dominus’ chair.

“I thought we had a tyro on our hands, but given that you haven’t dropped the jug, I will modify that assessment and conclude that you’re ogling my gladiators, making you more of a concupiscent wench,” His cold judgement was void of expression almost monotone in deliverance, but this added to the factual style of his vitriol. Strangely, what worried Fidella the most was the possibility that the gladiators below might have heard the unjustified character annihilation. Even worse that it might be heard by the divine smelling one who already loathed her. Relinquishing his hold on her arm, the Dominus looked back at his breakfast.

“Fill my cup, slave,” The instant his command was spoken, a snarl permeated the air.

Conri was taking his time joining his fellow brothers on the training yard. He had already warmed up. As a champion, he prided himself on his heavy training and started two hours earlier than the others. His lethargic start this morning was caused by the cyclical prowling of his wolf, punctuated by the occasional whine. Stepping onto the sand, Conri took a moment to savour the almond and honey scent that saturated the air this morning. The beautiful bouquet brought forward his wolf, and his eyes darted around unbidden searching for the source of this heavenly scent. With sublime satisfaction he found what he had been looking for on the Dominus’ balcony. The joy was fleeting as his wolf began to claw at his skull from the inside, causing a frown to form on his face.

“Einar stop, be still!” Conri commanded his wolf. Although the internal lobotomy had stopped, the repetitive whine of MINE MINE MINE was even more annoying.

Conri had no idea what was happening, but he knew that the woman on the balcony was to blame.

Scrutinising her in more detail, he couldn’t deny she was a beauty. Her carob hair fell in soft waves to the curve at her lower back, cheekbones proudly protruded and seemed to shimmer in the morning sun. Her lips were plump in a peony shade of pink and Conri found himself wondering if they would feel as smooth as they looked when he pressed his own lips against them. He met his eyes with hers and was momentarily frozen. They reminded him of a shade of cornflower blue, completely captivating. Even his wolf was quiet, as if she had pinned and frozen them both with just one look, time was suspended. All too soon, the heavenly moment came to an end as the Dominus pulled her to the ground.

Conri had never felt the desire or need for a person like he did now. Almost as if he had tapped into her psychological frequency, he felt how she felt even though it was more of an emotional echo than a clear signal. Initially, he could feel an anger that didn’t belong to him and this caused Einar to amplify his hearing. The accusation that she had been ogling all the gladiators produced a wave of unfairness. Conri could understand this reaction as he knew that she had been staring only at him, however even more shockingly, was the jealousy that he felt he was plummeting into at the mere mention of her being interested in anyone but him. A tidal wave of embarrassment flowed through this unusual connection when the master called her a wench and Conri could only feel sympathy for her. Even from this distance, her innocence was irrefutable. Einar was pushing to come forward, to protect this woman he had only seen from afar. Conri had never had to struggle with his wolf before, they had always been a team. Conri had almost reasoned with Einar when he heard the Dominus refer to the woman at his feet as a slave with pure contempt in his voice, and for the first time ever Einar pushed forward and gave an almighty roar, while bellowing ‘MATE’ in his head.

All eyes were suddenly on Conri, except for the ones he really wished to see. Scrabbling for a reason to explain his sudden outburst, he was relieved when Ewan’s sudden laugh had the walls of tension demolished around him.

“Do you see gladiators? If you want to win and reap the glories, have your opponent shitting himself before he even sees you. That is why Conri is our champion. Which one of you piffling pups will spar with him first?” Ewan’s speech had rescued Conri, and it had also distracted the Dominus’ attention from Fidella. Now Conri had to repay him by pushing his brothers to their limit.

“Why did you do that, Einar?” Conri asked his wolf.

“Our mate is a queen, not a slave. That human was embarrassing her and we will not allow that to happen,” Einar replied, as if all this information was obvious.

“What is a mate?” Conri asked again, but his wolf retreated, leaving him with more questions than answers.