Passions of New Pompeii

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Passions 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
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older.

P
assions of New Pompeii

Aubrey
Ross

New Pompeii, playground of the rich and
decadent, has been operational for two years when Elaina decides
something drastic must be done. Her brother and the other founders
are out of control. Their cruelty and disregard for the lives and
dignity of the city’s inhabitants has become widespread and
twisted.

Elaina accepts her brother’s invitation and
attends the gladiator games. She finds the battle revolting and
barbaric yet stirring in ways she didn’t anticipate. Theos, her
brother’s new champion, is mesmerizing. His sculpted body and
untamed spirit leave her aching for an up-close-and-personal
demonstration of his strength.

Theos is torn between frustration and anger.
His master has requested before that he pleasure Fedoran women and
he has always refused, but this time is different. He must convince
Elaina he is content, that New Pompeii exists for the pleasure of
all Fedorans. If she succeeds in closing the city, she will nullify
his reason for living.

Scooting to the edge of her seat, Elaina
Xyell pressed her hand to her chest and reminded herself to
breathe. Sunlight gleamed off the straining bodies of the
gladiators on the arena floor below. Their muscles rippled and
bunched as they lunged and twisted with lethal grace and focused
determination.

Metal scraped then rang as their swords
clashed and parried, arced and swung. The strangely musical sound
cut through the shouts and cheers of the raucous crowd all around
her. Brimmed helmets concealed the opponents’ faces, but most of
their sculpted bodies were vulnerable to the slashing bite of their
enemy’s
gladius
.

“Are you starting to see the appeal?”

Elaina tried not to let the smug confidence
in Laetif’s question provoke her. There was undeniable appeal in
these barbaric displays. They were savage and violent,
primal—erotic. She shivered as heat cascaded through her body and
pooled between her thighs. Life on Fedoros had become predictable,
homogenized and bland. It was little wonder bored Fedorans flocked
to New Pompeii.

“The appeal has never been in question.” She
dragged her gaze away from the spectacle and looked at her
sister-in-law. Dressed in a linen tunic and pleated
stola
,
Laetif effortlessly blended with the inhabitants of New Pompeii.
Elaina wore a similar costume, but she was far less comfortable in
the primitive outfit. “The morality of this endeavor is what
bothers me.”

“We saved these people from certain death and
delivered them to a city so similar to their own that their lives
were hardly disrupted. How can you fault the morality of that?”

A sudden cheer drew Elaina’s gaze back to the
arena floor. Dario, the crowd favorite, had just opened a gaping
slash in his opponent’s upper chest. Blood streamed across the
Roman’s impressive pec and dripped onto his washboard abs. Elaina
winced and reinforced her purpose for coming here. They’d been
duped, manipulated, and it had to stop, no matter the risk or
personal sacrifice.

She returned her gaze to Laetif’s flushed
face, but her sister-in-law was absorbed in the action. “They’re
being held captive by their own superstitions.”

Laetif waved away her concern. “You might
consider it superstition, but these people take their gods very
seriously.”

“Be that as it may, they are slaves and
slavery has been illegal on Fedoros for centuries.”

“They’re ghosts,” Laetif countered. “Without
our interference they would all be dead.”

Elaina sighed. Her compassionate heart
refused to accept the conclusion, but there was logic in Laetif’s
argument. Her brother and the other founders of New Pompeii had not
created this brutal way of life—they had simply allowed the
inhabitants to escape the volcano’s eruption and preserved the
status quo.

For the entertainment of Fedorans!

Dario drove the Roman backward with a frantic
series of thrusts. The Roman patiently deflected each blow, waiting
for an opportunity to launch his own offensive. Sunlight gleamed
off their sweat-slicked skin, emphasizing the bunch and flex of
their highly defined muscles.

“They’re not animals,” Elaina tried again.
They looked more like pagan gods, locked in a battle for the fate
of mankind. They emanated strength and power, a sort of savage
nobility no Fedoran could hope to emulate. She shook away the
fanciful thought and refocused on her mission, convincing Laetif
that these exhibitions were wrong. “We cannot treat them like—”

“We treat them as they have always been
treated,” Laetif cut in. “No better, no worse. We are allowing
their culture to develop naturally, without Fedoran
interference.”

It was an old argument—one Elaina had begun
debating days after her husband died. Her husband had been a silent
partner in these games, offering political and financial support
from the shadows. His death had freed Elaina to speak her mind, to
tell all of Fedoros how immoral she found these games and all the
other atrocities that made up daily life for these people.

Deafening cheers interrupted Elaina’s
response. The audience surged to their feet as Dario overextended
his thrust. The upstart Roman sidestepped, pivoted and slammed his
elbow into the center of Dario’s back. A collective gasp silenced
the arena as Dario stumbled then fell. The Roman followed him down,
straddling his hips and raising his
gladius
with both hands.
The sword point was aimed at the base of Dario’s spine. And the
Roman paused.

“
Ingula! Ingula
!” burst from the
onlookers, bloodlust glazing their eyes.

“What are they saying?” Elaina’s decision to
attend had been spontaneous, so she hadn’t undergone a Latin
infusion.

Laetif leaned close and spoke into her ear.
“Kill him. They’re demanding blood.”

“I thought Dario was the favorite,” she
called over the chanting crowd.

“Never underestimate the fickle nature of
these crowds.”

With his foot on the center of Dario’s back
and his sword still poised to kill, the Roman turned his head and
looked at Mikko, who was seated on the other side of his wife.
Mikko stood and moved closer to the wide stone barrier isolating
the editor’s private box from the rest of the teaming onlookers.
Mikko raised his arms and called out to the crowd, but Elaina
couldn’t understand him.

“What’s he saying?”

“He’s reminding the audience that the fight
was to last until ‘the finger’,” Laetif explained. “Gladiators are
too valuable to waste on the whim of a crowd. Death is only
encouraged when a gladiator fights a criminal or group of
criminals. The price of admission for death matches is much higher
than these skill rounds. If this fool will ask for mercy, Mikko
will grant it.”

“What if Dario won’t yield?” Unable to
restrain her morbid curiosity, Elaina came out of her chair and
joined her brother at the half-wall.

An anxious hush fell over the arena as every
eye focused on Dario. Tension pulsed around her and trapped her
breath in her lungs. If Dario refused to yield, she was about to
witness a murder. This wasn’t a sim or some graphic special effect.
Despite their primitive culture, these were living, breathing human
beings! The Roman nudged Dario with his foot and Dario slowly
opened his hand, releasing his hold on his sword. Another moment
passed in anxious silence and then Dario extended his index finger,
signaling his surrender.

Thank God, or Jupiter, or whatever benevolent
force had kept this from happening. Elaina blew out a shaky breath
and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.

The Roman stepped back and offered his hand
to his defeated opponent. Murmurs of disapproval rippled through
the crowd as the new champion helped Dario to his feet. Dario
snatched his sword off the sandy ground and limped toward the
nearest archway.

Elaina prepared to take her seat when the
Roman took off his helmet and faced Mikko, head held high. Smears
of dirt and blood emphasized his blatant masculinity rather than
distracting from his barbaric appeal. His hair was short and brown,
little more than a shadow against his gold-toned skin. Even from
this distance, his eyes flashed dark and dangerous.

He’d obviously won the day. Would he be
bathed and fed then offered the most desirable women? Wasn’t that
how conquerors expected to be treated?

“What do you think of my champion?” Mikko
asked with a challenging smile.

“He’s very impressive,” she admitted, her
mouth suddenly dry. She could almost feel the gladiator’s arms
crushing her against his massive chest and his mouth plundering
hers. He would not be a gentle lover. He would demand, overwhelm
and… She was being ridiculous! For all she knew, gladiators might
not be allowed women. Maybe they considered sex a weakness and
focused entirely on bashing heads together.

Her brother turned to the gladiator and
called out in a congratulatory tone. The gladiator accepted the
praise with an incline of his head. Then Mikko raised his voice
even louder, obviously addressing the crowd.

The people cheered and erupted in another
echoing chant. “Theos! Theos! Theos!”

“Theos. Is that his name?” she asked her
brother.

“Yes.” Mikko looked at her, green eyes
narrowed with speculation. “Does he seem abused and manipulated?
Can’t you see that he revels in this life?”

Theos raised his arms and turned in a slow
circle, absorbing the adoration and the cheers.

But he was a slave! He had no idea any other
life was possible. “I want to meet him.” The words slipped out
before she analyzed the repercussions.

Mikko laughed. “So you can fill his head with
seditious nonsense? Impossible.”

“Maybe it’s not such a bad idea.” Laetif
insinuated herself between them and slipped her arm around her
husband’s waist. “If anyone can help our resident do-gooder
understand that we are not abusing the inhabitants of our humble
community, it’s Theos.”

Motioning them away from the half-wall, Mikko
drew them back into the shade of the
velaria
. The canvas
awning flapped gently overhead, its protection inadequate relief
from the cloying heat. “It’s against the law to intentionally
pollute the social structure of New Pompeii. Even my sister would
not escape prosecution. You would not be able to say anything to
Theos that contradicts what he was told by the founders.”

“I signed the noninterference clause just
like everyone else,” Elaina muttered.

“Then why do you want to meet him?”

It was Laetif’s turn to laugh. “Are you
really so blind? I know she’s your sister, but Elaina is a woman.
Theos has always been our most popular gladiator largely because of
his appeal with females.”

“I can summon him, but I don’t pimp my
gladiators. Not even for my sister.”

Elaina gasped, moving deeper into the
shadows. “I wasn’t asking you to pimp him. Just forget I
asked.”

Laetif patted her on the back and glared at
her husband. “Ignore him. It’s a good idea. We were both thrilled
when you finally agreed to come watch the games. This is the next
logical step. You need to interact with one of the inhabitants, try
to see New Pompeii through their eyes.”

“Then she can interview the house servants or
talk to my vendors,” Mikko grumbled. “It doesn’t need to be a
gladiator.”

“We run the largest
ludus
in New
Pompeii. To understand our world, she needs to understand
gladiators,” Laetif countered.

“It’s all moot, Laetif. I couldn’t talk to
him even if Mikko summoned him. I can’t speak Latin.”