The Beast of Verona: Book I of the Decimus Trilogy Page 7

  Quintus let out a boisterous laugh that startled Decimus. “Of course not! Why would I think such a thing?”

  Decimus shrugged, such a human gesture. “For obvious reasons.”

  “I am a loyal patriot as much as the next man, but many slaves share the same fate as you and have committed worse crimes. I will not hold it against you.” Quintus took another long swig of the wine.

  Decimus was quiet and thoughtful as they continued to feast. He remembered that day in Vetera well. He remembered the thrill of the battle as he slain his enemies, the rage he felt as his fellow Batavians fled from Vocula. He continued fighting only because he felt compelled to. If he had fled with his army that day, he would not be a gladiator in Verona and he would be a free man. It was a terrible mistake that he was still paying for.

  He could feel Caprasia’s eyes caressing his face as tangible as a hand would. When he raised his head to look at her for what seemed like a hundredth time in just their two encounters, he noticed something peculiar.

  Her eyes were not filled with the lustful glint of adolescence, but he found himself drowning in the sympathy she felt for him. He couldn’t imagine what she must have thought of him now. Was she only after him because she assumed he was a Roman somehow? Or did she feel a deeper longing now that she knew he had a somewhat tragic past?

  He could not bear the weight of her emotions that she displayed so freely and turned away.

  “You have not drunk any wine, Decimus.” The sound of Quintus speaking his true name sent a jolt of shock through him. No one had spoken that name to him in two long years. It echoed in his ears like a haunting foreign melody. Memories of childhood swelled in his mind and he struggled to push them back.

  “No. I’m sorry to say I’ve grown a little more accustomed to the filthy water they serve in in a bronze cup at the ludus.”

  Quintus let out a thick belly laugh and summoned one of his slaves to replace his silver goblet full of wine with a bronze dish filled with water. “Anything to make your visit here more comfortable, Decimus.”

  The gladiator thanked his host and was relieved to feel the cool water wash down his throat.

  Caprasia was awkwardly silent for the rest of the feast while Decimus and Quintus talked about the state of the city and Rome in general. Being a politician, it was understandable that he could talk of nothing else. Decimus certainly had little to say that was of any consequence. His life had been consumed by war and combat and, for some unknown reason he had no desire to upset Caprasia any further.

  Stealing glances her way periodically throughout the banquet he could see that she seemed far away, distant and slightly uninterested unless Decimus was speaking. Then she snapped to attention and appeared to hang onto every word that proceeded from his lips.

  Her attention and infatuation was unwarranted, but there was something in Caprasia that Decimus sensed. It was hidden from him, like a deer wandering in the morning fog of the forests back in his homeland. He could make out its shape, but not its essence. There was more to this young lady than finery, flirty stares and proud demeanor. There was an extra layer that Decimus could not reach just yet. But he wanted to.

  With no windows in the dining hall, Decimus was unable to know what time of the evening it was until it was too late.

  He felt the pulse within him pound against his every sense so violently he grunted despite himself.

  Quintus, in the middle of telling some amusing story about a fellow politician, flinched at the sound. “Are you alright, Decimus?” he asked, concern coloring his words.

  Caprasia had straightened from her reclining pose to place her feet on the floor. “You look ill,” she stated worriedly.

  Decimus grimaced and fought back the surge of discomfort and shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I believe my visit here is through. Guards?”

  The guards who were standing vigil around the hall came to him in a clamor of armor and swords.

  All three of them rose from their couches.

  Decimus stumbled on his first step and both his host and Caprasia were at his side to assist him. In the dizzying haze, he felt the touch of Caprasia’s soft hand against his arm. The feminine touch momentarily soothed the beast within him and he was able to suppress the primal urges for a little longer. It seemed like ages since he had felt such silky skin upon his own.

  “You had no wine, Decimus. Are you sure you’re alright?” Her sweet, lilting voice was loud in his ears as they made their way out of the dining hall. He glanced out into the peristyle and saw that the night was fast approaching.

  “I assure you, I’m well. I just need to return to the ludus.”

  He could sense the unspoken questions from both of them, but he had no time to fabricate the excuses he needed so quickly.

  Decimus turned to Quintus and gave him a deep bow. “I thank you again for the meal and the invitation to your home. I am indebted to your hospitality.”

  “Not at all, Decimus,” Quintus replied. “Will you be competing anytime soon? We would be sure to attend the event.”

  Decimus knew he would be in the arena tomorrow, but they would not know it. “I’m not sure when I will be competing again, but I’m confident there will be ample advertisement for it ahead of time. I bid you both a good night.”

  With that, the guards surrounded him and they hurried from the villa. Decimus took one last, wary glance to Caprasia and saw the distress in her face. She was worried for him and cared somehow. Why, he may never understand. He knew it would not be the last time he saw her pretty face.

  Through the raging discomfort, he gave her a reassuring wink and let the guards hustle him out in the darkening street.

  The sun was gone by now, painting the sky in shades of twilight and coming darkness. Torches were being lit outside homes while citizens finished up the last of their shopping.

  The guards marched through the streets, doing their duty by shoving pedestrians out of their way and keeping at a steady pace through Verona. But it wasn’t enough.

  The throbbing within Decimus was too great. He could feel his eyes begin to change, the one thing he could never truly control during the late evenings when the beast needed to break free from his human skin. He kept his head down, only glancing up when necessary to turn with his team of escorts.

  The urgency progressively became worse, tearing at his soul and begging for release. He clenched his fists tightly, drawing blood from his palms as his sharp claws extended and dug into his skin.

  His tongue probed along his teeth and discovered they were lengthening at a faster rate than usual. It wouldn’t be long until his change would be noticeable to everyone.

  Decimus stepped towards one of the guards at the head of the team. “You’re going too slow. Can you pickup the pace?” he asked, being mindful to keep his voice low.

  “Any faster and we’ll be running in full armor.”

  “You’re not going fast enough. Let me run on ahead.”

  “And let you out of our sight? Absolutely not. You’ll escape.”

  Decimus became frustrated beyond measure by the man’s arrogance. “I give you my word I will go straight to the ludus. I have no where else to go.”

  “I can’t let you do it.”

  “Do you have any idea what will happen if you don’t let me go on my own?”

  Decimus ventured a threatening glance to the guard. The bland Roman eyes locked with the golden eyes of a beast and he was stunned speechless.

  He couldn’t wait another moment. They hadn’t even reached the city gates yet.

  Decimus darted past the guards, knocking a few to the ground and sped his way through the city streets. He heard their shouts, but ignored them. Dodging past the citizens of Verona, he must have appeared as little more than a blur to them.

  Racing faster than the swiftest purebred horse in all of the Roman Empire, Decimus snaked his way through the alleys and launched himself onto the lofty rooftops. Leaping from one house to the next, he made no sound upo
n the clay tiles.

  He came to the city wall and bounded over it as easily as if it were a mere fallen branch in his path. His feet hit the soft earth and Decimus rolled down the slope that fell away from the city.

  When he regained his stance, Decimus hurried that much faster towards the ludus adjacent to the amphitheater. His vision began to blur once more, hazed over as the beast began to push harder against him. Blood raced behind his ears in a deafening roar, his rapid heartbeat muffled with his heavy panting.

  Just a little farther, he willed.

  He vaulted over the wall of the ludus, by passing the guards that patrolled the gate, and sped down the stairs that led to the underground. He released his hold on the beast as soon as he stumbled into his cell.

  “Marcus!” he bellowed, knowing the lanista would hear him close by. The cell was not locked, but there was still time for that.

  Decimus crumbled into the dirt and screamed in agony as it began. The beasts in the cages roared with him, aware that another predator was joining them in the darkness.

  The pain was intense, white hot and blinding. He could feel the strain and stretch of his muscles beneath his skin as something all too unnatural began to take place.

  His bone began to crack and break into unnatural forms, black coarse fur sprouting from his skin. Decimus could feel his human consciousness slip into the dark recesses of his soul, giving way to the beast that lurked within him.

  The tunic he wore tore to shreds under the pressure of his changing body.

  Body, mind and spirit ripped in half to accommodate two entities that warred over each other daily.

  And once a month, Decimus could not fight the beast.

  Ears grew tall and pointed, his skull molded into something resembling the head of a canine.

  He made no effort to muffle his roars and cries of pain. Everyone in the ludus heard him and he didn’t care. If they were in this much pain, they wouldn’t even survive.

  A long bushy tail extended from the bottom of his spine and swept the sand along the floor.

  He lost full control, helpless against the forces that governed his entire existence.

  Callouses on his hands became roughened dark pads like that on an animal’s paw.

  He was drowned by the animal in the thrashing sea of the change.

  Long tawny claws tipped his fingers. His feet morphed in a similar way.

  He felt suffocated by the beast, like a flame on a candle that had ceased to burn.

  Every month, for one night, Decimus died and let the wolf emerge to claim the body he believed to be his own.

  Decimus was no longer there. In his place was a beast with the vague shape of a man’s torso, topped with the head of a wolf. He stood a few feet taller now, an imposing monster that could tear a man to pieces with one swipe of his massive paw that still retained the shape of a human hand, only larger in size and far more deadly.

  The beast roared and then looked wildly about with his golden eyes. He could hear the human approach. He could smell the fear. Turning, he saw the door to the detestable cage was ajar. He could escape, be free to roam and hunt as nature intended.

  He lunged for the door, but he skidded to a stop as he saw the human shut the door and lock it tight.

  “You cut it close, Lupus. Don’t do it again,” the human spoke. His tone was threatening, but the beast inhaled his fear like an intoxicating incense.

  The beast growled and bared his sharp fangs at the human, the man who kept him locked away. Even the human whose body he shared despised this man. The beast vowed one day to devour his captor alive. He would be free. One day.

  7

  Outside of Rome Italy, 2015

  Howard looked to the sunset sky, alive with shades of orange and harsh reds. After following his primal instincts, he finally came to the outskirts of Rome and found himself in a nature reserve just north west of the ancient city.

  He passed by some informational signs that marked the way to trails that wound through the park, but he had no intention of taking them. He cut across the path and entered straight into the forest.

  The feeling of panic began to ebb away like the rolling tide as he journeyed deeper into the forest and farther away from civilization. The heady scent of the pines and lush greenery filled his senses. He felt at home, at peace. Even the wolf within him couldn’t refuse this place.

  Howard walked until he felt he was far enough away from the world beyond the reserve. He picked out a sturdy tree and sat beneath it, waiting for the sun to set.

  At home, the changes were not frantic. He always made sure he had enough time to find a secluded place for himself and his family. His pack.

  His father would join him, as well as his younger brother and their extended family. They’d gather several times a month to be there for one another during their time. But this month he was alone. It was a strange feeling to be so isolated at a time like this. Howard knew he would need to get used to it. If his stay proved to be a long one, he’d need to change alone more than just this once.

  He wondered how the others were doing without him. Did they miss him? Howard knew they understood his reasons for leaving, but did they mourn his absence as he did theirs? Did they send up a melancholy howl for him on those long nights without him?

  Or had they become used to him not being around already, as they had to before. Those few years he was unable to join them had been detrimental to the pack morale. It especially upset his father. What kind of an heir would reject his own pack for a woman? It was only in the last six months he had begun to seriously dedicate himself to learning about his birthright and the responsibilities that it entailed.

  Howard closed his eyes and he could still see her face. So beautiful, yet the image of her red swollen eyes and tear-streaked face were forever etched into his memory. He had seen her cry so often that he couldn’t remember her brilliant smile. He couldn’t remember her soft voice alight with laughter, only her furious scolding and wailing.

  His fingers curled into a fist and struck the jagged bark of the tree root beside him. The heartache was still fresh, the wound unhealed.

  As he lifted his eyes to the sky, he saw that the time was drawing closer. He stood and stripped away his clothes, folding them carefully and setting them by the protruding roots of the tree where they would be ant-riddled by morning, but safe from being stolen.

  He stood and waited, letting the wolf within him come up swiftly and effortlessly. He learned not to hold it in, to just let it flow freely. It was painful, but after so many years, he grew accustomed to it.

  Howard stifled the yells and gritted his teeth as the shift crept its way through his body. He dropped to his hands and knees, letting the wolf consume him as it always had.

  Several excruciating moments passed before Howard was able to stand again, but now in his fully changed form of half man, half beast.

  If he thought his senses were keen in his human form, they were magnified as a beast. He could make out the scents of animals that had passed through where he now stood. He could hear the faint engines of Italian cars off of the highway miles away. The damp earth was cool under his paws and he couldn’t resist the impulse to dig his claws into the soil, relishing in its richness.

  Howard and the wolf that shared his body were not at odds with each other. As his father had taught him, it was a symbiotic relationship. They shared not only a body, but also a heart and a mind. Howard’s needs were the wolf’s needs and vice versa. They understood each other, gave and took what was needed for their survival.

  As Howard nestled himself into the cushy forest ground, he wondered if Decimus felt the same with his inner beast. Was it an easy relationship or did they despise one another as burdens?

  Howard’s father had learned the trick to this codependency from his own father, but where in their ancestral line did it come from? Was it something that Decimus learned or was it one of his later descendants?

  Howard curled himself up, resting his
muzzle upon the dark brown fur of his arms and let his tail swish in fluid, docile movements against the ground behind him. His pointed ears swiveled to pick up every little sound of the wilderness. Squirrels were scurrying, birds fluttering in the treetops and a deer that was grazing not too far away.

  The beast within him knew of the prey nearby, but understood this was not the place. They were not on private property and this was not his home.

  Howard began to speculate if Decimus felt this aching loneliness for companionship, for a pack and a place to call his own. Did he long for the love and understanding of a woman to call his mate?

  For whatever peculiar reason, as soon as Howard thought of mates and partnership, the image of Marina flashed through his mind. He remembered the woman from the museum that had blown him away with her immense knowledge about everything Roman and her stunning beauty.

  Even the wolf side of him was surprised by the sudden recall of her pretty face and clumsy tendencies.

  Instead of pushing her from his mind, Howard allowed himself to linger on her memory and the excitement he felt that he would see her again the following evening.

  Arena di Verona, 71 AD

  The wolf paced the length of his cage, golden eyes fixed upon the arena just beyond the bars that contained him. His paws shuffled through the sand, kicking up dust at every turn.

  Blood was stained upon his lips from his last meal, an arm, torn from a fallen gladiator the day before. The taste that remained on his tongue made him salivate, craving more human flesh.

  His black fur bristled with expectation, his head filled with the cheers and chanting of the crowd. Soon he would be released and soon he would feed again.

  Inside, he could feel the soul of the human resisting the euphoria that coursed through the wolf’s veins. He did this every time, but the wolf wouldn’t listen. His bloodlust was insatiable.

  Last night, Decimus had changed into the beast. Now Marcus wanted the wolf out of him for the arena. In the form of a natural wolf, Decimus still had no control over himself or his actions, try as he willed.