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Because I got the charley horse from hell in my left calf.
I didn’t shriek—it wasn’t that loud. But to a vampire’s ears, it must have been loud enough, because the bedroom door burst open and Marco rushed in, gun in hand and face pretty damn scary. He looked around wildly, I suppose for something to shoot, and when he didn’t find anything, he grabbed me.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
I stared up at him, still half-asleep and disoriented from the pain, and didn’t say anything.
“Cassie!”
“Charley horse,” I finally managed to gasp, only it didn’t seem to do any good. Because he just stared at me, uncomprehending, as the room quickly filled up with vamps.
And then he blinked. “Did you say charley horse?”
I nodded tearfully.
Marco said something profane and shoved his gun into the small of his back. “Get outta here,” he told the others, who melted away into the shadows, looking absurdly grateful.
He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere.”
It wasn’t an exaggeration. It felt like my entire body had whiplash. I was beginning to understand why Fred had said he hated lasso spells. Of course, the one that had made me feel like shit had also saved my life, but that wasn’t all that comforting at the moment.
I held up my left leg, which was cramped so badly I couldn’t even straighten it out. Marco’s big hand smoothed gently over the muscle, and then he applied a little pressure. I gasped in pain and then in wonder, as the muscle suddenly released. It still hurt like a bitch, a dull throbbing that mirrored the racing of my heart. But at least I could breathe.
“You know, I’ve lived a long time,” he told me, massaging the calf more firmly now. “And I met a lot of people. But I ain’t never met a woman made me want to beat her to death as often as you.”
“Sorry,” I choked out, and tried to pull away, but his hand held me firm.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Marco said. “Not until we have a little chat.”
But he didn’t chat; he didn’t talk at all. He just continued the long, soothing strokes with those big fingers, so clumsy-looking but so deft in movement. And after a few moments, I felt my body slowly relax. “You’re good at that.”
“Had a lot of practice.”
“Really? Where?” I asked, less because I wanted to know than to postpone the bitching-out I was about to get. Usually, I held my own pretty well, even with the vamps. But right now, it didn’t feel like I had anything left.
Marco shot me a look that said he knew damned well what I was doing, but then he shrugged. “The lanista I worked for had me ready the men for combat. They fought better if they were loose, or so he thought.”
“Lanista?”
“Guy who owned a bunch of gladiators.”
“I thought you were in the army.”
A bushy black eyebrow rose, but he didn’t ask. “I was. Worked and scraped my way up to centurion, just in time to see the empire crumble around me. I was almost dead after a battle, when some men dug me out of the blood and the muck and carried me off. Turns out they worked for a vampire with an entrepreneurial streak, and he liked ex-army.”
He added a little extra pressure, and I moaned, but not because it hurt. That leg felt better now, although it just highlighted how sore the rest of me was. It was like I hadn’t been able to concentrate on all my other aches and pains until the big one got taken care of. And now they were all clamoring for help.
Marco just shook his head at me. “Turn over.”
I turned over, and those big hands got to work on my back. I stifled a whimper in the pillow, because Marco’s idea of a massage bore no resemblance whatsoever to the relaxing spa variety. There was no lavender oil, no soothing music, no hot towels. Just an all-out assault on cramped muscles, until they cowered in surrender and turned to Jell-O.
“Why did this vampire like ex-army?” I gasped after a few minutes, mostly to give myself something else to think about.
“Fortunatus was in the business of providing gladiators for the rich. Politicos who wanted to play up to the crowds, or fat cats trying to outdo each other in private events. The best money came from fights to the death, but it cost him a lot to train a gladiator well enough to put on a good show. Having him die in a death match one of the first times he fought wasn’t good business, even at the prices he charged.”
“So he picked people who were already trained?”
