I shift closer to her despite myself. “You think you can take me.”
“Baby, I know I can.” Helen meets me halfway, planting her feet and almost daring me to close the last bit of distance between us. She looks me up and down, and I don’t think I imagine the lick of heat in her amber eyes. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”
“As if I couldn’t squash you with one arm tied behind my back.” What the fuck am I doing? Threatening this woman? It’s not even that she’s a woman. I don’t believe in that stereotypical bullshit about considering women noncombatants when they are obviously more than capable of being dangerous enemies. Anyone who underestimates Athena barely lives long enough to regret it.
I just didn’t expect to find an enemy in this woman. If that’s even what she is. Enemy feels like a strong word, but what else do I call her? She wants to snatch away the thing I desire most in this world, the title I’ve spent my entire life chasing. Enemy is the only label that does her justice.
Helen licks her lips. “Prove it.”
I plant one hand on the door next to her head. The new position has me leaning down over her, and even as a voice that sounds a whole lot like Patroclus whispers that this is a mistake, that we promised to stay away from her, I can’t seem to trigger my brakes. “You’re not going to win this tournament, princess. You’re not going to become the next Ares. Fuck, you’re probably not going to get past the first trial. This little rebellion of yours is cute but ultimately meaningless. Your fate is to stand up on that podium and greet your new spouse when they emerge victorious.” I grin. “Greet me when I step forward as the new Ares.”
If I wasn’t watching her so closely, I would miss the way she flinches the tiniest bit. Something like guilt tries to clamp around my chest, but I ignore it. There’s more at stake than this woman’s feelings. “Leave. Go back to your fancy penthouse and pretty dresses. You’re going to get hurt if you stay here.”
Helen leans back against the door, easing another inch of distance between us, though her hair brushes my thumb and I have the most ridiculous urge to move my hand a little closer to make it happen again. She lifts her chin, somehow managing to look down her nose at me despite being far shorter. “Are you going to hurt me, Achilles?”
“I don’t want to.” It’s the truth. I take no joy in smashing opponents clearly physically weaker than me. I also can’t afford to be precious about my honor right now, not with the stakes so high. “But yeah, I will.”
She narrows those pretty eyes. “And Patroclus. Do you think he’ll hurt me?”
No need to be a genius to read between those lines. I lean down until I’m right in her face, being a total dick about our size differences. “Leave him alone, princess. I don’t give a fuck if you used to know him. You don’t anymore. He’s not like us. He feels too fucking much, and you’ll break his soft damn heart if you brush against him carelessly.” Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that, either. I straighten. “I mean it, Helen. Leave him the fuck alone.”
She gives me a slow smile that has alarm bells ringing through my head. “He told you about last night, didn’t he?”
“What’s that have to do with anything?”
“Achilles.” She shakes her head like I’m a child who’s disappointed her. “Baby, you sound jealous. If your relationship—your non-exclusive relationship—with Patroclus is so strong, who cares if I fuck him until he forgets his name?” Her expression goes almost contemplative. “Maybe I’ll fuck him until he forgets your name. That would be quite the trick.”
“Stay the fuck away from him, Helen.”
She presses a hand to my chest, pushing until I retreat a step and then another. Helen uses the new distance to open the door. “This was a nice chat, Achilles. We should do it again sometime.”
A clear dismissal, and one without a promise to stay away from Patroclus or resign from the tournament. I might laugh if I weren’t so frustrated. She managed to run circles around me. She’s also right; I’m fucking jealous of the fact she made a pass at Patroclus last night. More, she got to him and turned his head.
It’s only when I’ve stepped into my room and shut the door between me and the rest of the world that I can admit I don’t know who I’m more jealous of.
Helen, for trying to sleep with Patroclus.
Or Patroclus for having the chance to take Olympus’s precious princess to bed.
8
Patroclus
It doesn’t matter which scenario I run, the result is always ambiguous. Helen Kasios entering the tournament has complicated things. The problem isn’t that she’s a formidable opponent—though I can’t rule that out, no matter what assumptions Achilles insists on making. No, the issue is how her presence disrupts the other champions. Her being here might cause them to act in ways I can’t anticipate, and that is doing a number on my head.
Paris’s emotions are compromised when it comes to Helen because of their history. I can’t decide if that means he’ll try to help her to get in her good graces or go out of his way to ensure she’s eliminated early.
Hector has obvious guilt about the way his brother has treated her, and that might cause him to help her if it outweighs his loyalty to Paris.
Even Achilles is acting slightly out of character, his temper shorter than normal ever since I gave him the rundown on what happened with Helen last night.
If I’m going to be perfectly honest, my reactions are off as a result of her presence as well. I can’t stop examining my unexpected attraction to the woman from different angles, as if hyperfocusing on it will bring clarity. It would be easier if the only thing that drew me was her beauty. That would make logical sense. Unfortunately, it’s…messier…than that. I feel a connection with her because of our history, ancient though it may be. I desire her now. Fuck, I respect her for entering the tournament and taking her fate into her own hands, even if it’s complicated my life.
The bottom line is I feel drawn to her. It’s not convenient and it’s not logical, and the battling desires between wanting to follow my original plan and wanting to go knock on Helen’s door to just be closer to her are making me want to crawl out of my skin.
I am not a man who is at war with himself. I run scenarios. I use logic and reason. Emotions play into it—I’m human, after all—but they don’t rule me. My brain does.
Until now, when I can least afford to alter my course.
A knock on my door has my heartbeat speeding up, and I curse myself for the fledgling hope that it’s her. It’s not. Of course it’s not. Helen has no reason to seek me out. We haven’t spoken in more than twenty years aside from last night, and that was a conversation of circumstance. She’d been caught putting her name in as a champion and wanted to persuade me to silence. She probably hasn’t given it another thought.