Patroclus…and Helen.
She’s on her back on the mat taking up one corner of the room, one long leg stretched up over Patroclus’s shoulder. He’s on his knees, pressing her leg down toward her chest. Rationally, I realize it’s a hamstring stretch and that they have all their clothes in place, but my brain sees the position and says fucking. Especially when he shifts forward and presses her leg another inch lower. They’re close enough to kiss, and even from here I recognize the flush of his skin.
He’s turned on. Really, really turned on.
Fury rises. I told them to stay away from each other, and it took all of ten minutes for her to have him on the floor, hot and bothered. Fuck, he knows better, too. Does no one listen to me when I talk? I clench my fists, fighting against the instinctive desire to stalk over there and rip him off her.
A snort has me looking at the Minotaur. He arches a scarred brow. “She’s moving fast with that one.”
I was just thinking the same thing, but that doesn’t mean I like other people noticing. “Shut the fuck up.”
He gives that snort again and leans back, easily picking up the bar and beginning to press it to his chest and up again. I watch for several repetitions before I turn back to Patroclus and Helen. She’s switched legs, and it irritates me further that neither of them even noticed me standing here. That spurs me into motion, the possessive ugly thing inside me taking control. I stop a foot from them and snarl. “Get up.”
Patroclus startles, which pisses me off more. He’s damn near impossible to sneak up on because he’s always thinking ten steps ahead, and yet he’s so focused on this woman that it put his big brain on hold. He sits back and shifts his hips as if I can’t tell that he’s got a raging boner. I glare at him and then turn my attention to her. “Up.”
Helen looks good. Damn it, I hate that she looks good. She’s got on a pair of pants and a sports bra that cling to her sweaty skin, showing off her toned stomach and nice tits. She sits up slowly, her expression pure challenge. “He was helping me stretch.”
“I can see exactly what he was doing.” It would be bad enough to have been the one to catch them, but with the Minotaur watching, judging, fucking laughing, I can’t get ahold of my anger. “You.” I point at Patroclus. “Get your head on straight.”
“Achilles—”
I ignore the exasperation in his tone and turn to Helen. “And you. Back to your fucking room, princess.”
“Funny thing, that.” She pushes to her feet, and I fucking loathe the way Patroclus watches her as if he’s going to jump in and catch her if she stumbles. The Minotaur is right; she’s working fast, and she’s working on my man. Helen stretches her arms over her head, pure challenge in those amber eyes. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“Helen.” Now Patroclus turns that exasperation in her direction, which is another indicator of how close they’ve gotten in such a short time. He might be soft, but he’s very careful about who he extends his circle of protection to because of it. It usually takes ages for him to warm up to a new person. How the fuck did she manage it in just a few days? It can’t be because she knew him before I did. It can’t.
“I might not be the boss of you right now, but I’m going to be your husband, and you will stop acting like a spoiled little brat.”
Patroclus sucks in a breath, and Helen’s spine goes ramrod straight. “Say that again,” she snarls.
I don’t bother. Instead I grab her and toss her over my shoulder. Patroclus starts to move forward, but I hold up a hand. “I don’t want to hear shit from you right now. Do your workout. We’ll talk later.” I don’t give him a chance to respond. I just turn and haul a cursing Helen out of the gym and through the halls. After the briefest hesitation, I go through my door instead of hers.
I barely have a chance to set her on her feet before she swings on me. I dodge back, easily catching her fist. “Sloppy.”
“I’ll show you sloppy, you asshole.” She aims a kick for my balls, and I turn my hips. The impact hits my thigh and she’s put enough strength behind it to stagger me. She’s quick, too, dancing back a step and snapping another kick at my face.
I catch her ankle and yank her off her feet, following her to the floor when she immediately tries to jump back up. She’s scrappy; I’ll give her that. She manages to elbow me in the face before I wrestle her to the floor and pin her wrists on either side of her head. “That’s enough.”
“Fuck you.” She’s so furious, she’s vibrating, her amber eyes practically shooting lasers at me. “No wonder you want to be Ares. You’re just like the last one: a fucking bully.”
“Shut up.”
But she doesn’t. She snarls in my face and tries to throw me off her, like I don’t outweigh her by a shit ton. And she keeps running that godsdamned mouth. “Poor little Achilles got his pride hurt because Patroclus was nice to me. Gods, you’re pathetic.”
“Shut up,” I grind out.
“Make me!”
There is no excuse for what happens next. One moment I’m ready to haul her to her feet and kick her ass out my door. The next… I don’t know who moves first. Maybe she arches up. Maybe I dip down. The end result is that I’m kissing Helen Kasios, precious princess of Olympus, the woman I fully intend to marry when I become Ares.
She tastes like victory.
I jerk back and stare down at her. She looks nearly as shocked as I feel, nearly as furious. This was a mistake. “I—”
“Shut up.” She arches up again, and this kiss sweeps away what little rational thought I have left. There is nothing soft in this. Maybe if there was, I’d figure out how to stop. I can’t think, though. Not as we go to war with each other, a battle comprised of tongue and teeth and surprisingly sweet little moans she makes into my mouth.
Helen shifts beneath me, rubbing her calf up my leg. I release her wrists and hook a hand under her knee, fitting us more closely together. She runs her hands down my chest, and the only warning I get is a slight tensing of her body before she hooks her foot around my thigh and flips us. She lands astride my hips and, fuck, Helen has never been more beautiful than she is in this moment. She’s a fucking mess, but she’s real.
The frenzy rises between us, as if we both can sense that slowing down will let reality creep back in. I don’t know what she’s running from. I don’t fucking care. I’m still so furious, I’m running on instinct alone, and I reach between us to grab the fabric of her pants and yank hard. It tears along the center seam, so I do it again, ripping the damn things in half.
Helen arches back and slaps me, the blow turning my face to the side. “These are my favorite running tights, you piece of shit.”