He, of course, ignores me. His arm probably doesn’t appear tight from the others’ point of view, but I can’t get away from him without making a scene. “You would have fallen if Atalanta didn’t step in. No matter what you look like—cute getup by the way, even if I prefer you in dresses—you’re the same old Helen. You can’t function without someone there to hold your hand and tell you what to do. It’s okay, honey. I’m more than happy to give you a guiding hand.”
His words sink deep into the raw spots I don’t show anyone. How fucking naive had I been to confess my darkest fears to Paris? He’s never missed a chance to sink the knife in deep and twist it.
He’s wrong, though. My fears are wrong, too.
I’m not helpless. I don’t need a savior. I don’t. It takes everything I have to keep a quiver from my voice, to offer only calm even as panic flutters in my chest. “Get your hands off me or I’ll remove them myself.”
“Do it.” He grins, every inch the charming prince. “I know how you like it rough. Daddy’s little princess in public and my little slut in private.” Words designed to hurt me, to turn something that I thought was a safe space dirty and unclean. I thought we were having fun and playing out fantasies I’d never admitted to anyone. Paris was simply adding more weapons to his arsenal.
My skin prickles and I have to concentrate in order not to drop my gaze. I will not back down from this man, will not let him undermine my confidence in myself, will not let him shame me for something he enjoyed just as much as I did. “Let go.”
“You liked protesting then, too.” He squeezes me tighter. “Keep going. I like it.”
A chill skitters down my spine. This is the scariest thing about Paris. He never actually threatens, hardly ever yells. But his unrelenting determination to see the world his way regardless of evidence to the contrary? His nice-guy smiles even as he’s calmly launching verbal assaults? It’s terrifying.
The panic fluttering in my chest gets stronger, and a little tremor flickers through my tone when I speak. “You don’t have the right to touch me.” Attacking another champion is strictly forbidden and he knows it. He’s using it against me. I try to duck out from beneath his arm, but he tightens his hold. I’m trapped. All the training and all the preparation and I’m held captive in the arms of a man who means me harm. I try to swallow past the way my throat closes. Not again. I will not do this with Paris again. I look around for help, but Achilles, Patroclus, and Atalanta have disappeared into the first van. Hector and the other four champions are nowhere to be seen, and Bellerophon is occupied arguing quietly with the Minotaur and Theseus. There’s no one coming to save me.
Wait.
I don’t need saving.
Godsdamn it, it took Paris all of a minute to slam me right back into the helpless skin I’ve worked so hard to escape. I am not helpless. I am more than capable of saving myself. I turn toward him until we’re nearly chest to chest. “Paris?”
His gaze drops to my lips and his voice deepens. “Yeah?”
I grab his cock in an iron grip and squeeze. He makes a pained noise and tries to jerk back, but I have too good a hold. All he manages to do is hurt himself. My body hides what I’m doing from Bellerophon, which is just as well. This would definitely qualify as an attack. I twist my wrist a little, enjoying the way Paris goes a sickly green. “If you touch me again without my permission, I’ll gut you.”
“Bitch.” His voice is a little too high. “You want to play rough? We’ll play rough.”
I ignore the wave of fear his words bring and twist harder. Hard enough that his knees buckle. “You will never, ever, play with me again, you bastard.”
“You’ll pay for this,” he wheezes.
“No, I won’t. Because you’re not going to win. I am.” I release him and take a quick step back, putting some much-needed distance between us.
He straightens slowly. “Helen.” Gone is the anger, quickly masked behind the charm. He’s always been able to tuck away his negative emotions like that. At least until the rare occasions when they explode without warning. Paris winces a little and smiles as if I just did something clever. “Always so reckless. Always so willing to hurt yourself to hurt me.”
“Shut up.” I realize my mistake the second I say the words. I might as well wave a red flag in front of a bull. Paris loves nothing more than getting beneath my skin.
Sure enough, his smile widens. “Do you really think your brother is going to let someone like you become Ares? Your temper alone will bring down Olympus. You’re not strategic; you never know when to fold or bend. You can’t even pass a simple obstacle course without help, and you think you can direct Olympus’s army? Don’t make me laugh. You’ll make us weak, easy to pick off for our enemies. Enemies like them.” He nods at the van that the two non-Olympians have disappeared into. “If you really want what’s good for the city, you’d step down now.”
Even as I try to come up with a response, his words burrow deep and plant poisonous roots. I am impulsive and reckless. I have been my entire life. How many times have my father, my brother, accused me of the very same thing? If I weren’t reckless and impulsive, I would never have had sex with Achilles last night. I wouldn’t have made a pass at Patroclus. I wouldn’t have done a lot of wild acts I’ve committed over the course of my life when the pressure beneath my skin becomes too much to bear.
I never would have dared attempt to become Ares.
I don’t care. Paris is wrong. He has to be wrong, and I will not let him make me doubt myself. Not ever again. I swallow past the thickness in my throat. “Next time you touch me without permission, I’ll cut off your arm and beat you to death with it.”
“Temper, temper.” He laughs and moves around me to climb into the nearest van.
I’d rather cut off my own arm than follow him, so I turn on my heel and head for the next one down the line. Bellerophon lifts their brows at me. “Problem?”
“Of course not.” I can’t quite manage a smile, so I duck around them and climb into the back of the van.
It’s not until I’m sitting there between the two strangers that I pause long enough to wonder if I’ve made a mistake by picking this van. Then the doors shut, and it’s too late. Damn it. I’m too raw to keep my shit together, practically vibrating out of my skin with feelings I don’t know what to do with. I’m not up to sparring with either of these men, verbally or otherwise.
The one with shorter hair, Theseus, stretches out his big legs and gives me a long look. “Back where I’m from, women know their place.”
Wow, he’s not even going to try to soften me up, is he? Weirdly enough, that’s almost a comfort. I don’t have to be sweet and sunny and political in my response. I blink slowly at him. “That must be so nice for you. Where you come from, do they also offer unsolicited opinions to strangers?”