She blinks those big eyes at me. “I… No, Achilles, I mean why try to make me feel better? Don’t you want me to quit?”
A complicated question. I shrug. “I’m going to win this thing and become Ares.” Her lips thin, but I keep going. She asked. I’m going to answer honestly. “But I don’t like that shady bullshit. They’re underestimating you, and it pisses me off.”
“But… Why? Why does it piss you off? I don’t understand why you’re being so nice to me right now when it goes against your interests. It doesn’t make any sense. You hate me.”
“Helen.” I wait for her to look at me fully. “I don’t hate you. I like your contrary, difficult ass. You’re strong and smart and ambitious as fuck. If I wasn’t in this tournament, you could take Ares.”
Patroclus snorts. “You just had to throw that in there, didn’t you?” He turns to Helen. “What he means is—”
But she’s not looking at Patroclus. For once, her attention is focused entirely on me. “You think I’m strong.”
Her soft words aren’t exactly a question, but I don’t like how wonderingly she says it. Like no one has ever pointed it out before. “You know you’re strong. You don’t need me to confirm it.”
Helen stares at me for a long moment and finally gives a faint smile. “Yeah. I guess I do.” She stands slowly. “Let’s go back to bed.”
Patroclus looks like he wants to argue, but he just says, “Food first. Coffee isn’t enough nutrition, not with the second trial tomorrow.”
“I’ll get it.” I stand and stretch. “Any requests?”
She shrugs. “Whatever they have available.”
Patroclus stands too. “I’ll walk you out.” He barely waits until we’re out into the hall to turn on me. “What the fuck was that?”
“What the fuck was what?”
He gives me the look that question deserves. “You know what I’m talking about. She was reeling and you came at her like an opponent.”
“Patroclus.” I am suddenly tired. So fucking tired of him thinking the worst of me. I won’t pretend that I don’t deserve it, especially after the last couple days, but while I might be careless at times, I’m never cruel. Not intentionally, at least. “She was going to start spiraling and thinking too hard about what a dick her brother is.” I have my own thoughts on Zeus, and that fucker will be lucky if I don’t punch him in his perfect face the first chance I get.
My anger doesn’t have a place in this fight, though. Helen might feel like mine, but she isn’t mine. Her honor isn’t mine to defend.
Good thing she’s more than capable of defending herself when she gets out of her own way and forgets to think too much.
I hold Patroclus’s gaze. “She’s not fragile. She’s not fucking breakable. Yeah, she’s been knocked down more than a few times in the last week, but she just needed the right prodding to get back up and start swinging again.”
“The right prodding.” Patroclus narrows his eyes and gives a dry laugh. “Gods, you’re a scary motherfucker sometimes. You know that, right?”
I shrug. “Keep her distracted while I get food. Then we’ll fuck her until none of us have the energy to worry about shit outside our control.” We need plenty of sleep, but the day is young and we’re all in the best shape of our lives. No reason not to expel some pent-up energy in the most pleasurable way possible.
“Achilles.”
I stop in the middle of turning away. “Yeah?”
“Sorry for thinking the worst.” Patroclus runs his hand over his short dark hair. “This situation has my head all fucked up.”
There’s not much I can say to that. It stings that he thought the worst of me, but he’s not entirely unjustified on making that jump. It’s a fucked-up situation and it’s not going to get less fucked up as time goes on. The only option is to keep pushing forward and then deal with the fallout after the tournament. “It’s fine. Now, go take care of our princess while I get some breakfast.”
20
Patroclus
We spend the rest of the day in bed, breaking only for meals. By unspoken agreement, none of us speak further about the assassin or Zeus or the tournament. Achilles and I do what we can to offer the comfort Helen will allow, which translates to orgasms.
That night, I take second shift. I sit in the chair next to the bed and watch them sleep. Helen didn’t wake when we switched out, and Achilles passed out in the way he’s always been able to—within seconds. He’s got his arm slung over her waist and, a few seconds later, she snuggles back against his bigger body.
I press my hand to my chest. When he wins Ares, they’ll sleep like this. They might snarl and snap at each other, but this morning Achilles demonstrated a deeper understanding of Helen than I have. He gets her, at least on some level.
No reason for that to make my chest ache. My foolish heart might care too deeply for her, might have given itself to Achilles long ago, but even if it breaks at the end of this, at least I have the bittersweet comfort of knowing they’ll take care of each other.
If Achilles isn’t the one to knock Helen out of the tournament. I don’t like his odds of winning her forgiveness anytime soon if that happens. She as much as admitted that it would be impossible.
Maybe I should be the one to do it.
I rub my chest harder. Damn it, I can’t. Even if it would help him, I can’t do that to her. No matter how complicated the potential outcome, we can’t go after her. She…trusts us. Maybe not entirely—Helen is no fool, after all—but she trusts us with her body, trusts us enough to at least share some small vulnerabilities. We can’t turn around and crush her after the last couple of days.
By the time the alarm goes off, I still have no answers. We get ready in near silence. I dress in my workout gear; I have no one to impress, after all. Achilles dons another of the custom uniforms we commissioned for him. This one is inky black and clings to his body, showing off his impressive muscles and elevating his attractiveness to the point where it almost hurts to look at him.
And Helen?
She has on a skintight catsuit that looks like someone spilled oil down her body. With every move, different colors shine in the low light of the room. She’s braided her hair and pinned it up around her head in an almost crown. Smart. The whole damn outfit is so smart. The fabric of the catsuit will make it challenging for anyone to keep hold of her, and her hair is no longer a liability to be grabbed in a fight. Every part of her…glitters. Her makeup is more stark than last time, too. She darkened from her eyes to nearly her temples, a dramatic look that, combined with her black lipstick, gives her the image of someone who should be on the front lines of some ancient army, leading her people into battle.