“Helen.”
My stomach dips a little at the sternness in his tone. I stop short. “What?”
“Stretch.” He nods at my legs as if he can see the little tremors shaking them. “You’ll regret it later if you don’t.”
He’s right. My needs war with one another, one demanding I retreat to my room until I feel a little less brittle, the other wanting to stay in this man’s presence a little longer, to let him chase away the ghosts haunting me. Surely he doesn’t actually care as much as he seems to. It has to be a mask like everyone else in Olympus wears. I don’t know what purpose kindness would serve—possibly to have others underestimate him—but each of us chooses our own path to survival.
Still…
When was the last time someone tried to take care of me? Even in something as mundane as demanding I stretch after a vigorous workout? My chest goes tight. I can’t remember. The last soft person in my life was my mother, and she’s been dead fifteen years. How fucking pathetic is that?
Even knowing I should leave, the reckless urge rises in me, too strong to ignore. I smile up into his kind, dark eyes. “Will you help me stretch, Patroclus?”
10
Achilles
Ajax waylays me before I make it into the gym. The big man clamps a hand on my shoulder. He’s got a few inches on me, putting him at damn near six five, and he’s shaved the sides of his head to give him a Mohawk of curly black hair. Ajax’s skin is a dark brown and he’s got plenty of it on display because he’s only wearing a pair of shorts and a muscle tank top that’s more holes than fabric. He grins. “I was thinking.”
“Dangerous of you.”
Ajax laughs. “Yeah, yeah. We both know I prefer a big hammer to a political roundtable, but things change.”
“You’re going to suggest an alliance for the first trial.” Patroclus predicted this. He’s done his research and run his scenarios, though sometimes the way his mind works is downright spooky. This one, however, even I could have seen coming. Ajax, Patroclus, and I are known quantities. We’ve worked together in the past, so it makes sense to align ourselves in an effort to eliminate as many people as possible in the first trial. The alliance doesn’t have to last longer than that to be worthwhile.
He laughs again and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Yep. I’d say there are a few champions no one wants to see become Ares. No reason to make it easy for them to pick us off.”
Interesting. I frown. “You’re allied with others?”
“I get around.” He drops his hand and shrugs. “What do you say?”
I say that Ajax is savvier than either of us gave him credit for. Still, it changes nothing for the first trial. There are a few champions I would like to see eliminated early, and Ajax as an ally makes that more likely to happen. But with that said, there’s no reason to muddy the waters. I have Patroclus. He’s all I need, and frankly, it would benefit us if Ajax is eliminated early.
I smile and shake my head. “Not this time, friend.”
“Damn. I was hoping to get you on my side. Ah well, it was worth a shot.” He clamps me on the shoulder one last time and ambles down the hall in the opposite direction I’m headed. “See you tomorrow, Achilles. Good luck.”
“I don’t need it.”
His laughter trails behind him as he rounds the corner and disappears. I head for the gym. Patroclus will have some theories on who Ajax would have allied himself with; I’d put good money on Atalanta. Ajax worked with Hector for a few years, and I think they’re on good terms, but Hector is a package deal with Paris, and no one wants to see Paris as the new Ares. None of us have had close contact with Atalanta, but her reputation precedes her. She’s steady under pressure and is pretty fucking brilliant. Not as brilliant as Patroclus, but definitely more than me and Ajax.
The gym is a nice setup, but I expect nothing less from Athena. She has her priorities in order, and she would have seen this room outfitted specifically to her directions like everything else in the house. Plenty of variety to fit the needs anyone could dream up.
I catch sight of the Minotaur on one of the benches, but he makes no move to lie back and pick up the bar with a truly outstanding number of weights piled on it. No, he’s staring at something I can’t see, his expression that of a hawk watching a particularly juicy mouse wander the field below it. That can’t be good. I stride down the space between equipment and stop short when I see what he’s looking at.