I don’t touch myself to the sound of Achilles fucking Patroclus…but it’s a near thing.
The rhythmic thumping of his headboard, interspersed with low moans and Patroclus practically yelling Achilles’s name, doesn’t do much for my ability to sleep. I lie in my bed and try very hard not to picture those two going at it. They’re both far too attractive for my frame of mind, and I’m far too attracted to both of them. If we weren’t all competing for the same title, I might put a little more effort into seducing one or the other…or both.
By my logic, sleeping with one of them is good, so surely both of them in my bed would be a phenomenal night.
I roll over and punch my pillow. My desire for them might be real—and inconvenient—but it’s just my recklessness talking. I spend so much of my life carving out the sensitive parts of myself so no one else can see them, touch them, hurt them. Is it any wonder that all the ugly bits bubble up and overwhelm me from time to time? That occasionally living in this skin is too much and I need an outlet?
There was a time when I chose more self-destructive methods than sex to relieve that pressure. I don’t like to think about it now, but it wasn’t like I had the tools to deal with living in Zeus’s household in a healthy way. It wasn’t until I started sneaking to therapy at twenty that I managed to curb the worst of my impulses. My therapist isn’t thrilled about me using sex to appease that urge, but we have a compromise. I am always safe and always careful about who I sleep with, even when I’m doing things I know I shouldn’t. It seems like an oxymoron but it works.
Sleeping with either Achilles or Patroclus—or both—is not safe or careful. Yes, I want them, though I also want to shove Achilles out a window. But Patroclus was right to turn me down the other night. Not to mention… Gods, I don’t even know him anymore. Not really. And I sure as fuck don’t know Achilles at all. They might be just as much monster as Paris is; I didn’t see his true colors until it was far too late for an easy escape. Sex complicates things, even with the most emotionally unavailable person. Sex with two men who want the same thing I do, who will crush my dreams without a second thought?
Surely, I’m not that self-destructive.
Surely.
On the other side of the wall, the bed starts thumping again.
“Are you fucking serious?” There’s no sleeping like this. I might as well not even try. If it were another situation, I might appreciate their stamina, but I’m tired and overwhelmed and listening to Patroclus get his back blown out is making me both crankier and green with envy.
I sigh and climb out of bed. Maybe the couch is more comfortable than it looks. We don’t have overly long until the first trial, and I need sleep and to be mentally preparing. It should be easy. This is what I want, after all. But when I try to gather my thoughts about me, they scatter like marbles.
I’m just tired. That’s all.
As I pad down the hall and step into the main living area, I half expect to find Hermes and Dionysus poking around. They like to play the part of stray cats, always showing up in your house when you least expect it. Except…I’m not home and even those two would hesitate to trespass on Athena’s property during the Ares tournament.
Silly to miss them. Silly to miss my apartment and my carefully curated bedroom. Silly to have the faintest hurt that neither Perseus or Eris have come to check on me or yell at me or even acknowledge how thoroughly I’ve fucked up their plans. I don’t know why I expected it. Our father taught us too well. When he was truly furious at me for one thing or another, he would stop acknowledging my existence. In hindsight, I should have taken that for the blessing it was, but I had even less self-control as a child. I would get louder, angrier, more dramatic, and he would simply ignore me as if I were really a ghost banging on the walls that no one could see or hear.
I shudder. I hate that my siblings are using Zeus’s old tricks. They know how much it hurt when he’d do that, and they’re doing it anyway… I shake my head. “Way to make yourself the center of everyone’s universe, Helen. They’re probably off doing important Thirteen things, and I’m too far down the list of priorities.” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. At least I’m the only one to witness it.
I circle the living room. Times like these, when I’m feeling particularly isolated, I have the nearly overwhelming urge to call my little brother, Hercules. We weren’t particularly close growing up. Even from a young age, he was too earnest, too pure, and it made him a target of our father’s firm instruction. The rest of us distanced ourselves from him to avoid the same fate. In hindsight, the cowardice tastes foul on my tongue. Maybe if we’d tried to step in…
But the joke’s on us elder siblings. Hercules got out. He’s living in a happy little polyamorous relationship in Carver City, freer in his exile than he ever was within these city limits. Most people who live in Olympus are so focused on the city center that they never stop to think about how we’re essentially rats trapped in a cage.
Ultimately, the barrier’s existence doesn’t matter. For better or worse, I have no intention of leaving Olympus.
I am glad Hercules got out, though. I’m glad he’s happy. He’s very careful to keep his lovers away from us, to shield them from the taint of this city and the Kasios family. Smart man. The rest of us are still dancing to the tune Olympus sets.
I won’t call Hercules this time, just as I haven’t called him any of the other times when loneliness and self-pity threatened to become overwhelming. The idea of his warm attitude is great in theory, but we have nothing to talk about, and an awkward sibling conversation where it becomes clear how distant we really are is worse than not talking to him at all.
I head back into the bedroom and glare at the wall where I can still hear Achilles and Patroclus fucking. “The couch it is.” I drag the comforter off the bed and do my best to make the couch comfortable. It’s obviously not meant for this type of thing, but just when I think I’ll never get to sleep…I wake up to the morning light streaming through the window.
I sit up and rub my eyes. My back feels like it’s got a permanent kink in it, but hopefully that will dispel once I’m up and moving. I stagger to the fridge and eye the schedule that’s been put there. A quick glance at the clock on the microwave says I need to hurry if I want to make breakfast. Since I can’t cook my way out of a paper bag, skipping a catered breakfast isn’t an option. I need my strength, which means I need the calories.
A quick shower later, I pull my hair back into a simple braid and get dressed in running tights and a sports bra. After I eat a light breakfast, I’m going to find the gym and work myself hard enough to earn a nap this afternoon. Hopefully Achilles and Patroclus take tomorrow’s trial as seriously as I do and don’t plan to have another all-nighter. I grimace at the thought of another night on the couch.
Honestly, if they’re going to be fucking like rabbits, maybe I’ll request a room change and take Achilles’s room so I don’t need to share a wall with them. It was a silly power play to take the middle room, but I didn’t think I’d come to regret it so quickly.
It’s not hard to find the breakfast room. The three dorm buildings create a U-shape around the main area, which contains the breakfast room, a living room, and a massive gym. The space is obviously designed with a group in mind. The kitchen is huge and filled with industrial appliances. A dining room holds four tables with seating for all the champions and then some. Even the living room has groupings of couches around a massive television, though I doubt many people will take advantage of it.
I circle the long kitchen island, eyeing my options. I finally decide on some of the scrambled eggs from the buffet-style setup with salsa and avocado. A scoop of mixed fruit and a giant mug of coffee finish things up. The dining room table is empty except for the two non-Olympians. I almost sit near them to prove they don’t unnerve me as much as they truly do, but the threat of indigestion is too strong to risk. Instead, I take a spot at the opposite end of the table.
It allows me a good view of the two men. I study them as I pick through my food. They’re both attractive enough in a rough sort of way, but even I would hesitate to flirt if we met at a party. There’s something dangerous about them, though I can’t say explicitly what gives me that vibe. The short-haired one, Theseus, has a bold, crooked nose that would almost be too big for his face if not for his square jaw. The other, the Minotaur, has long hair that falls in a gentle wave to his shoulders. He obviously takes care of it, because it’s thick and healthy looking, which is a feat in and of itself for some guys. The hair almost distracts from the scars: thin, faded white lines, so many that it looks like someone tried to cut his face right off. I shudder at the thought of what those wounds might have looked like fresh. Still, he’s got nice, strong brows and surprisingly sensually shaped lips.
Both are dressed unassumingly today in shorts and T-shirts; obviously they intend to use the gym, too. The short sleeves give me glimpses of tattoos crawling up their arms, but I’m not close enough to get any details. Maybe they’re organized crime?
They wouldn’t be the first to attempt to infiltrate Olympus. The way the Thirteen are chosen means some outsiders are tempted to make a bid for power. The theory is that anyone could take over enough titles to wrest power away from Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades to run the city. It’s why so many of the upper-city families flock to the Dodona Tower parties and indulge in arranged marriages with each other. Everything boils down to the power and politics and the alliances that hold the majority of the Thirteen who effectively rule Olympus. Or at least the upper city.
Sometimes people outside the city realize the same thing. It’s hard to cross the barrier, but not impossible. My father used to talk about some old enemy making a coup attempt right around the time he inherited the title Zeus, but I never made a habit of listening closely to my father’s old “war” stories since they were roughly 90 percent fiction.
Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. These two men are opponents, and their motivations for joining the tournament don’t change that. Even if one of them somehow managed to win this and become Ares, that’s hardly the majority. They can’t touch the legacy titles, and they have no chance of getting either Aphrodite or Demeter, albeit for very different reasons. I pity the fool who tries to take Athena’s title. Ditto with Hermes.
There is the little-known rule about murder, but…
I shake my head. It’s a little-known rule for a reason. Even if murdering one of the Thirteen would technically be a shortcut to bypass the normal path to claiming the title, no one is foolish enough to try it. The others would turn on them with a ferocity that would ensure they didn’t survive their first day. It’s in everyone’s best interest to go about things the proper way.
Attempting a coup of Olympus is a fool’s errand.
I finish my meal and sit back, intending to nurse my coffee for a bit and enjoy the view through the big windows along the wall behind the table. Footsteps are the only warning I get before another group of champions comes into the room.
Atalanta makes a beeline for the coffee, ignoring everyone. Hector winces a little when he sees me and steps between me and Paris, obviously trying to guide his brother toward the food and give me a chance to escape. I sigh and push to my feet. The moment of peace was nice while it lasted.
The sight of Achilles and Patroclus stops me short. Patroclus, the adorable creature that he is, seems to be blushing and is very pointedly not looking in my direction. Achilles, on the other hand, has a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he holds my gaze. Well, that answers that. They definitely knew I could hear them.
They wanted me to hear them.
Surely you don’t think I’ll blush and stammer like a teenager, you fools. Three can play this game. I set my cleared plate in the sink and make my way in their direction, putting a little swing in my step. Patroclus looks almost like he’s trying to make a getaway, but Achilles throws an easy arm around his shoulders, holding him in place. Perfect.
I cup my coffee in two hands and smile sweetly at them. “Achilles?”
He gives me that easy grin that’s a complete lie. “Yeah?”
“Next time you want to mark your territory, why not whip out your cock and pee on his foot instead? It would allow the rest of us to actually get some sleep.” I ignore Patroclus’s sputtering and lean forward, giving him wide eyes and an innocence I certainly don’t feel. “Unless you meant that to be an invitation, in which case, use your words next time.” I speak low enough that the conversation won’t carry. This is just between us, after all.
His light-brown skin goes a little dusky. “I—”
“Have a nice day.” I easily step around them and walk out of the room. It’s only when I’ve rounded the corner that I permit a smile. There’s truly nothing as satisfying as a dramatic exit. He made it so easy, too.
The feeling of petty victory fades with each step. I’m allowing myself to be distracted by those two, and that’s unacceptable. It will be best if I keep away from the rest of the champions during this process. Something I should have remembered before I needled Patroclus and provoked Achilles.
The gym is exactly what I would expect from Athena. Filled with a solid mix of free weights and equipment that looks state of the art, all of it gleaming. I finish my coffee and consider my options. I want to work off some energy, but I don’t want to overly tire myself out. A three-mile run will barely take the edge off, but I’ll do a quick round of circuit training afterward and that should do the trick.
With that decided, I head back to my room to wash out the coffee cup and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. The gym is still blessedly empty when I get back there, and I waste no time putting in headphones and getting on the treadmill.
By the end of the first mile, my muscles unclench and I start to relax. Things haven’t gone as planned, but that’s okay. I’ve been adapting to the whims of others my entire life. Why should this be any different?
Sure, I didn’t think Perseus would follow so literally in our father’s footsteps. He told the truth when he said he’s made sacrifices, too, but he’s intentionally neglecting to remember that he chose his sacrifices. He didn’t give me the opportunity to do the same. Instead, he made the decision for me and expects me to dance to his tune, a puppet on strings he commands.
And Eris? She, of all people, should realize that I understand the inner workings of Olympian politics. If they’d asked this of me instead of ambushing me with the announcement… I shake my head, wishing I could shake the thoughts clear as easily. Eris knew I’d argue and she’d have to convince me, so she jumped right over that conversation and went around me. I don’t see her lining up to marry a stranger, but she was all too happy to throw me to those wolves.
Gods, my family really is the worst.
I turn up the pace on the treadmill. It’s only three miles. I can go a little faster, a little harder. Anything to avoid thinking too closely about the fact that my brother and sister sat down and decided, together, that they were willing to sacrifice me for the goodwill of the next Ares. I don’t care what reassurances Perseus mouthed; in that worst-case scenario, I would already be harmed. Vengeance isn’t for the victims. It’s to make the people around them feel better for not doing anything to stop it in the first place.
I am no victim.
Not anymore.
I was helpless in my father’s house. My mother tried to help, but all she got for her trouble was a broken neck while my father moved on to another woman, another Hera. People used to joke about his Heras being interchangeable, toys shattered by an angry man and replaced just as easily. He would have done it again if he hadn’t died. He already had his sights set on Persephone, a woman younger than me.
Perseus was the one to tell me the news of our father’s death. I sat there and waited to feel anything at all. Sorrow. Guilt. Joy. Something. Instead, it simply felt like someone had lifted a great weight from my shoulders. The monster with the charming mask couldn’t hurt or control me anymore.
I didn’t expect my brother to step into the role of Zeus so completely. I didn’t expect him to essentially put me on lockdown—for my safety, of course. To start dictating what was and wasn’t acceptable Kasios behavior, just like our father used to.
To designate me a pawn to be sacrificed, just like our father planned.
I turn up the speed on the treadmill. This isn’t helping. I’m still thinking too much. I can’t outrun the skeletons rattling around inside my brain, but I can exhaust myself until they slumber. I have to. I can’t fucking live like this. Not when I’m so close to freedom, not when distraction means failure.
A hand appears in my field of vision. I don’t have time to do more than flinch before Patroclus hits the stop button on the treadmill. The belt slows, and I yank my headphones out of my ears. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“That’s enough, Helen.”
I open my mouth to tell him where to shove his opinion, but the red numbers catch my attention. Seven miles, not three, and at a pace that I know better than to hold. Now that my momentum has been brought up short, the shakiness in my limbs registers. The sweat coating my body. How each breath saws painfully in and out of my lungs. I’ve run farther and faster, but this wasn’t meant to be this kind of workout.
Weak. Reckless. Impulsive. I try to shove the words away, but they linger just out of reach, taunting me.
Patroclus doesn’t move, his hand still on the stop button. I suspect to keep me from ignoring him and turning the damn thing back on. I swipe sweat from my forehead with my forearm. “I’m fine.”
“You sure? Because you look like you went too hard and were going to keep running until your legs gave out.” His gaze coasts over me. It’s not sexual. He’s looking at me like he’s checking for injuries. There’s absolutely no excuse for the shiver of awareness that goes through me in response. I blame the air conditioner against my sweaty skin for the way my nipples go tight and hard against the thin fabric of my sports bra.
“I’m fine,” I repeat. It’s not true this time any more than the last time I said it. I’m so far from fine, it’s laughable, but what did I really expect? My siblings threw me under the bus; that’s going to affect me, even if a small, dark part of me isn’t surprised in the least. I’m not in the mood to try to explain that to Patroclus, though. He seems like a good guy, but he’s Achilles’s good guy. Just because we were childhood friends and he did a nice thing for me just now doesn’t mean he signed up to have all my baggage dumped on him.
Still, I can’t leave things so curtly. I hesitate. “Look, I’m not inviting you to meddle in the future, because I don’t need a babysitter, but thanks for stopping me.”
“No problem.” He drags his hand through his short, dark hair. He’s got a bit of a five-o’clock shadow going on, which gives him a roguish look that isn’t great for my libido.
Not that anything else about Patroclus is roguish. Best I can tell his nice guy routine isn’t a routine at all. That hasn’t changed, at least. I could use that to my advantage, but I’m suddenly so damn tired that I can’t think straight. He deserves better than to be the whip I pick up to flog myself with, which means I have to get out of here before I do something unforgivably foolish. “I’m going to go take a shower.”
“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?”
