Warrior Rising (18 page)

“So we don't need the drama trauma of a bunch of war prizes freaking over the fact that you and I aren't who or what we appear to be.”

“What difference does it make? Like you said, we're not gonna be here very long. Plus, you're a princess. They're servants. They can't do shit to you.”

“That doesn't—”

“Little Melia! My savior! Just in time to wipe up my blood!”

Patroklos grabbed Jacky, lifted her in his arms and kissed her soundly. Kat stared, mouth flopping, as Jacky giggled, pushed half-heartedly against him and blushed a gorgeous shade of pink. “Put me down before you mess up my stitches. And where the hell are you bleeding now?”

“It isn't me this time. It's him.” Patroklos jerked his chin at Achilles. “But I still want you to mop the blood from me, my beautiful little war bride.” He put Jacky down, but not before kissing her again.

Jacky took a shaky step away from Patroklos, and still blushing, turned to Achilles. “Let me look at that sword wound.”

“It is nothing.” Achilles made an abrupt gesture with his hand, cutting off Jacky's advance. “Worry about his stitches. I'll mind my own wound.”

Jacky shrugged. “Whatever.” She glanced at Kat as she turned back to examine the smiling Patroklos's stitches. “You should probably make sure it's clean.”

“I do not—” Achilles began.

Kat squared her shoulders and finally looked at him. “It needs to be cleaned out.” Their eyes met. Kat wished like hell that his face was easier to read. At the moment all she saw was the guarded mask he liked to show the public.

“I thought you did not like the sight of blood,” Achilles said.

“All the more reason to clean it off,” Kat said, trying not to be too glad he remembered she didn't like blood.

“Very well,” Achilles said.

“It doesn't look deep,” Jacky said, peering around Patroklos's shoulder. “Saltwater should work fine.”

“There's an ocean of that right there. Perhaps, cousin, you should take another swim?” Patroklos put his arm around Jacky as he grinned at Kat.

Kat looked from Patroklos to Achilles and wondered just exactly what he'd told his cousin about last night.

Jacky, who had neatly sidestepped Patroklos's grasping arm said, “Do not start with me. You're covered with sweat and sand
and
his blood. You need a swim, too.”

“Then we all go!” Patroklos took Jacky's hand and started off down the beach. Kat looked at Achilles. He raised a brow at her.

“You're covered with sweat and sand and
your
blood,” she said.

“Very well,” Achilles repeated. “We go with them.”

They followed Patroklos and Jacky. At first neither of them said anything. Kat glanced at him. “Sorry about that cut,” she said.

He looked surprised. “Why do you apologize for something that isn't your fault?”

“It was my fault. You were looking at me and not paying attention to the guy coming at you with the sword.”

He gave a little snort of laughter. “The fault isn't yours. I shouldn't have allowed myself to be distracted.”

“Do you always make sure you're in perfect control?” She asked the question automatically, and almost instantly regretted it. The night before he had definitely not been in control—not on the beach, and not later alone with her in his tent.

His blue eyes seemed to darken as they met hers. Instead of answering her he said, “I slept last night.”

“I'm glad,” she said, and then cursed softly as she tripped on the edge of her robe. Abruptly he put out his arm for her to take. She wrapped her hand around his thick bicep, not minding at all that it was slick with sweat. “Thanks,” Kat said.

“You have trouble walking on your own in the sand,” he said.

“Only because I'm trying to keep up with you,” Kat said defensively.

“I wasn't complaining,” Achilles said softly.

“Oh.” She smiled up at him. “That's nice.”

“Is it?” He asked, looking honestly perplexed by her.

“Yes, it is.” Kat cleared her throat. “Uh, about last night . . .”

Achilles' full lips tilted up. “Do you mean about the relaxation spell you placed on me?”

This time Kat could read the teasing glimmer in his eyes. “Just exactly how much of the, uh,
spell
do you remember?”

The tilt of his lips lifted and became a full, heart-stopping smile. “Enough.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Kat was trying to figure out what “enough” meant when they caught up with Patroklos and Jacky, and deciding okay, fine. She was a professional. She would just ask him. When Jacky turned to her and with a relieved expression said, “Good. There you are. Tell him that we can't go swimmin' with them because we have nothin' to wear in the water.”

Kat looked at Patroklos, who was smiling at Jacky adoringly. “She's right. This silk stuff”—she picked up a fold of her outer dress and swirled so that it flowed gracefully around her—“is pretty, but not good for the water.”

“Then you should both do what we're going to do. Shouldn't they, cousin?” Patroklos said, with a mischievous glance at Achilles.

The corner of Achilles' lips lifted. “They should, indeed. It would save the lovely fabric of their robes.”

“Shall we?” Patroklos asked.

“Yes, cousin,” Achilles said.

And while Kat and Jacky watched, the two warriors stripped off every bit of their clothes and leaped, shouting, into the turquoise waves.

“Holy shit,” Kat said.

“God. My god.” Jacky fanned herself vigorously. “I owe you an apology, Kat. Even if there has been a mix-up about my skin color there is no damn way we're in hell. We have gone straight to heaven.”

“Have you ever in your life seen such a beautiful body?” Kat asked dreamily, staring at Achilles and wishing desperately that he would swim back to shallower water. And then stand up.

“Kat, tell the truth. Patroklos looks like Spike, doesn't he?”

Kat wrenched her eyes from ogling Achilles long enough to roll them at Jacky. “You are such a dork. And your
Buffy
infatuation is truly pathetic.”

“He does look like Spike! Check out that lean yet muscley physique and that silver-blond hair. All he needs is a change in hair-style and a long black leather coat. Sweet weeping baby Jesus he has a six-pack to beat all six-packs. I'm going to have to shtup him. I think it's only right. How can I let all of that deliciousness go to waste?”

“He's not Spike, fool. Patroklos is a nice guy. Spike was the Big Bad.”

Jacky gave her a look that telegraphed
you're a moron
. “Spike from
Buffy
season seven, Kat. Please try to stay with me here.”

“Sorry, did you say something?” Kat's eyes followed Achilles' every muscular, naked movement.

“Kat, is Patroklos' penis
pink
?” Jacky asked, shielding her eyes with her hand to get a better look as she squinted against the sun reflecting off the waves.

“Jacky, do not even try to pretend like you haven't had sex with a white guy before.”

“Just Bradley and just those few times. Remember how unsuitable I decided he was, what with his weird addiction to chocolate-covered maraschino cherries? He used to bite the bottom off those wretchedly cheap candies and suck the grossness out. Vile—totally vile.” Jacky shivered dramatically. “Anyway I didn't notice any overly pinkness with him.”

“Well, Patroklos is a very white guy. Hey, think about it like this. His pink penis matches your blond va-jay-jay.”

“Oh, lord, I need to sit down. Being white is exhausting.”

Jacky was looking around for a log of driftwood when Patroklos ran out of the sea to grab her hand. “Swim with me, my beauty.”

Kat tried to keep her eyes to herself, which was damn difficult with Patroklos standing there dripping wet, smooth skinned and totally nekked. While Jacky babbled about not having a thing to wear, Kat moved her gaze seaward (versus downward). Achilles was walking slowly toward her. The water was still just a little over his waist, with waves lapping to his wide chest, so she was able to watch every bit of him emerge.
He is like an ancient god, golden and powerful and seductively imperfect.
He made her body feel flushed and ultrasensitive, and her mind kept flashing back to the night before like an erotic projector flipping on inside her head. Just as she was wondering how she could drop her clothes and wrap herself around him without the berserker showing up and ruining everything, Achilles' posture changed. He left the water, walking swiftly to his discarded clothes.

“A runner from the Greek camp comes,” he said to Patroklos, who instantly stopped the kidding tug-of-war he was playing with Jacky and pulled his clothes on, too.

Kat squinted back down the beach and, sure enough, a man carrying a long, thin spear and a shield and wearing the same kind of scarlet cloak she'd seen Odysseus wearing was running toward them. He arrived minutes later, winded but obviously being sure to show Achilles careful respect by saluting him and bowing his head slightly.

“My lord, Odysseus, has sent me.” The warrior began speaking before he'd completely caught his breath.

“Is Odysseus well?” Achilles asked.

“Yes, but not all of the Ithacans have been so lucky. Today's battle was hard fought.” The warrior's voice was not condemning and his voice held no hostility, but beside her she could feel the tension that radiated from Achilles. “Odysseus sends me to ask if the healer, Melia, would be allowed to tend them.”

“Is Kalchas too busy sniffing around Agamemnon to bother to tend the wounded?” Achilles said in a cold, flat voice.

“Kalchas!” Jacky practically shrieked. “You mean that filthy old fool who tried to be sure Patroklos's arm rotted off?”

“Yes, my beauty, that would be Kalchas,” Patroklos said, draping an arm around her shoulders.

“Well, then, let's go.” Jacky extracted herself from Patroklos's arm and made a shooing motion at the messenger.

The messenger looked from Jacky to Patroklos to Achilles. Jacky looked from the messenger to Patroklos to Achilles to Kat, and then back to Patroklos. Kat braced herself for trouble.

Jacky put her hands on her narrow hips, an action which was totally Jacky-like when she was pissed, and Kat thought how weird it was that just the way she was holding herself made her look like her body was more lush. But before she could tie into Patroklos or Achilles, Kat stepped forward.

“She should help Odysseus's men. You know we've been sent here by Athena, and Athena is Odysseus's patron goddess. She'd want Melia to tend his wounded men.”

“It does make sense,” Patroklos said.

“I do not like her going alone.” Achilles looked pointedly at me. “And you do not like blood, so you will not be going with her.”

“My beauty will not be going alone,” Patroklos said, putting his arm back around her. “She has me. I will escort her.”

Jacky gave him a look that was one part long suffering, one part amusement and one part appreciation. “And will you be sure the men do what I tell them to do, even if it means they have to boil and wash things?”

“I will do that for you, if you perform a favor for me later.” Patroklos's infectious smile was more than a little naughty.

“I might be interested in that, if it doesn't involve anything that will tear out those stitches.”

Achilles gave the runner an almost imperceptible nod, and then, with Patroklos laughing and whispering to Jacky, the three of them began moving off down the beach in the direction of the Greek camp.

“Ithacan! Leave your spear,” Achilles said abruptly. The runner paused, looking nervously back at the scarred warrior. Achilles' lips twitched up slightly. “I have a taste for sea bass.” The warrior, with obvious reluctance, handed Achilles his spear. “Cousin, be sure this is replaced with one of ours.” Patroklos smiled and nodded, and then he and Jacky hurried after the retreating warrior. “Did the man really believe I was going to spear him with his own weapon for nothing more than asking to borrow a healer?” Achilles muttered, more to himself than to Kat.

“Sure looked like it.”

“And here you are, alone with such a fearsome warrior. Some people would call you mad.” His turquoise eyes studied her.

“And how often have you speared one of Odysseus's men?”

“Never.”

“Well, then it sounds like I'm the sane one and the men like Odysseus's messenger are the ones who need a reality check.”

“No.” His deep voice had gone flat and cold. “They are right to fear me. You should not ever forget that there is a monster waiting to possess me, body and soul.”

Kat met his gaze. “I'll remember, but I prefer to focus on the man, not the monster.”

She saw surprise flash through his eyes. “Have you always been so contrary?”

“Definitely.”

He snorted a half laugh. Then, still studying her carefully, he said, “I'm going to spear some sea bass. You may come with me or return to camp. The decision is yours.”

“I like sea bass. A lot, actually. I'll come with you.”

He gave a short nod and they started walking side by side down the beach, away from the disengaged camps of the Greeks and the Myrmidons. He didn't offer Kat his arm, but he did walk slowly. They were so near the lapping water that Kat took off her slippers so that she could dig her toes into the wet sand. She did touch him then, using his arm to balance as she had the night before. He felt warm and strong under her hand, and she thought how weird it was that his presence could be so reassuring when the truth was there was a dangerous warrior and a monster lurking not far under his skin. She didn't look up at him, but she could feel his eyes on her, just as she could feel them on her as she walked closer to the waves, holding her robes up so that the warm water could play around her feet.