He seems to focus on Helen, pressing her hard. She scrambles away from the spinning blade, but the sand is too unsteady beneath her feet. Patroclus lunges to shove her out of the way, hand outstretched and chest wide open.
The Minotaur doesn’t miss a beat. He shifts his stance, reversing his cut.
“No!”
It happens so fast. Too fast.
The sword descends. Patroclus’s blood sprays, turning his white shirt red. He sinks to his knees almost in slow motion, shock written over his handsome face, and topples to the sand.
“No!”
Above us, his face flashes with Eliminated written over it. I don’t give a shit. I fly across the sand, moving faster than I ever have before. Too slow. All this training, years of training, and when it counts, I’m too damn slow. I skid to a stop in front of Patroclus, but there’s no time. I can’t go to my knees with the enemy standing over us.
“There you are.” The Minotaur swings the sword again. He doesn’t look happy with the damage he’s caused. He doesn’t look like anything at all, his expression curiously blank. “Took you long enough to get here.” He steps forward, his sword picking up speed again. “Figured you’d both come running when your little boyfriend was threatened.”
How could I do anything else? Patroclus is only in this arena right now because I wanted him here. He never would have chosen it on his own. I lift my baton. It seems a pathetic defense against his sword. “Let’s do this.”
“Gladly.”
He comes at me like a tornado, too quick, the sword seeming to be everywhere at once. I land a strike on his thigh, but it barely slows him down. Holy fuck, the man is a monster.
I…don’t know if I can beat him.
The thought staggers me. I’ve never doubted until now, when it matters the most. If I can’t do this… I dodge a nasty backswing. He should be slowing down by now. Those swords aren’t light, and he hasn’t been conserving energy and movement since this started. Except he’s not slowing down.
I am.
Where the fuck did Helen go?
As if the thought summons her, I catch sight of movement behind him, a flash of gold in the bright stadium lights. It’s the only warning we have before Helen launches herself onto his back. She has her knife in a death grip, and for one endless beat of my heart, I think she means to slit his throat. Instead, she drags the tip down the side of his face, spilling his blood to mix with Patroclus’s at his feet. “You’re done, asshole.”
He shakes her off without the slightest bit of effort. She lands on her feet, but only barely. That hesitation costs her. The Minotaur spins on her and brings the sword over his head. Shock nearly roots my feet to the ground. What the fuck is he doing? Being eliminated means stopping right fucking now. Why the fuck is he still fighting?
Instinct takes over before my brain has a chance to catch up. I throw myself at his back, taking him down in a messy flying tackle. We hit the sand hard, but he’s already swinging those meaty fists, pummeling my sides.
I should disentangle from him, should let the refs take over and handle this because that’s their fucking job. I don’t. All I can see is him swinging on Helen, cutting Patroclus down. He meant to kill them.
I won’t let him have another chance at it.
Each punch I land on his face is one less chance he’ll have to hurt those I love again. One strike closer to removing him as a threat entirely. He won’t touch them again. I’ll make fucking sure of it.
Hands grab my arms and I’m hauled off the Minotaur by two refs. He starts to sit up but a third ref grabs him and shoves him back to the sand. I start to struggle, but the ref on my right gets in my face. “You’re eliminated. Stand down.”
“What?”
“Blood was drawn.” The ref points at my calf.
I follow their motion and go still. There’s an arrow sticking out of my calf. I didn’t even feel it. I look up slowly to see Paris standing a good distance away, a bow in his hands and a smirk on his face. “Fuck.”
My knees hit the sand, and I have no fucking memory of deciding to kneel. I can’t… I can’t think about being eliminated right now. I crawl to Patroclus. He has his hands pressed to his stomach, but there’s so much fucking blood. I glare at the referee. “We need a medic!”
The woman flinches but shakes her head. “No one enters the arena until the trial is over.”
I bend over Patroclus and cover his hands with mine. “I’m so godsdamned sorry.”
“My fault. Too…slow.” He turns his head to me, too slow, too much effort behind the small move. “Achilles…”