Wicked Beauty (Dark Olympus 3)

She’s dangerous now.

She laughs, low and sinful. “What Achilles doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” The words almost sound like she’s trying to seduce me.

It worries me how hard it is to take a step away from her. My body fights my mind, which worries me even more. “I’m sorry, Helen, but I’m going to tell him.” I clear my throat. “Is that all?”

“Actually, one other thing.” She motions at my shoulder. “Would you mind?”

“Go ahead.” I hold perfectly still as she braces herself on my shoulder and slips on one shoe and then the other. Strange to realize how small she is. The last time she touched me like this, leaning on me to slip on her shoes, she was taller than I was. She’s got to be at least six inches shorter than my six three now; probably closer to nine because even with the ridiculous heels, she still has to look up to meet my gaze. Beyond that, she’s built lean enough that I would call her breakable.

“What are you thinking, entering this tournament?” I don’t mean to ask the question. What the fuck am I supposed to do with this strange surge of protectiveness? She’s not a kid in need of protection. Fuck, Helen never needed my protection. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter why she’s doing what she’s doing. The only thing that matters is how she’s complicated the possible scenarios moving forward. Her presence will affect things, and I have to consider how.

She tests the second heel and then straightens, running her hand absently down my chest. I feel the touch like a brand. For her part, Helen seems almost unaware of the effect she has on me. She glances down the street, her expression unreadable. “Are you happy, Patroclus? You’re not an accountant the way you wanted to be back then.” She snorts and shakes her head. “What eight-year-old wants to be an accountant?”

Fondness rises inside me, even as I try to fight it. Nothing good will come from revisiting this strange connection with Helen that I’d all but forgotten about until now. “And you’re not a pirate. Are you happy?”

Instead of answering, she fires back, “Do you ever get tired of standing in Achilles’s shadow?”

“No,” I answer instantly. “He’s too brash, too impulsive. He needs someone to anchor him.” Without me at his back, gods know where he would have ended up. Achilles is brilliant in his own way, but his priorities can be extremely skewed to the point where he doesn’t see—or care about—the full picture. He takes in what he feels is enough information to act and then acts. His drive and momentum are both terrifying and aggravating by equal measures.

“What about what you need?”

Logically, I know she’s not talking about me, not really. Still, I answer honestly. “I have everything I need.” It’s almost the truth. I truly am happy with what I have with Achilles. It’s not a traditional relationship by any means; we don’t bother to put labels on things and we’re not exclusive, though I don’t partake in others’ charms as often as Achilles does. I love him. He loves me. We’re both getting our needs met, at least for now. If I harbor a secret fear that someday I won’t be enough for him? Well, that’s no one’s business but my own.

I’m not about to confess as much to Helen, shared history or no.

“Lucky you,” she murmurs. For someone who’s been moving through the upper circles of Olympian politics, she’s got a terrible poker face. Or maybe the shadows are tricking me into seeing vulnerability where there is none.

“You seem to have everything you need.” I know better than to make assumptions. Achilles thinks he has Helen and her ilk figured out, but even if my mothers withdrew from the petty politics when I was in grade school, I still recognize that very few in the upper city are entirely honest about what they need and what they want. Doing so with the wrong people hands them a weapon perfectly designed to hurt you.

“Do I?” Helen pats my chest and takes a careful step back. “Well, I guess it’s true, then, since you say so.”

“Helen.” I don’t mean to say her name like that, low and stern.

She smiles, the expression more of sadness than joy. “Not everyone is as lucky as you are, Patroclus. Loving mothers who sacrificed their ambitions to give you a safe space to grow up in. A boyfriend who’s Athena’s second-in-command. A promising career within her special forces.”

“You seem to know a lot about me.”

She glances away and then back at me. “I might have checked up on you occasionally over the years. I guess you didn’t do the same.”

I don’t like the sad look on her face. I’m not the one who should be trying to lift it, though. Really, the thing I should be doing is getting out of this conversation as quickly as possible. Helen is too savvy to give me ammunition to use against her, and I can’t say the same about myself. Not when I’m reacting so strangely to her. “I didn’t have to check up on you. You’re in the headlines all the time.”