AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Even when Achilles was tossing me around, even when he was growling at me, I still felt safe in a way I never felt with Paris. I didn’t have to worry about being called a selfish bitch because I was after my own pleasure. Achilles simply took it as fact. More than that, he made sure it was good for me. That orgasm wasn’t feigned, and he didn’t leave it up to me to get myself off. He didn’t act like it was a chore to make sure we both had a good time even while hate fucking, either.
After? Well, I can’t think about after too much. I need to dislike Achilles. He’s standing between me and what I want most in this world. I absolutely cannot afford to soften toward him.
Patroclus glances at me, and the second our eyes meet, guilt swarms me. Having sex with Achilles might or might not have been a mistake on its own, but I can’t help feeling extra bad because Patroclus is involved. I went from flirting with him and coming on to him to sleeping with his boyfriend. It doesn’t matter that they’re in an open relationship. The way I went about things is shitty.
Now’s not the time to think about this, though. Not when Athena is lifting her hands, once again calling for silence in the arena. “Congratulations to the champions who have passed the first trial. The second will begin in two days’ time.”
It’s over.
It seems almost underwhelming to be led down the ladder at the back of the platform and guided toward the exit. We were here less than ten minutes. Ten minutes to decide whether or not our dreams would be stopped short or allowed to continue. It makes me a little sick to my stomach to think about how close I came to elimination. If Atalanta hadn’t helped me…
I could have done it on my own…I think.
As we’re led back to the vans, I don’t miss how Achilles and Patroclus seem determined to keep as far away from me as possible. I’m so busy looking at them, I don’t realize Paris is beside me until he drops an arm around my shoulder. “That was quite the performance you put on, Helen.” He uses my surprise to tug me close.
“Let me go, Paris,” I say quietly. I have to speak quietly because if I start yelling, I might do something I’ll regret, something that will get me eliminated from the tournament. He’s not attacking me, for all that he’s touching me without permission. I have no outward justification to so much as slap him. “Right now.”
He, of course, ignores me. His arm probably doesn’t appear tight from the others’ point of view, but I can’t get away from him without making a scene. “You would have fallen if Atalanta didn’t step in. No matter what you look like—cute getup by the way, even if I prefer you in dresses—you’re the same old Helen. You can’t function without someone there to hold your hand and tell you what to do. It’s okay, honey. I’m more than happy to give you a guiding hand.”
His words sink deep into the raw spots I don’t show anyone. How fucking naive had I been to confess my darkest fears to Paris? He’s never missed a chance to sink the knife in deep and twist it.
He’s wrong, though. My fears are wrong, too.
I’m not helpless. I don’t need a savior. I don’t. It takes everything I have to keep a quiver from my voice, to offer only calm even as panic flutters in my chest. “Get your hands off me or I’ll remove them myself.”
“Do it.” He grins, every inch the charming prince. “I know how you like it rough. Daddy’s little princess in public and my little slut in private.” Words designed to hurt me, to turn something that I thought was a safe space dirty and unclean. I thought we were having fun and playing out fantasies I’d never admitted to anyone. Paris was simply adding more weapons to his arsenal.
My skin prickles and I have to concentrate in order not to drop my gaze. I will not back down from this man, will not let him undermine my confidence in myself, will not let him shame me for something he enjoyed just as much as I did. “Let go.”
“You liked protesting then, too.” He squeezes me tighter. “Keep going. I like it.”
A chill skitters down my spine. This is the scariest thing about Paris. He never actually threatens, hardly ever yells. But his unrelenting determination to see the world his way regardless of evidence to the contrary? His nice-guy smiles even as he’s calmly launching verbal assaults? It’s terrifying.
The panic fluttering in my chest gets stronger, and a little tremor flickers through my tone when I speak. “You don’t have the right to touch me.” Attacking another champion is strictly forbidden and he knows it. He’s using it against me. I try to duck out from beneath his arm, but he tightens his hold. I’m trapped. All the training and all the preparation and I’m held captive in the arms of a man who means me harm. I try to swallow past the way my throat closes. Not again. I will not do this with Paris again. I look around for help, but Achilles, Patroclus, and Atalanta have disappeared into the first van. Hector and the other four champions are nowhere to be seen, and Bellerophon is occupied arguing quietly with the Minotaur and Theseus. There’s no one coming to save me.
