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I half expect her to laugh it off or maybe agree easily with the intention never to follow through on it. We’ve known each other long enough that I understand Helen doesn’t let people in. She’s so different from the child I remember, different from the public persona she adapts with other people. Even so, I’m not naive enough to think she’s giving us everything. She’s too smart, and much too savvy, to expose herself like that.
Helen gives me a small smile that feels like a punch in the gut. “I’m not sure you really want that. I’m a mess.”
“I like your mess.” It’s the truth. Too stark. Too honest.
She hesitates but finally nods. “If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”
“Deal.” I offer her a smile of my own. “Now take off your clothes.”
25
Achilles
By the time Helen and Patroclus join me in the shower, I’ve managed to get myself under control. I don’t make a habit of lying to myself. There’s no point. That shit just gets in the way of accomplishing what I want, so I accept new information as it comes and adapt accordingly.
The feeling that sprouted yesterday morning, the surety that Helen is meant to make our couple into a throuple, has solidified inside me with the completion of the second trial. She kicked ass in that trial, and I don’t give a fuck that the three of us making it to the final one continues to complicate things. It means more time together before we have to deal with Ares.
I like having her around. I like her. Yeah, she’s got a point about the politics and shit, but that just reinforces my belief that the three of us were meant to be working as a team instead of at odds with each other. Helen will make a stellar ally. She’s smart and she’s experienced, and she knows the ins and outs of this new battlefield better than we do. More, I enjoyed the fuck out of watching her shove that knowledge down our throats. There’s nothing sexier than competence, and the woman has it in spades.
I can clearly see a future where I’m married to Helen. The long, lazy evenings where she and Patroclus strategize until I get tired of all the talking and drag them to the bedroom. The irritating parties made much less so by watching Helen work the room, dressed to the nines in gold and diamonds, a warrior of words and thinly veiled politics. The early mornings where Patroclus and I are up and going through our normal workout routine and Helen wakes up in time to share a cup of coffee and a quick breakfast before we all go about our days.
It feels real. It’s just a matter of getting us there.
There’s the issue of her wanting to be Ares, but she’ll get over it. She doesn’t seem one to linger on things as they should be when she can adapt to things as they are. It might take some time to earn her forgiveness, but I already know her weakness.
All I have to do is provoke her enough, and we’ll start fighting and end up fucking. Do it enough times and eventually we’ll skip over the fighting and get right to the fucking. I don’t see how that’s a bad thing by any definition of the word. Besides, I don’t have to be Patroclus to understand that Helen’s grasp of the politics of the Thirteen is an asset we don’t want to lose.
Helen ducks underneath the showerhead next to me. When I first saw the showers in these suites, I thought they were ridiculous. I’m a big guy, but even I don’t need four showerheads and this much room. I get it now.
I watch her wash her hair out of the corner of my eye while Patroclus comes up on my other side. He’s still got that sexy little furrow between his brows that makes me want to kiss it away. He always worries too much. We have this in the bag, and now that I don’t have to be worried about him running off into the sunset with the precious princess, everything is coming up aces.
There is the final trial to consider, but none of the remaining contenders are enough to worry me. None of that matters for the next two days, though, so I hook Helen around the hips and pull her against my chest. She resists the tiniest bit, but not like she really wants to go anywhere else.
“How’s the leg?” She’s sporting a nasty bruise from where Theseus hit her. Looking at it now, I kind of wished I’d kicked the fucker while he was down.
“It looks worse than it is.” Her nails prick my chest, and my cock hardens even more in response. I like this about her, too. She’s not afraid to play rough and doesn’t seem to pull her punches. Does she understand the depth of the compliment she’s giving me as a result? Maybe. Maybe not. It’s hard to tell with her.
