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Then a little closer to his armpit.
Nothing.
“Are you one of those people where everything on the right side of your body is on the left, and everything on the left is on the right?” I asked, stretching over him to press my ear on the other side of his chest.
Still, nothing.
I sat up, touched two fingers to his neck where I should find his pulse.
A car drove by, illuminating my room for a minute. Long enough that our gazes locked. “Nothing,” I whispered.
“Because I’m not human. I’m something else. Mortals called us demigods, but then the gods brought us back and we were something else. Not alive, though. Not like you.”
This was the first real conversation Achilles and I had ever had.
“There’s a lot to you I haven’t seen,” I said, realization dawning on me. “You keep a lot hidden.”
He frowned. I tried to picture all the images I’d seen over the years of his face. In all of them, it was his size that was most noticeable. And like those paintings and images, the statues and carvings, he was a big guy.
Everything about him projected strength, but Pollux was strong, too, and Hector. Even Orestes and Paris, for being a little bit shorter and leaner, looked like warriors.
What was it about Achilles that was larger than life?
“Why are you staring at me?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I’m trying to figure something out. Be quiet for a minute.” I slapped my hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry.”
He smiled, cheeks lifting. “Go ahead.”
Amazingly, he stayed quiet, and I studied him. His smile disappeared after minutes passed, but things started to click into place for me. He’d been a general, and a leader. His presence inspired the Greeks to cross an ocean and fight a war for ten years. He had to have their complete trust as he stood in front of them and led them into battle.
And he didn’t have to do that anymore. All the responsibility didn’t fall on him. He had friends to share the load, and be teammates, rather than rivals.
But no wonder his shoulders were so broad, he’d carried the weight of Greece on them.
All those sacrifices and deaths. I lifted my gaze to his and gave him a small smile.
“Why are you sad?” he asked.
Because his was a sad story. Suddenly, his actions on the train made sense. He’d taken on the role of protector for his friends, and rather than add another death to Paris’s soul, or Hector, or Pollux, or Orestes—who was still tormented by the Furies—he decided he would do it.
“I forgive you,” I whispered. “What you tried to do on the train. I know you were trying to protect your friends from having to do it, so you took it on yourself. We’re good now.”
He stared at me, eyes narrowing. One side of his lips lifted scornfully, but as I held his gaze, it changed. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” I replied. I settled against my headboard, staring down at our feet. His nearly hung off the end of my bed. The heat coming off his body was like a furnace, and made me shiver a little bit where our arms touched.
I could feel him looking at me, but I kept my gaze trained on our feet. He wouldn’t want me to watch him while he dealt with what I said. I thought I knew him well enough to know that.
Two strong fingers touched my chin, pulling my face toward his. He was staring down at me, so much taller than me I had to tip my head back. “What are you doing?” It wasn’t asked suspiciously, but in genuine wonder.
I wasn’t doing anything except trying to make heads and tails of the guy.
He dropped his hand, leaving a spot of heat where his fingers had been. “You’re a weird girl, Leonora.”
It wasn’t the first time someone said that to me, but it hurt coming from him. Each time I thought I got him, or got a glimmer of who he really was, he shut me out.
“I’m going to sleep.” Turning my back on him, I scooched under the covers.
