28

28

Achilles

The moment we walk through the tunnel and into the arena, it’s like entering a different world. I think it’s the sheer noise the people in the stands make. It reverberates through my body right down to my bones. The maze is gone as if it’d never been here to begin with. Instead, the oval is sand like it was during the opening ceremony. They’re really leaning into the gladiator shit, which is about what I expected since the final trial is combat.

Last person standing becomes the next Ares.

I glance at Patroclus. He’s got his game face on, every expression locked down and nothing slipping through. He’s wearing his normal gym clothes, and he’s limping a bit, but he’s moving better than he was yesterday. That’s fine. He doesn’t have to be in top form for this trial. He’s here to watch my back, which means there’s no reason for him to be sticking his neck out.

I’ll make sure he doesn’t feel like he has to, even if I have to eliminate him myself.

I have on clothes similar to the last two trials, gold and black that give me a dark prince kind of vibe. Or that’s what Athena’s designer informed me when he put together the clothing I was to wear for each event and trial.

Helen is in her warrior queen getup. I watched her put on the golden one-piece earlier, and it had been entertaining and sexy to hear her swear as she wrestled it up her body, but I can’t deny that the overall effect is stunning. It’s a body suit that leaves her arms bare and stops a few inches above her knees. There’s plenty of give so she can move, but the slick surface is similar to the one she wore in the second trial. It will make it damn near impossible to grab her or pin her. She’s pulled her hair back into a braid thing that’s pinned up around her head—another potential handhold gone—and there’s the ever-present gold glitter dusting her skin.

She catches me watching her, and her gaze skates away from me. She’s been like this all morning. Skittish. I can’t blame her, but part of me wants to comfort her when I should be focused on my end goal within sight. Pass this trial, win the next. Ares is so close, I can taste it.

The camaraderie from the second challenge is gone. We don’t have that padding between us any longer. At the end of this trial, one of us will have our dreams crushed, and the others will be left to pick up the pieces.

A shiver of foreboding goes through me. We will pick up the pieces. The three of us together work, and that’s rare enough that I’m not willing to give it up without a fight. I like Helen a whole fucking lot. She’ll forgive me eventually. She has to.

The crowd quiets as the spotlights make their way to Athena. She’s in another suit, a deep amber one this time that is about as fancy as she gets. She looks good, though. She always looks good. She lifts her hands, instantly commanding the attention of everyone in the space. When they’re quiet enough, she speaks. “The final trial is the trial of combat.” A pause while people lose their shit. They quiet down faster this time. “The champions will fight until only one remains. Elimination is by tapping out or first blood.” She waves a graceful hand to encompass the oval of sand we stand on the edge of. “Choose your weapons, champions. The trial begins in three…two…”

Patroclus tenses. “Batons.” He jerks his chin to the right, and I see exactly what he means. There are a trio of expandable batons hanging on a rack halfway around the arena on the right. It means running past several options, but he’s right. We should stick to what we know.

He turns to Helen, but it’s too late. Athena’s voice says, “One. Begin.” The crowd’s screaming drowns out everything else.

I don’t hesitate. I sprint across the sand toward the batons. They might not be flashy, but they can break bone easily enough and have a decent reach on them. More importantly, we use them regularly during our tasks for Athena. The heavy handle is comfortable and familiar against my palm.

The feeling of someone behind me surprises me. Surely Patroclus didn’t keep up with that sprint? I turn, expecting to see him beside me, but Patroclus is nowhere in sight. Instead, it’s Paris bearing down on me, a dagger in his hand. The fucker is aiming it right between my shoulder blades. I dodge back, the sand giving beneath my feet and threatening my balance. Fuck, we should have thought to practice sparring in a sand ring. It’s a complication I hadn’t anticipated.

Paris strikes again, his face a mask of fury. “I know you’re fucking Helen!”

I get my baton up in time, and the knife slides along its edge. The guy isn’t going for first blood. He wants me dead. The feeling is entirely mutual. I stagger back another step, allowing him to think he’s got me on the ropes. “Did you send the assassin?”

He pauses. “What?”

His confusion seems genuine, but what do I know? I didn’t realize Paris was a potential threat until I saw him through Helen’s eyes. He could be lying. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. I would have enjoyed eliminating him personally even before I knew that he hurt her, scared her, made her doubt herself. Now, it’s personal.

I step to the side to avoid his next attack. He’s good, but he’s not better than I am. I whip out the baton, so fast it makes a whistling noise. Paris tries to dodge, but I catch the tip of the knife and send it spinning though the air away from us.

He flinches and backs away, his hands outstretched. “Achilles, wait.”

His ankle rolls and I’m on him, shoving him off his feet and into the sand. “The baton isn’t the best option to draw blood.” I kick him, flipping him onto his back. “Guess I’ll have to hit you a few times to make sure you’re eliminated.”

I lift the baton over my head. “Stop talking, Paris. You’re just going to make me angrier.”

I know better. Truly, I do. But I still twist to look behind me.

I find Patroclus instantly. I’m sure I’ll always find him, regardless of how many people stand between us. In an arena of only five, there’s nothing to distract from the scene playing out before me.

The Minotaur stalks him across the sand, light on his feet despite his big body. Patroclus has found a small knife somewhere, but it looks like a toy in his hand. The Minotaur has a fucking sword. It’s one of the big ones, big enough that he has to hold it with two hands. Big enough to cut Patroclus in fucking half. I glance up at Athena, but she hasn’t moved from the spot where she stood when she announced the start of the trial. There’s going to be no last-minute save for any of us.

Patroclus could take the Minotaur in a fair fight. Probably. But right now, when he’s favoring his ankle and has bruised ribs limiting his range of motion? It’s going to be a fucking bloodbath. The way the Minotaur swings that sword, he doesn’t care if he removes limbs to get to Patroclus’s blood.

He’ll kill him.

Even as the thought crosses my mind, Helen appears like an avenging goddess behind the Minotaur. She raises a pair of daggers and holds his death in her gorgeous face. Our woman doesn’t hesitate, striking at his exposed back.

The Minotaur must sense her, because he spins easily out of the way and cuts back at her with a stroke that would take her head if it landed. She ducks easily beneath it, but that doesn’t stop my lungs from turning to stone in my chest. Both of them. Both of them are in fucking danger, and they’re outmatched.

If the Minotaur lands a blow…

Even as the thought crosses my mind, I’m moving, leaving Paris behind and heading for them. I don’t give a fuck if the rules don’t encourage murder. Someone tried to kill Helen in the house, and Patroclus is injured right now. The way the Minotaur swings that sword has every alarm bell in my head blaring. He’s swiping it at them like he wants to hurt them. Helen is fierce and quick on her feet, but she’s too small. She can’t take even one hit from that thing. She’ll lose a limb, and that’s the best-case scenario.

And Patroclus? He’ll sacrifice himself for her, the fool. I already know it.

I pick up my pace, the sand churning beneath my feet as I pelt across the space. If I can just get there, I can stop him. I’m better than this fucker. I know I am.

Helen shifts her grip on the knife like she might throw it but seems to think better of it. Good girl. Never toss a weapon that’s still useful. I should have told her that. Fuck, I should have told her a lot of things.

I’m too fucking far away. I’ll never make it in time.

The Minotaur picks up momentum, spinning the sword with a comfort that seems like he’s done it before. Helen and Patroclus circle him, but they’re too aware of each other, too determined to save each other. It’s a glaring fault line to exploit, and the Minotaur is smart enough to do exactly that.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.”

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.”

I lost sight of her when I tackled the Minotaur, but surely she isn’t eliminated. If Paris wins… We promised her. We fucking promised her, and I lost sight of everything in the last few minutes.

I twist to look for her. There. Helen stalks Paris, fury written over her perfect face. She’s still only got those fucking daggers, and he’s got an honest-to-gods bow drawn and pointed in her direction.

He could shoot her. He could fucking kill her.

Paris lets loose an arrow and Helen dances to the side, dodging it at the last moment. She narrows her eyes and picks up her pace, sprinting toward him. Paris flinches and scrambles for another arrow. He’s got them embedded in the sand at his feet like he’s some old-time warrior instead of a cowardly little prick who sat back and let everyone fight it out so he could pick off the winner. He strings another arrow and fires, but Helen drops to the sand and it flies over her head.

I chance a glance at Patroclus. He’s still breathing and he wraps his hands around my wrists. The strength of his grip reassures me. “She’ll do it.”

I follow his gaze to Helen again. I want her to win. Of course I do. It’s not even a contest between her and Paris. But I can’t think properly right now. Not with her and Patroclus still in danger. Not with my entire plan upended.

A third arrow flies. She spins out of the way like a dancer, light on her feet and using the turn to pick up momentum until she’s flying over the sand.

She’s so close now. Less than ten feet from him. Paris grabs another arrow, but he’s panicking, his movements clumsy. He nearly drops it. That’s all the opening she needs. The little fool flings one of her knives at him. Fifty percent chance it hits, and even that’s optimistic.

Except it does.

It takes him in the shoulder, spinning Paris away from his fucking arrows and into the wall surrounding the main arena. He slides to the ground, clutching his shoulder and screaming something I can’t hear over the cheers of thousands of people around us.

Helen takes one more step before she seems to remember herself. She straightens and turns to face Athena. From this angle, I can’t see her expression, but there’s a fury in the set of her shoulders that practically dares Athena to do anything but declare her the winner.

Athena stares down at her for a long time, long enough for the cheers to die down and the silence to gain an eerie quality. Finally she lifts her hands. “We have a winner. Congratulations…Ares.”

The arena goes wild.

On the sand, medics rush out from one of the arches, teams splitting up to take each of the injured champions. I wave mine off. I’m barely injured. A fucking scratch. That’s all it took to snatch my dreams from me. I was so close. So fucking close.

It’s…over.

I’ve lost.

My dreams are dead and gone, and it’s my own damn fault.

29

Helen

I can’t stop shaking. I need to see Patroclus, to make sure he’s okay. The medics have him on a stretcher, and they move past me as they carry him out of the arena. I barely get a glimpse of his pale face before he’s gone.

The referees march the Minotaur out behind him. They keep looking at the big man as if they’re not sure whether he’ll leave peacefully. His words still ring in my ears. Figured you’d both come running when your little boyfriend was threatened. He used Patroclus to draw Achilles and me to him. Guilt has me in a choke hold.

If I’d been stronger…

If I’d eliminated the Minotaur before he had a chance to nearly kill Patroclus…

If…

Achilles limps toward the exit. He barely looks at me as he passes. I should give him space, should let him process what the fuck just happened. I haven’t processed what happened, so I can’t imagine he has.

But I can’t. Fear swamps me, stronger than I could have anticipated. “Achilles.”

He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t stop, doesn’t so much as slow down.

The feeling gets worse. “Achilles, talk to me.”

He barely hesitates. “You got what you wanted, Helen. Get that sad look off your face.” He’s still not looking at me, instead offering me his perfect profile. “Celebrate.”

The bottom of my stomach drops out. “Was it all bullshit? The talk of the future and keeping me?”

He shakes his head. “I have to go with Patroclus to the hospital. I’ll talk to you later.”

It doesn’t sound like a promise. He tosses out the words as if he’ll say whatever it takes to end this conversation. To end…this.

I don’t call his name again. I stand there and watch him walk away, taking a chunk of my heart with him. When did that happen? I’ve said from the beginning that we didn’t have a future. Not me and him. Not me and Patroclus. Certainly not the three of us. It doesn’t matter how well we meshed during the trials or the way they seemed to see me or…

A sob catches in my chest, but I refuse to release it. This is what I wanted, what I’ve fought so hard to accomplish. I’m realizing my dreams and ensuring all of Olympus is forced to take me seriously.

Achilles is right. I should be celebrating and doing a victory lap. I shouldn’t be standing here and trying not to cry.

Bellerophon appears at my side as if by magic, their expression carefully blank. “I need you to come with me, Ares.”

Ares.

I did it. I fucking won. No one can look at me and believe I’m just a pretty face, a pawn to be moved about the chessboard at the whim of those more powerful than I am. I should be elated and celebrating and riding a high unlike any other.

Instead, I just want to make sure Patroclus is okay, to talk to Achilles properly and have him reassure me that everything he said yesterday wasn’t just bullshit. That he really meant it now that we’re staring the future right in the face.

I take a breath and try to calm my racing heart, to think. My actions have consequences: both entering the tournament and winning it. As much as I want to chase after Achilles and Patroclus until this awful gaping wound in my chest is healed, becoming Ares means I have responsibilities beyond my own personal needs.

My men will have to wait. Hopefully they’ll still be there for me after everything that’s happened.

I’ve barely let myself consider that they might actually be mine, and now it may very well be over. I close my eyes, take another breath, and when I open them, I have my game face on. I am Ares and I will not be underestimated.

I smile up at Bellerophon. “Lead the way.”

They don’t speak until we’ve entered one of the arches—a different one than we’ve been entering and exiting for the trials—and head up a flight of stairs. “There will be a formal event introducing you as Ares tonight, but the title was officially yours the moment you won the third trial.”

I can’t read anything in their tone about their thoughts on my winning. That’s just as well. Plenty of people will be pissed about it, and I need to get used to it. That doesn’t mean I can’t be gracious in this moment. “Thank you for hosting the champions. I know it wasn’t an easy duty.”

Bellerophon doesn’t comment on that. We take another set of stairs up. My adrenaline is still going strong, but I can already sense the crash coming. Too much, too quickly. This is exactly what I wanted, so I should be happy, right? I don’t understand this strange sense of loss that feels like someone wrapped me in a lead blanket and tossed me off a pier.

They open the door at the top of this flight of stairs and step back. “They’re waiting.”

I don’t know why I’m surprised to see my brother standing next to Athena. He might not have been visible in the box seat when she made the announcements, but he’s not the type to let something this important pass without witnessing it.

Perseus has on a charcoal-gray suit with a cream shirt underneath it. The only sign that he’s less than perfectly put together are the faint creases in his slacks that almost look like he was gripping the fabric in his fists like he used to when he was a child and trying not to react. But that’s ridiculous. Perseus hasn’t shown that kind of loss of control since our mother died. Longer, even.

Athena waits for the door to shut behind me to sigh. “Well, you fucked that right up, didn’t you?”

Athena’s dark eyes flash, the only outward sign that she’s furious right now. “He’s on his way to the hospital now. The damage was too much for the medics to handle, so it’ll be up to the surgeon. They had damn well better save him.”

Save him. Because he might die.

I open my mouth to argue but manage to hold the words back at the last minute. She’s right. It doesn’t matter what promises the men and I made… Except were they promises? They certainly sounded like it when Achilles spoke with such confidence, but that was before he brushed me off just now, before he walked away without looking back.

He’s never going to forgive you. It was a nice dream while it lasted, but it’s over now.

I inhale slowly. If I ignore Athena’s warning and show up at the hospital, there’s a decent chance neither of the men will want to see me. I don’t think they lied, exactly, but I know how quickly people stop saying what you want to hear when you stop giving them what they want.

Achilles thought he’d become Ares. When he made those promises, it was with the intent of me bending when all the chips were down. He never actually thought I had a chance of winning, and his confidence reflected that. Now that he’s lost his dream?

He won’t forgive me.

He certainly won’t play second fiddle to me being Ares.

I swallow hard. Would I feel differently if our positions were reversed? It’s easy to pretend I would have gotten over it and we’d dance our way to some happy little triad, but the loss of something I’ve wanted with every fiber of my being? I can’t say I’d be able to look him in the face, married or no.

When I speak, my tone is perfectly cordial, doing nothing to reflect the loss driving its roots deep into me. “Of course, Athena. My apologies.”

I can see the storm brewing in Perseus’s blue eyes, and I want nothing more than to follow Athena out the door to avoid it, but I didn’t come this far to be cowardly when it counted. I got what I wanted, and that means facing down the consequences of my actions.

I’m one of the Thirteen now, after all. I lift my chin. “Zeus.”

Immediately, he goes cold. Covering up messier emotions. We’re all such liars in my family, myself included. My brother finally says, “I had my reasons.”

That pulls me up short. “Excuse me?”

I force myself not to react, to slow down long enough to piece out what he’s saying…and what he isn’t. “You can’t seriously believe that Minos had no knowledge of the attack. That doesn’t even make sense. What are the odds that one of his carefully selected people randomly decided to sneak into my room and try to kill me?”

For a moment, Perseus looks so fucking tired that if we were a hugging family, I might try to hug him. It doesn’t last. His moments of weakness never do. He shakes his head and straightens his shoulders. “There are extenuating circumstances.” For a moment, I think he won’t continue, but he sighs. “I suppose you’ll be briefed on it officially tomorrow with the rest of the Thirteen. Minos brought news of a credible threat against Olympus. He wants to cut a deal in return for sharing that information.”

I snort. “Sounds like bullshit to me.”

He looks out over the arena and then back to me. “The barrier is failing.”

I go still. “You’re shitting me.” I shake my head, stunned. “How? Why?”

True fear slices through me. This is big. Really big. If we have to go to war, a huge portion of the responsibility for soldiers and combat will rest on my shoulders, and as Achilles was quick to point out before, I have a steep learning curve ahead of me before I’m ready for something like that. “Perseus, surely there’s information in the archives about the barrier.” I’ve looked myself, but there are sections that only Apollo has access to, and he’s not the sharing type. He’d answer Zeus’s questions, though. He wouldn’t have a choice. “There’s—”

I want to be mad about that, but I can’t. I might not like being left in the dark, but I can’t deny that my brother is doing his best for Olympus. I swallow hard. “I see.”

It strikes me then, why this feels so different. “Dad never had the whole Thirteen meet. He just made executive decisions and expected everyone to fall in line.”

What kind of question is that? Except as I consider it, consider him, I realize I’m not a sure thing from Perseus’s view. He’s treated me like a piece to be moved about the board, has used and misused me. Our father preached loyalty to family above all else, but we both know it’s bullshit. Gods, Perseus hasn’t even given a proper apology, and as much as I love him, I know better than to hold my breath and wait for one. I could—should—hate my brother for what he’s done.

But this is Olympus.

We’re all monsters here.

Even monsters have to work together when threatened by an outside force. I’m sure Achilles… I stop the thought before it can reach completion. It doesn’t matter what Achilles would or wouldn’t do. I can’t make decisions based on his and Patroclus’s theoretical position in my life when it’s all but guaranteed they’ll never want to see me again.

Helen Kasios may have had time and space to mourn something like the loss currently residing deep inside me. Ares doesn’t. With the safety of Olympus in the balance, I will do my duty. “Yes,” I finally say. “I’ll stand with you.”

He nods and walks past me to the door, only to pause with his hand on the knob. “Helen.”

The words sting, but I manage to keep a sarcastic reply internal. Mostly. “And?”

He glances over his shoulder. For a moment, the briefest blink, his eyes warm up and his smile is bright and sharp just like it used to be before our father beat every soft emotion out of him. “I’m proud of you. You were amazing out there.” He opens the door and walks out of the room before I can work though my shock to come up with an answer.

My brother is proud of me.

Maybe pigs will fly next.

Still not an apology. I shake my head. Apparently I can’t help wishing for the moon even when I’m getting everything I ever wanted. It’s exceedingly frustrating to have to keep reminding myself of that fact.

I can’t go to him. Not without pissing off Athena, but even without her in play, it feels wrong to show up uninvited. If they don’t want to see me, it’s cruel to force them to.

Before I can take a step, the door flies open and Eris, Hermes, and Dionysus pour into the room, towing Eros and Psyche behind them. Dionysus sweeps me up into a hug and spins me around until I feel sick. “Ares! Look at you, little warrior!”

I should be happy to see my friends. This is what I wanted, after all. We stand on the same level now. I’m no longer being left behind. I just…I didn’t expect the win to feel so hollow.

As Dionysus and Eris cut to the bar at the back of the box seat, Hermes and Psyche chat easily like old friends. This is what I wanted. This is everything I wanted. I’m Ares. Too bad it feels like I’m missing a limb.

He watches Psyche laugh at something Hermes says while Dionysus pours out six drinks. “Hermes told me a wild rumor a few days ago.” He says it so casually, voice pitched low to only carry to me. “She claims you’re hooking up with both Achilles and Patroclus.”

The wobble in my bottom lip gets worse despite myself. “I like them. For real. Maybe more than like.” I don’t know why I’m confessing to him. We’re friends, but some wounds are best kept hidden. I can’t quite seem to manage it in the face of his presence.

You won’t know until you try.

Becoming Ares has complicated that. I can’t get to Patroclus and Achilles without stepping on Athena’s toes, and that isn’t an option. Not when it might mean a split Thirteen. My brother’s right; if there’s an outside threat, our petty rivalries shouldn’t stand in the way of an allied Thirteen. Unfortunately, I know too well how should doesn’t mean shit. I can’t threaten that. I can’t.

But Eros isn’t one of the Thirteen.

I shift closer and lower my voice. “Would you check on Patroclus? He was injured and I want to make sure he’s okay. I can’t do it without stepping on Athena’s toes, and she’ll never forgive me for starting out my time as Ares by fucking with her.”

Eros lifts his brows. “That all?”

Was that all? The cowardly part of me wants to leave it at that, but I’ve come this far. Maybe my feelings for my men will blow up in my face, but if I don’t try, then it definitely will. I drag in a breath. “And tell them…” Gods, why is it so hard to get this out? “Tell them that I still want that pretty future they painted. If they do, that is.”

He waits, but what else is there to say? That I think I might have gone straight past falling in love and into love itself? That I want Achilles’s wonderful and aggravating assurance at my back for whatever comes next, no matter how large or small? That I want Patroclus’s brilliant mind and stern determination to take care of us? Eros wouldn’t understand, and laying myself bare even this much is almost more than I can handle. “That’s all.”

He nods. “Do you want me to go now?”

The longer I have to wait for an answer, the worse it will be. Not just for what happens next. Patroclus has to be okay. He has to be. “Please.”

I inhale slowly and exhale just as slowly. I’m dirty and sweaty and exhausted, and all I want to do is go home and sleep for three days until this new world settles around me. That might have been an option for Helen, but it’s not an option for Ares.

I square my shoulders, paste a smile on my face, and head to join my sister and friends at the box-seat bar.

30

Achilles

I go straight from the arena to the hospital, following the ambulance they stuffed Patroclus into. He needs surgery, though the nurses keep telling me it isn’t serious, that the doctor is optimistic, that he’ll be just fine. Optimistic. That shit isn’t a sure thing. I pace around the waiting room until they find an empty room to stash me in.

I wait and wait and wait. I’m practically climbing the walls as the minutes tick by without news, two thoughts rolling through my head at regular intervals.

I need him to be okay.

Helen should be here.

Except she’s not Helen anymore, is she? She’s Ares. She got what she always wanted, snatched that shit right out of my hands even if she wasn’t the one to eliminate me. Why would she be worried about me, about Patroclus now? It’s not a fair thought, but it’s clear she has no intention of coming. She would have shown up by now if she wanted to be here.

More than that… I don’t know if I’m ready to see her. The future I had in my head, the one I’d been working toward for years, is gone. No matter what else is true, I will never be Ares now. Without that title…

I drag my hands over my face. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I can’t find my feet, can’t figure out next steps, until I know Patroclus is okay. He’ll figure out the future for both of us.

Unless he doesn’t want me anymore. I’m not the winner he fell in love with. It’s my fault he got hurt. He wouldn’t even have been in the tournament if not for me. He begged me to leave him behind in the second trial and I ignored him.

I curse. Patroclus wouldn’t dump me for not securing the title. That’s not how he operates, no matter what my sudden insecurity is sure of. No, it’s far more likely that things with Patroclus will fall apart if we can’t find a way forward with Helen. He got a taste of how well she balanced the two of us. How can he be satisfied with only me now that he’s had her, too?

A knock on the door has me spinning on my heel, but the person who steps inside isn’t a nurse and it’s sure as fuck not Helen. It’s Eros. I know who he is, know who his mother was to Patroclus’s moms. Enemy. Rival. Danger. Eros and I have never had reason to cross paths. He plays the part of the golden fuckboy, and I’m the soldier. Or at least both those things used to be true. Now Eros has, by all appearances, settled down into domestic life with Psyche Dimitriou.

And me? I don’t know who I am anymore. “What are you doing here?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m listening.”

I start to snarl back, but I can’t help thinking about the conversation we had with Helen after the second trial. She might not have any experience leading soldiers, but her brain is more than twisty enough to be at home steeped in the Thirteen’s fucked-up politics. I have a prior relationship with Athena, which might have smoothed the way when I became Ares, but I know better than most that she bends for no one.

Would she truly have kept me from Patroclus?

The thought leaves me cold.

She wants a future with us. I don’t know whether to laugh or curse. This is probably some fucked-up version of karma for being so sure that she’d forgive me if I took Ares from her, but it’s not the same. It’s not the same. Without Ares, Helen is still a Kasios. She might be a pawn moved about by her brother, but she has power. Only a fool would say she doesn’t. People will remember her forever, would have even before she entered her name as a contender for Ares.

Even before she won.

I know who I am as Athena’s second-in-command. It’s not the role I wanted to play forever, but I understand the parameters. I’m good at it, too. The best.

If I gamble it all on Helen, that means sacrificing my place beneath Athena. She’s not one to allow her people to serve two masters, and starting a romantic relationship with Ares is exactly that. Leaving her command means there’s no going back. If things fall apart with Helen, I’ll truly be left with nothing. “She’s asking too much.”

I can’t settle down, though. Helen’s words from yesterday come back to haunt me. How she said I wasn’t prepared for what it really means to be one of the Thirteen. I thought she was full of shit at the time, but who the fuck cares about someone and lets politics get in the way of making sure they’re okay?

I know what I would have done in her position.

Even knowing there might be far-reaching complications, I can’t say I’d do anything differently if I had won the title of Ares. Patroclus is mine. Olympus can burn if it means making sure he’s okay.

Rationally, I see why Helen made the choice she did, but I don’t know if it matters. The risk is too high with so little guaranteed payoff. For the first time in my life, I can’t see a way forward. I don’t have my internal assurance that I’ll realize the future I want.

I…failed.

I’ll come to terms with that—I know myself well enough to understand that—but I can’t think of anything at all until I’m assured Patroclus made it through surgery and I see him with my own eyes. Everything else can wait until then.

The door opens again, and this time it’s Athena who appears. She looks as perfectly put together as she appeared on the screen in the arena, only a faint tightness around her eyes giving lie to the image. “Patroclus is out of surgery and in recovery.” She holds up a hand when I start forward. “They need time to get him settled, but as soon as it’s possible, you’ll get access to his room.”

Not soon enough, but I trust Athena. If she says he made it through surgery, then he did. I exhale in a rush. Relief makes me a little dizzy, but I can barely believe it for truth. I need to see him. I need him to anchor me in the middle of this storm. I can’t see a path, but surely Patroclus will be able to. “This is so fucked.”

I stop short. Athena doesn’t usually couch her criticism by easing people into it. She’s frank and to the point, and that’s one of the many reasons we are so loyal to her. “When are you anything but blunt with me?”

She smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “We’re in trouble. Olympus. I don’t know all the details yet, but Minos brought in information when he brought his people. There’s a threat on the horizon, and I don’t know that the barrier will protect us from it.” She hesitates but finally says, “We needed you as Ares.”

Bitterness claws up my throat at the reminder of my failure. Athena never mentioned that there might be the potential for an attempted invasion, but it just reinforces that with me as Ares, there would be no unknowns. Even though I’m conflicted as fuck right now, I still find myself saying, “Helen will surprise you.”

I shrug, but I’m unable to keep the tension out of my voice. “Take that up with Paris.” Easier to blame him than to admit I fucked up. The moment Helen and Patroclus were in danger, I forgot about eliminating Paris and ran for them. I kept fighting the Minotaur even after he was eliminated because I wanted to remove him as a threat—and that had nothing to do with the tournament.

Helen was the one who eliminated the Minotaur and didn’t stick around to beat him to a pulp. She immediately went for Paris. That’s why she won and I didn’t. If I’d been paying attention, I could have dodged Paris’s arrows, too.

I lost sight of my goal.

Helen didn’t.

She’s not wrong, but it still pricks at me to hear her talk about Helen that way. “She might not have the combat experience, but she’s got politics down to a science. She’s not a bad fit. Like I said, I think she’ll surprise you.”

Her smile is bittersweet. “You’re smarter than that, Achilles. That decision is one that will stick. For better or worse, the fact is appearances matter in this city. I can’t have my position undermined by welcoming back Ares’s cast-offs.” She moves to the door. “Whatever your decision ends up being, be sure it’s what you want, because you’ll have to live with it.” Then she’s gone, closing the door softly behind her.

Everyone’s making a dramatic exit today.

It’s another hour before a nurse comes and collects me, herding me down the hall and up an elevator and through another series of halls to the room where Patroclus lies in a hospital bed. He looks too pale, too thin. It has the fear from before rushing back, amplifying. “He’s going to be okay?”

I don’t know if I believe her. I have to believe her. “Thanks.”

He looks…small. Patroclus lies on the bed, hooked up to several machines, his skin even paler than normal. Guilt pricks me, digging deep. The only reason he was in the tournament in the first place was to watch my back. I should have let him be eliminated in the second trial like he wanted, should have listened to him every time he warned me of the danger of pushing forward stubbornly. I bullied him into entering, and then I bullied him into continuing even when he was injured. I wanted him with me, and that selfish desire is the reason he’s in this bed now, still and drained.

I might not have wielded the sword that cut him, but this is my fault.

There’s not as much space here as there was downstairs, and I’m afraid if I start pacing again, I’ll knock into his bed and cause him pain on accident or something. So I don’t. I force my restless energy down deep and drop into the chair next to his bed.

It’s like the bastard was waiting for me to stop moving, because he opens his eyes almost immediately. “Achilles?” Even his voice is fucked up, raspy and too quiet.

I drag the chair forward and take his hand. “I’m here.” Touching him calms me a little, though it does nothing to remove the guilt plaguing me. My chest goes tight and awful. He’s okay. That’s the only thing that matters. He’s okay.

He exhales and goes limp. “Thank the gods. If after everything, Helen was married to that bastard… We promised her that it wouldn’t happen.” His eyes fly open. “Wait, that means Helen is Ares.”

Patroclus squeezes my hand. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles faintly. “I know you wanted Ares. I’m sorry you didn’t get to live out your dream.”

I hesitate, but Patroclus is in this with me, too, and I can’t hold back information from him, no matter how Athena’s words still churn away in the back of my mind. “Athena came by the hospital.” He doesn’t speak, so I force myself to continue. “She says she wants me to stay on as her second-in-command. I guess Bellerophon reported about how close we got with Helen, and she wanted to let me know that in order to pursue things with the new Ares, it means resigning with Athena. Do that, and there’s no going back.”

I wait, but Patroclus doesn’t offer any brilliant insight. “Well?”

He shakes his head. “It’s up to you to decide if the cost is too high.”

I consider his words, what he did and didn’t say. “You’re going to Helen.”

He shrugs. “Then I’ll resign and see if Apollo’s willing to hire me. He’s one who sees value in information, so he won’t balk if I pursue a relationship with the new Ares and also with Athena’s second-in-command.”

I don’t have an easy answer. I don’t know if an easy answer exists. Finally, I say, “If I try with Helen and it blows up in my face, I’ll actually have lost everything. It’s not an easy choice for me.”

I open my mouth but stop before I keep arguing. Is Patroclus right? Yeah, it’s a risk to resign and go to Helen. She might have been playing a deeper game during the tournament, manipulating us into being allies who will watch her back, but…

I don’t believe it. Not for a second.

The connection between the three of us was real. More than that, I get Helen. I don’t have to be brilliant like Patroclus to understand the woman. She felt safe with us. She showed us vulnerability. That was real. I’m sure of it.

I sit back in the uncomfortable hospital chair but maintain my grip on Patroclus’s hand. As usual, he’s right. If what we shared was real, then there’s no choice at all. I expected Helen to get over her loss of dreams when I won. It’s hypocritical in the extreme to not be willing to do the same, even if I’m afraid. I shake my head, a reluctant smile pulling at my lips. “You really are a smart motherfucker.”

He smiles in return. “You would have figured it out eventually. I just helped things along.” He squeezes my hand, already feeling stronger. “You’ve always had enough faith for both of us. It’s my turn now. It will work out with Helen. I’m sure of it.”

31

Helen

Attending a meeting with all the members of the Thirteen is one of the most surreal experiences of my life. My father made it a habit of keeping them as separate as possible, aside from his endless parties, but even if he hadn’t, I would not have had a place at the massive oblong table we occupy now.

I study them each in turn, all too aware of the way they study me right back. There are my brother and Eris, of course, him at the head of the table and her across from me. Hermes and Dionysus sit close with their heads together, whispering and pretending they don’t see the way Poseidon glares in disapproval. He’s a giant white man with short red hair and an even redder beard, and he looks like he can haul shipping containers around with his bare hands.

Then there’s Demeter sitting passively with her hands folded on the table. She’s a white woman in her fifties with a distinct earth-mother vibe that almost manages to hide the sharp ambition in her hazel eyes.

Next is Apollo. I haven’t interacted with him a ton, but I’m a big fan of Cassandra, who works for him. He’s an East Asian man who’s about my age and who doesn’t often contribute to the political backbiting so common with this group. He catches my eye and gives me something resembling a reassuring smile. I smile back, even though I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.

Hades and Callisto—Hera—sit together at the end of the table across from my brother. Callisto is Hades’s sister-in-law, so their easy way with each other make sense, but it still weirds me out. I notice a vein in my brother’s temple throbbing as he looks at them, but he glances away and smooths out his expression.

Hephaestus and Artemis are cousins, both sharing the same light-brown skin and glossy dark hair. They’re also wearing identical expressions of distrust as they watch me. I won’t find allies in that corner, but hopefully they’ll be willing to work together to protect Olympus.

The door opens and our final member arrives. Athena is wearing a cream suit and walks with purpose as she moves to my brother’s right hand. She catches my eye, but I can’t decipher her expression. It’s not warm, but it’s not icy, either.

My brother clears his throat. “It’s time to have a frank discussion.”

The next two hours are a study in frustration. I knew the Thirteen were fractured, but seeing it firsthand has me digging my nails into my palm to keep from yelling at them. My brother lays out the information he has, but Hephaestus, Artemis, and Poseidon argue that he’s exaggerating the threat to consolidate power for himself. Dionysus and Hermes make quips at everyone, though they watch the proceedings with sharp eyes. My sister has plenty of opinions, but even I’m not sure if she’s supporting our brother or not. I swear she’s simply playing coy to infuriate everyone and confuse the situation.

Hades and Demeter, surprisingly, don’t say much at all. From the way they watch the arguments that spring up and get diverted, I expect there will be a secondary meeting with them and perhaps Hera where they discuss their position.

Athena staunchly supports my brother, but she’s quick to say it’s Olympus she’s supporting. Not Zeus.

In short, it’s a fucking mess.

We adjourn without any sort of a plan or even an agreement. I pause next to my brother. “I understand now.”

He gives me a brief smile. “Come around tomorrow and we’ll talk.”

More back-office meetings. I expect there will be a lot of that going around in the near future, the segments of the Thirteen breaking off to converse with like-minded people. I don’t know how we can get them all on the same page. I don’t know if it’s even possible.

The only other option is for Olympus to risk falling to the enemies we can barely see yet.

I head to my new office. It’s only been a few days since I was named Ares, but my crash course in the job has spotlighted how lazy the last Ares was. Nothing is filed properly. His second-in-command thought he could talk over me because of my gender. I fired him, but not before I nearly put his head through a wall when he tried to punch me. It’s a mess.

Maybe I’d be more optimistic if I wasn’t nursing a broken heart.

Three days, and not a single word from Achilles or Patroclus. Eros returned late that first night to let me know that Patroclus came through surgery just fine and is expected to make a full recovery. He’s out of danger, but Achilles still hasn’t reached out.

Hard to misinterpret that.

Maybe they meant what they said during the trials. Even if it was true then, their feelings didn’t hold up to my ruining their plans. And fuck if that doesn’t hurt more every time I think about it.

So I don’t think about it.

I have plenty of work to keep me busy. If sometimes I hide in my office and cry when the emotions get too tangled in my chest, I’m only human.

A knock on my door has me biting back a curse. “I swear to the gods, Diomedes, if you’re here to bitch about the schedule again, I’m going to fire you, too.”

I freeze, my gaze pinned on my desk. Surely I’m hallucinating. I must be, because there’s no way Achilles is here after three days of silence. When I look up, it’s going to hurt all over again, and then I’m going to have to do something about this heartache, because I need all my facilities for this job.

But when I look up, he’s actually here. More, he’s not alone. He looks every inch the golden god he always does while standing behind a wheelchair containing Patroclus. He looks good, considering the last time I saw him, he was being rushed to the emergency room. He’s paler than normal and there’s a bandage peeking out from the collar of his shirt, but he’s here and smiling.

They’re both here and smiling.

I can’t move. I don’t have any frame of reference for them to show up like this. Are they here to let me down gently? Or…

Achilles wheels Patroclus into the office and pauses to softly shut the door behind him. I open my mouth but force myself to hold my silence. They came to me. Achilles pushes Patroclus closer and drops into the empty chair next to him. He sighs. “Sorry it took us so long. The doctor was being stubborn—”

I plant my hands on the desk, mostly to hide the way I’m shaking. “I’m not saying I’m not happy to see you, but I would like to know why you’re here. Did you really come all this way to make small talk?”

An…apology.

Hope flares, so sharp that I flinch. “It’s nothing. Forget about it.”

Patroclus shakes his head. “It’s not nothing, or you wouldn’t be looking at us like that.” He hesitates. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about the future we talked about.”

The hope inside me gets stronger. I could shut this down and keep from putting myself out there only to be let down devastatingly gently. I can’t. If there’s even a chance to be with these men, to realize the future they spun out for me, I have to try. I lick my lips. “No. I didn’t change my mind about it or about you.”

There he is. Relief makes me a little weak. I should have known that nothing sets Achilles back on his heels for long. “Ambitious, aren’t you?”

Thank the gods.

Patroclus clears his throat. “We…we make a really good team, Helen. I think we’d make an even better one with you involved.”

My disappointment is even stronger than my fledgling hope. “A…team.”

Achilles nudges Patroclus’s shoulder. “You’re being too careful. She thinks we’re offering a business partnership.” His grin widens. “Team in public. True triad in private. Patroclus has to take it easy for a few weeks, but there’s no reason we can’t tease him a bit in the meantime.”

I’m already nodding. “Yes. How is that even a question? Yes, I’ll have you.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

Patroclus and I share a look, and this time, I don’t have to decipher the meaning. We’re both so hopeful for the future, so happy to have years ahead of us with this man at our sides. I don’t know if I believe in happily-ever-afters, but these two men are going to do their damnedest to convince me.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

DISCOVER THE “UNSPEAKABLY HOT” WORLD OF DARK OLYMPUS…

NEON GODS

Hades & Persephone

He was supposed to be a myth, but from the moment I crossed the River Styx and fell under his dark spell...he was, quite simply, mine.

ELECTRIC IDOL

Eros & Psyche

He was the most beautiful man in Olympus...and if I wasn’t careful, he was going to be my death.

WICKED BEAUTY

Achilles & Patroclus & Helen

She was the face that launched a thousand ships, the fierce beauty at the heart of Olympus...and she was never ours to claim.

RADIANT SIN

Apollo & Cassandra

There’s nowhere more dangerous than Olympus, and no one more captivating than its golden god: Apollo. Keeper of secrets, master of his shining realm…and the only man I am powerless to deny.

BONUS ART & MAPS

Explore the super-sexy world of Dark Olympus in all its full, vibrant color. Please note that this page includes deliciously NSFW art.

NEWSLETTER

Find out more about Katee Robert and Sourcebooks Casablanca’s hottest upcoming releases here.

Enjoy this sneak peek of Radiant Sin

Coming soon from Sourcebooks Casablanca

1

Cassandra

I hate parties, Olympus, and politics…but not necessarily in that order. I can avoid two out of the three on good days, but today is promising to be a bad one. It started this morning when I spilled my coffee all over Apollo’s shirt. A rookie mistake, and one that might get me fired if my boss was anyone other than Apollo. He just gave a small smile, assured me it was his fault when it was clearly mine, and changed into the spare suit he kept in his office.

He should have yelled at me.

I’ve worked for the man for five years now, and even that isn’t enough time to stop expecting the other shoe to drop. He’s hardly perfect—he’s one of the Thirteen who rule Olympus, after all, and there are no saints among them—but he’s the best of the bunch. He’s never abused his power over me, never turned his position as my boss into an excuse to be a petty tyrant, has never even raised his voice no matter how thoroughly I’ve fucked up from time to time.

I shove my hair back, hating that I can feel sweat slicking down my back as I climb the last flight of stairs. Something is wrong with the elevator in Dodona Tower and for reasons that seem suspect, it only goes halfway up the tower. I glare down at the file in my hand. I should have just left it alone when I realized Apollo forgot it when he rushed out the door for his meeting with Zeus. He’s an adult and is more than capable of dealing with the consequences of forgetting an important file for an important meeting.

But…he didn’t yell at me. And so I’m here.

No one who knows me would call me a bleeding heart—more like a cold-hearted bitch—so I have absolutely no reason to have caught a cab to the center of the upper city, taken the elevator halfway up, and then proceeded to climb the rest of the thirty floors on foot.

In six-inch heels, no less.

There’s something wrong with me. There must be. Maybe I have a fever.

I press the back of my hand to my forehead, and then feel extra foolish because of course I feel overheated. I just did more exercise than I would ever intentionally commit to unless running for my life. And even then, I’d fight before I ran.

I curse myself for the millionth time as I push through the stairwell door and out into the hallway where Zeus’s office is located. Then I get a look at my reflection in the massive mirror next to the elevator. “Oh no.”

My red hair has gone flat, there’s a sweat stain darkening the line under my breasts—which means there’s an answering one down my spine—and I’m shiny. In a city obsessed with appearances, I can’t let anyone see me like this.

Does it count as a workplace accident if I fall down the stairs on an errand I technically wasn’t asked to do? Apollo would probably find some way to blame himself and pay for my medical bills, but getting hurt like that means no paycheck and no paycheck means Alexandra might not have the money she needs to buy books or school supplies or all the other random shit being at university requires. I can’t risk an injury, even if it means I’m humiliated in the process.

I curse myself yet again and turn to face the gorgeous white woman with light brown hair walking down the hallway. Ares is her name now, but it used to be Helen Kasios. I wouldn’t call us friends, but I’ve attended the parties she used to throw from time to time before she became one of the Thirteen. It always felt a bit like watching animals in a zoo as I witnessed the powerful people from Olympus’s legacy families poke and snap at each other. I’ve learned a lot from playing the sidelines; nearly enough to protect me and my sister from the circling wolves.

Helen isn’t too bad, honestly. She’s never cruel when kindness will further her goals, and she’s perfected a glittery exterior that everyone seems to think means she’s empty-headed, but I’ve always interpreted as a warning not to get too close. No one surfs the political currents as adeptly as she does if they’re not smarter than most of the people in the room.

But that was before she became Ares. Now I can’t take anything for granted when it comes to her. We aren’t on the same level—two women from legacy families, even if mine is disgraced and hers rules Olympus. She’s one of them, now, and I’m still me.

I feel grimy standing next to her. I haven’t wanted a thin body in over a decade—I love my curves out of sheer defiance of everyone who acts like they should be part of a before picture—but it’s hard not to compare us when we stand like this.

She gives me a long look. “Apollo’s in with him now. I don’t think he knew you were coming or he would have waited for you.”

Without a doubt. Apollo is courteous like that. When I first met him, I thought it was an act, but he’s never once faltered in five years. Even as jaded as I am, I have to admit it’s just who he is. Either that or he’s a better liar than anyone else in Olympus, a city filled to the brim with liars and cheats.

There’s no getting out of this. I’m here. I might as well see it through. I hold up the file between us like a shield. “He forgot this.”

Ah. That explains the elevator “malfunction” and why the guy downstairs was such an asshole. I shrug a single shoulder. “I’m persuasive.”

I have to take stronger measures.

Mention of Apollo’s brother makes me frown. What does Orpheus have to do with anything? It takes several steps for understanding to settle over me. She’s talking about that single party where he was being an arrogant little prick, but that was months ago. I’m honestly surprised she remembered at all. “I can handle Orpheus.” He might be bigger than me, but he’s brittle. I could break him without lifting a finger.

I snort. I can’t help it. “Apollo has more or less washed his hands of Orpheus.” As much as Apollo can wash his hands of anyone in his family. What it really translates to is that he’s stopped smoothing over Orpheus’s messes and cut off his money. With how their mother babies the spoiled brat, it never would have worked if Apollo wasn’t, well, Apollo. “When he shapes up, he can play prodigal son and get all the attention he’s deprived of right now. He has bigger things to worry about than chasing some woman who doesn’t want him.”

I do my best not to hold my breath—not with Ares watching—and knock.

Apollo’s the one who opens it, and I refuse to hold my breath at the sight of him, either. I hate looking at Apollo. He’s too fucking perfect, a product of his Swedish father and his Korean model of a mother. Tall, broad shoulders, perfectly trimmed black hair and kind dark eyes. It’s the latter that always hits me like a blow to the chest.

I should have quit a long time ago.

Better to work in an office job I loathe than to have…feelings…about my boss. Even if the feelings in question are something as simple as lust. It complicates things, though I’d throw myself out the window before I let him know.

Which I why my instincts kick in and I shove the file at him. “You forgot this.” My voice is too sharp, too bitchy. He didn’t ask me to do this, but I’m embarrassed and it’s so much easier to snarl and snap than admit it. “I’m not your errand girl, and now I’m in overtime for the week.”

Apollo raises a single dark brow. “You didn’t have to come all this way, Cassandra. I could have done without.”

Without a doubt. He’s capable on a truly terrifying level and has nearly perfect recall of anything he’s ever read. He would have been fine relaying the contents of the file without having it on hand. He probably only put it together to hand it off to Zeus at the end of the meeting.

But he was nice to me this morning.

I am a fool.

I ignore him and keep going. If security is the reason the elevators won’t go above floor fifteen, then I bet they’ll descend from here. They’re keeping people out, not in. My exit won’t be marred by having to take a breather on the stairwell and praying to gods I don’t believe exist that no one stumbles on me. My pride won’t be able to handle it.

I sigh and stop. It’s beneath both our dignity to have him chase me down the hall in front of Helen. Apollo stops next to me, his longer legs having covered the distance easily. He pauses. “Thank you for bringing this. If you’ll hold on for a few minutes, I’m just wrapping up. I’ll give you a ride home.”

The temptation to say yes nearly makes my knees buckle. I’ve shared enough rides with him over the years on the way from one meeting to another. I know exactly how it will go. He’ll slump back against the seat and loosen his perfect black tie. Not a lot. Just enough to drive me to distraction. Then he’ll pull out his phone and leave me to my thoughts.

Apollo never prattles on the way some people do. He’s not one of those strong silent types, but he doesn’t feel the need to fill quiet moments with inane chatter. The car ride will be comfortable and lovely and I absolutely cannot say yes to it. It’s one thing to have those moments during the work day when I can excuse them. After hours?

No. Absolutely not.

He searches my face like he knows I’m being stubborn for the sake of being stubborn, but Apollo is a man who respects boundaries and so he just nods. “Keep the cab fare receipt and expense it.”

I hate how weak I get at the simple thoughtfulness he continually demonstrates. Apollo is too savvy not to know how tight money is for me—his entire job is information, after all—and he also knows me well enough to know I won’t take charity. Not from him. Not from anyone. Not when it’s never really charity and always comes with strings attached.

But a business expense?

My pride can handle that.

No, this unfortunate attraction is one-sided and that’s just fine with me.

It’s only a matter of time before I get out of this cursed city once and for all. The last thing I need is to get entangled with one of the Thirteen—another one of the Thirteen—before I do.

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Acknowledgments

This series wouldn’t have gotten off the ground without the support of so many people. First and foremost, always thank you to my readers. Thank you for rolling with my chaos and trusting me to play fast and loose with your favorite Greek myths. Thank you to all the indie bookstore sellers, reviewers, influencers, and readers who have shoved this series into people’s hands and championed it from the beginning.

All my gratitude to Mary Altman for telling me yes when I randomly sent an email that was like “Hey, I know we planned on Achilles and Helen for this one, but I’d like Patroclus to be in there, too.” I couldn’t ask for a better editor willing to roll with my personal brand of chaos and give me enough leeway to make the magic happen. This book is a thousand times better because of your support and input.

Much thanks to Christa Désir for telling me the thing I didn’t want to hear but desperately needed to hear. Thank you for helping me find the plot and pull it out so this wasn’t just three people being angsty and talking in circles.

Endless appreciation to Stefani Sloma for holding my hand through promo and marketing. This series has legs because of your support and enthusiasm, and I couldn’t ask for a better publicist!

Thanks to the rest of the Sourcebooks team, including Jessica Smith, Dawn Adams, Rachel Gilmer, Jocelyn Travis, Katie Stutz, and Susie Benton.

Big thanks to Piper J. Drake, Asa Maria Bradley, Jenny Nordbak, Nisha Sharma, and Andie J. Christopher for being there through the ups and downs and hard right turns. Big thanks to K Sterling, Reese Ryan, Fortune Whelan, Ali Williams, Amanda Cinelli, and Brina Starler for keeping me company during early morning writing sprints.

Last, but never least, thank you to Tim. Yeah, I know you were skimming looking for your name. Thank you for being my biggest cheerleader, the kick in the ass when I need it, and never hesitating to remind me that you’re proud of me. Love you!

About the Author

Katee Robert is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance and romantic suspense. Entertainment Weekly calls her writing “unspeakably hot.” Her books have sold over a million copies. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband, children, a cat who thinks he’s a dog, and two Great Danes who think they’re lap dogs. You can visit her at kateerobert.com or on Twitter @katee_robert.

Also by Katee Robert

Dark Olympus

Neon Gods

Electric Idol

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