Wicked Beauty (Dark Olympus Book 3)

I leave Achilles asleep in our apartment and make my way to Athena’s headquarters on foot. She likes to keep a low profile, occupying an older building in the northeast part of the upper city, just south of the docks and near the coast. It’s far enough from Zeus’s glittering city center that the buildings have more character, deviating from the steel and glass and concrete look that the blocks surrounding Dodona Tower favor.

There’s not long until the deadline closes to put forth a name as champion. I expect most of the major players have already shown their faces, but I don’t like being surprised. Dawn is a few hours off, and if anyone is going to be a late addition, they’ll do it now, under the cover of darkness.

Historically, the three trials are more physical in nature, but the advantage of a surprise contender cannot be overstated. In order to ensure Achilles wins, I have to consider all variables and plan around them. Which is why I’m here instead of in the warm bed beside him.

Trees line this street at regular intervals, tall oaks that create a pleasant coolness in the early summer heat, even at this hour. I step into the shadows offered by one with a clear view of the entrance to Athena’s building and settle in to wait.

I hear the person before I see them. Heels clicking sharply against the sidewalk, quick and pointed enough to convey a deep anger. I slide deeper into the shadows and angle myself to look for the source.

Surprise flares when I recognize the golden dress, glimmering in the streetlights. I can’t see Helen’s face clearly from here, but the determination in the set of her shoulders speaks for itself. She’d do the same thing when we were kids on the playground, throw back her shoulders before charging into a confrontation.

The stakes were so much lower then.

I half convince myself it’s a coincidence that she’s on this street, moving in this direction, until she yanks open the door to Athena’s building and strides inside.

I’m good at strategy. I might even be the best in Olympus. I theorized Helen would be picked as the bride of the next Ares before it was announced because the data supported that outcome. I knew Paris and Hector would step forward for the same reason. I even projected that there would be a few non-Olympians in the bunch, though I haven’t had a chance to dig into the few who showed up.

I did not anticipate this.

Helen means to compete for the title of Ares? The very idea is ludicrous, though as I mentally flip through the histories I read on the subject, I don’t think there is any rule against it. It’s simply never been done before. There is no precedent.

What happens if she dies in one of the trials? Champions get killed from time to time, though it’s the exception rather than the rule. Zeus is hardly going to be able to switch out spouses as prizes on a whim. Even if he could and the Thirteen, the public, and the champions would stand for it… The very idea is laughable. Who can compare to Helen Kasios when it comes to connections and beauty? No one.

It will be a disaster no matter which way I look at it.

I’m so busy thinking that I don’t hear her exit. I don’t even notice Helen until she’s standing right in front of me, an arch in her perfect eyebrow. “You never used to be sneaky.”

“The last time you saw me, I was eight. People change.” Except, now that I’m thinking of it, Helen always was the first to act against type back then. A cute little girl in a spotless sundress…who had no problem bloodying bullies’ noses and making them cry.

“Some people change.” She shrugged. “Either way, spying is beneath you, Patroclus.”

We might have been friends as kids, at least until my mothers moved our family out of the city center when I was in third grade, but I haven’t seen much of Helen since then. In hindsight, she was a cute kid, but she’s always been a goddess to me. She’s the one who befriended my awkward younger self and stopped the other kids from teasing me about my glasses. I missed her after I moved away, but those memories faded as time went on.

As an adult, I feel her beauty like an assault. In the night, with only the streetlights kissing her high cheekbones and full lips, she looks downright otherworldly. I might have considered her a goddess back then, but she truly looks it now.

“I’m not spying,” I manage. My words come out a little hoarse, but fuck, she surprised me. I glance at her feet and frown. “Where are your shoes?”

“I saw you lurking out here and wanted a word.” She holds up heels that are high enough to make my feet hurt in sympathy. “I figured you would bolt if you heard me coming.”

“I’m one of Athena’s people. I would not bolt to avoid talking to you.”

Her lips curve. “Guess people do change, after all.”

My skin heats. “I’m surprised you remember me.” I don’t know why I say it. I honestly don’t. She’s Helen Kasios. She might have been kind to me when we were eight, but that was a long time ago.

Her smile disappears. “We were friends, Patroclus. Of course I didn’t forget about you. I missed you after you were gone.”

I can’t read her tone. She sounds almost stung, but I must be imagining it. “What are you doing here?” I know the answer, but I want to hear her admit it.

“I thought you and I could have a little conversation.”

“We have nothing to talk about.” Especially if we’re about to both be competitors for Ares. I have no intention of winning. It was never the goal when I put my name forward. But by watching Achilles’s back, I can ensure he makes it to the final round and wins. The best-case scenario, of course, is that we’re the two last standing and then I’ll step down, but in looking at the competitors, I’m not certain I’ll last that long. My strength is in strategy, but I lack a fundamental trait that Achilles and several of the other competitors have—a drive that propels them beyond what normal people can accomplish.

Frankly, I don’t like Helen’s odds, either. But being taken under Athena’s wing and learning from her brilliant mind means I know better than to take anything in Olympus at face value. Helen seems like a party girl who flits from event to event, a beautiful bird in a gilded cage. I can’t afford to assume that’s the truth.

I bet she still has a wicked right hook.

“Patroclus.” She says my name slowly, almost as if she’s tasting it. “You’re the only one who knows I’ve put my name in as a contender—aside from Athena, of course. I’d say we have more than a few things to talk about.”

Easy enough to catch her meaning. “You want me to keep it to myself.”

“Yes. At least until it’s announced in the opening ceremony tomorrow.”

I’m already shaking my head. “No. We might have been friends once, but that was a long time ago. I don’t wish you ill, but you’re not my priority in this tournament. Achilles is.”

She tilts her head to the side, and once again, her sheer beauty steals my breath. I love Achilles—I have since I was a teenager—but there’s something about Helen that hits me in a place logic can’t touch. She’s like some old-world queen who could inspire entire countries to go to war on her behalf.

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.”

“I am, aren’t I?” She laughs a little, a tiny sound of amusement that’s gone far too soon. “I’m really going to give them something to talk about this time.”

“You won’t win.” I don’t say it to be cruel, but she flinches all the same. Still, I press on. “You might even die. It’s not too late. If you ask Athena to strike your name from the list, she will. No one has to know you entered in the first place.”

Helen gives me a bittersweet smile that makes my chest ache in response. “Some things are worth even the risk of death. Good luck, Patroclus. You have your hands full with that golden jackass.” She turns and strides back the way she came.

I don’t mean to move. I have a plan, after all, and that plan involves holding this position until dawn to ensure I know the identities of any champions who want to keep their identities secret until the opening ceremony. Or at least going back to Achilles and reporting this new development. But my body makes the decision for me, one step turning into two, turning into a jog that brings me even with Helen. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“That’s not necessary.”

Despite my longer legs, I have to concentrate to keep up with her quick pace. “The streets are safe enough in this neighborhood, but you’re Helen Kasios. Surely you realize you’re in more danger being out alone without a security detail than the average person.”

She gives me a strange look. “Isn’t it in your best interest to let a champion be eliminated before the tournament even starts?”

“No.” The word comes out too forcefully, but there’s no walking it back now. I make an effort to shrug the tightness out of my shoulders. “I don’t know what it’s like moving in the circles you do, but I don’t believe in acceptable losses. Not if they’re avoidable.”

“How precious of you.” She’s still watching me like I’m a strange new creature she’s never seen before. When she speaks again, her voice is almost gentle. “Patroclus, it’s really okay. If anyone is silly enough to jump me, I can take care of myself.” She holds up a tiny fist. “Once upon a time, I took care of you, too.”

I smile despite myself. “You were a terror on the playground.”

“Like I said.” She drops her fist. “I don’t need you to watch out for me.”

Maybe she doesn’t. She must be able to if she’s confident enough to enter the tournament. I can’t make myself leave her side, though. Not until she’s safe. “All the same. Consider it paying you back for punching Menalaus’s nose after he broke my glasses.”

She sighs. “I should have expected that being irritatingly stubborn is the one thing that hasn’t changed. You’d have to be to share Achilles’s bed. Very well. Tag along if it will make you feel better.”

It strikes me that this Helen is a bit different from the one plastered across the gossip sites. The changes are subtle, but I make a habit of filing away every interaction with powerful people who move among the Thirteen. They’re dangerous in their own ways, and it pays to never be caught flat-footed.

The version she plays in public is bubbly in an almost aggressive way. She lights up every room she walks into, stands too close, and laughs too loudly for polite company. It’s as if she forces her mark into every space she occupies, dares people to ignore her.

This Helen still stands too close, but she’s more subdued. She’s sad. Almost vulnerable. It makes me feel strange to notice that she’s more complicated than I first expected. “You didn’t know about the marriage, did you?”

Instead of answering, she goes on the offensive. “Are you and Achilles in a relationship? Or are you just friends who sometimes fuck?”

I miss a step. “That’s none of your business.”

“Neither is whether or not I knew about the marriage beforehand.” We stop at the corner, and she pulls out a phone in a glittering case. Everything about Helen seems to glitter. It’s unnerving, reminding me of the various animals whose bright coloring signals their poisonous defenses. She flips it around to show me the screen. “My ride will arrive in a few minutes. You’ve done your duty. You can go now.”

I plant my feet. “I’ll stay until they get here.”

“Fine.” Helen plants her hands on her hips, which makes it impossible not to notice how well the dress fits her body. It’s a piece of art, the cut seeming to defy physics in a way I don’t completely understand. Surely there is some tape or contraption involved to keep her breasts from escaping?

Her low laugh has me jerking my gaze back to her face. Gods, I was staring at her chest. My skin heats, and I’m grateful for the shadows. Hopefully they’re hiding my blush. “Sorry.”

“It’s really a shame you and Achilles are none of my business. You’re very handsome, and I’m feeling a special kind of reckless.” She steps close. Not quite enough to touch, but it’s a near thing. Helen stares up into my face. “Want to get into some trouble with me, Patroclus? You can tell Achilles about it later in…extreme…detail.”

I can see how that would go all too clearly. If she were anyone else, if this were any other situation, Achilles would get off on that. Usually, the situation is reversed. He’ll have some fun and tell me about it while he’s fucking me or I’m going down on him, though he always peppers me with questions when someone catches my eye enough to pursue a single night of fun. It’s been a long time since I indulged, and in different circumstances, he’d be delighted by my uncharacteristic impulsiveness.

This, though?

This feels too much like a betrayal for reasons I don’t particularly want to look into. I finally shake my head. “No. Under other circumstances, but…” I hate the disappointment that shades her features, hate it so much I catch her hand and lift it, turning to press a kiss to her wrist. “I’m sorry.”

“Your loss.” But she makes no move to put more distance between us or break our contact.

The moment spins out, as fine as gossamer and filled with possibility. Saying no is the right thing to do. I’m already reacting too strongly to Helen without a physical component involved. I have many strengths, but sex can occasionally muddy the waters, dull my normally sharp mind. I can’t afford for that to happen now, when Achilles is poised to take everything he’s worked and sacrificed so much for. I certainly can’t do so with this woman, who is in direct opposition to that goal.

If Achilles wins, he’ll marry her.

The thought brings a flare of heat so intense, I lean toward Helen without intending to. We’d planned for the marriage to be in name only, but…what if it wasn’t?

She tilts her head back and licks her lips, her gaze on my mouth. “Patroclus.”

Gods, the way this woman says my name, low and breathy with a hint of question that makes me want to pull her close and kiss her until the only thing she can level that impressive focus on is me.

What the fuck is happening to me?

A horn honks, jarring us out of the moment. Helen takes a large step back and pulls her hand out of my grasp. “Another time, maybe.” Her grin goes downright wicked. “I changed my mind. Don’t keep this between us. I’m sure Achilles will be thrilled to know he’s going to face me in all three trials.”

If her competence is half as strong as her arrogance, she might actually have a shot. I stand there and watch her climb into the back seat of her ride. The taillights disappear quickly down the street, turning back toward the city center.

There’s no doubt about it.

This situation just got even more complicated.