Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(24)

“Blondie, my patients don’t talk unless I ask them somethin’,” Jacky told him sternly, giving him a little smack on the head to punctuate her words, which made him chuckle drunkenly. She looked back at the growing circle of men who were watching them and raised her voice commandingly. “Someone should hold him. It’ll mess up the tasteful yet manly scar I’m plannin’ for him if he jerks around.”

Achilles strode over to them. He sat on the bench facing his cousin and grabbed him firmly by the forearms. “Go on,” he told Jacky. “He won’t move.”

Kat decided that there was no sound grosser than that of a needle skewering human flesh, and was reminded all over again why she had opted for shrink school versus standard medical school (thereby never fulfilling her mother’s dreams of having a “real doctor” as a daughter). So instead of focusing on the seeping blood that she was dabbing for Jacky, and then puking up her guts, Kat kept stealing glances at Achilles, who was talking in low tones to Patroklos about some kind of race he’d won back in Greece, which was making the guy laugh, even though Jacky kept telling him to hold still and be quiet. Both men ignored her, which gave Kat the perfect opportunity to gawk at Achilles.

He was definitely a big guy. He had to top six-four with broad shoulders and a deep chest to match. He had excellent hair—long and thick and tawny. It was pulled back in a low ponytail with a leather thong, but a bunch of it had escaped and it reminded her of a lion’s mane. His hair was his second most striking feature after his incredible blue eyes. Well, actually, no. If she was going to be honest with herself the most striking thing about Achilles were the scars that crisscrossed his body. The longest one on his face ran from just above his left eye, through his brow, somehow missing the eye it continued down his left cheek. His nose was crooked, obviously having been broken multiple times. His strong right cheek-bone was zigzagged with a puckered scar that looked like it had been made by a rusty butter knife. Another scar wrapped around his neck like his throat had literally been slit, and she wondered, again, how the hell he’d lived through such horrible injuries.

His bare arms were heavily muscled and burnished a pretty golden brown. Back in the real world Kat knew women who would have killed for that shade of spray-on tan. But there, too, the perfection of his skin was marred by thick scars that ranged in color from old, white lines to one or two that were still angry and pink. From her vantage point she couldn’t see his legs very well, but Kat was sure they’d be the same as the rest of him—riddled with lines and welts.

Her eyes snuck back to his face. He had an excellent mouth. That was for sure. None of those too-thin lips and weak chins for Achilles. Actually the truth was that if you ignored his scars he was a damn handsome man. If you didn’t ignore his scars he was a damn scary looking man.

“Uh, do you mind not gawking and really assisting me?” Jacky said, loud enough to have Achilles glancing up in surprise at them.

“You know if I stare at the blood I’m going to puke. Or pass out. Or both,” Kat said.

“Fine. Then just dab the blood occasionally and hold these god-damned f*cking tresses back out of my way. I do not believe what a pain in the ass Barbie locks are.” Between stitches Jacky glanced at her and smiled sweetly. “That is unless you’re too busy gazing at those blue eyes.”

Kat’s cheeks burned and she could feel said “blue eyes” boring into her. She looked down at him and, sure enough, he was staring at her with an obviously guarded expression on his face. Their eyes met. He thinks I keep looking at him because of his scars, Kat realized. So, still meeting his gaze Kat said clearly and deliberately, “Can I help it if the man has gorgeous blue eyes?”

Patroklos chuckled drunkenly. “The princess thinks you have pretty eyes, cousin.”

“She also thinks she needs to borrow this,” Kat said, and reached out to pull the leather tie from Achilles’ hair.

Achilles jerked back as if she had a hot iron in her hand and she was trying to press it against his cheek.

“Hey! Hold. Him. Still.” Jacky glared at Achilles.

“Sorry, that was my fault,” Kat said. Then to Achilles, “I just wanted to use your leather tie to get her hair out of her face.”

“Yes. Of course. Go ahead,” Achilles said in clipped words.

Kat pulled the leather tie from his hair, liking the feel of its thickness for the short time it brushed against her fingers. Then she pulled back Kat’s blond waves and knotted the tie securely. “Here, that should help.”

“Thanks. Keep blotting the blood. Just don’t look at it too long ’cause I am not in the mood to be picking you up off the sand, and I sure don’t want to clean up puke.”

“I’ll do my best not to inconvenience you,” Kat muttered, and went back to sneaking peeks at Achilles. Only now more often than not the warrior caught her looking at him because he was not looking at her, too.

“All right. That’ll do,” Jacky said. Kat yanked her attention from Achilles back to the now less bloody and newly sewed up ungaping wound. “Hand me that strip of linen.” Kat handed her the bandage and watched as Jacky expertly tied it around the guy’s arm. “Keep this clean and dry. I’ll check on you tomorrow,” Jacky said to Patroklos. “He should rest now,” she told Achilles.

Achilles nodded and helped the decidedly groggy Patroklos to his feet. Patroklos promptly pulled away from his cousin to address Jacky, who was fastidiously reboiling the needle and what was left of the suturing material.