Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(25)

“Thank you for saving my life,” he slurred and swayed. Kat bit her lip to keep from giggling at him. He looked like a drunken frat boy. Actually a tall, cute, drunken frat boy.

“You weren’t going to die of that scratch, idiot,” Achilles growled at him, though Kat could see that he, too, was stifling a smile.

“No. No.” Patroklos lifted his finger in the air like a great statesman making a point. “I insist that little Melia saved me, and I owe her a life. Mine. So I announce from here on she is under my protection.” Then he paused, frowned and blinked blearily at Kat. “That is if her princess will allow it.”

“Oh, please. Whatever,” Jacky said. “Just sober up and get well.”

Patroklos looked confused by Jacky’s strange words, but seemed undaunted. “My pledge is honorable. Princess, if you deem it so, the lovely Melia shall be formally under my protection.” He hiccupped and swayed again, this time precariously close to losing his balance, but kept his expression drunkenly serious.

Kat thought he was absolutely adorable. It would probably do Jacky good to have blondie following her around like a lab puppy, licking her lily white ankles. Kat giggled at the visual image she’d just conjured. “Hey, it’s all right by me.”

“Then it’s official. Melia is servant no more, but is now war-prize bride to me. Patroklos.” He thumped his well-muscled chest and then cringed at the pain he’d caused himself.

“Huh?” Jacky sputtered.

Patroklos grinned at her as if she was a big, red-bowed present and it was Christmas morning. “And I proclaim your skill for healing, my lady, is almost as great as your beauty.” Then he bowed, and promptly fell flat on his face in the sand at Jacky’s feet.

“Oh, sweet weeping baby Jesus,” Jacky said, completely disgusted. “Grab him. He’s gonna mess up my stitches.”

The three of them were pulling Patroklos to his feet (again) when old Kalchas hobbled up to them.

“Agamemnon commands the presence of Achilles in his tent, and orders him to bring Princess Polyxena, the so-called oracle, with him.”

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHT

Kat felt like a fish riding a bicycle as she trudged through the sand behind the silent and glowering Achilles and wished for about the kazillionth time that she had realized what the hell cute and totally messed-up Patroklos had been asking when she’d, stupidly, been all “all right by me” to his protecting Jacky. Who knew that meant Jacky would be whisked away to his tent and she’d be left best friendless to flounder along after Tall, Blond and Grumpy?

It was seriously a pain in the ass. They were almost to the Greek camp. The sun had set a little while ago and the scene on the beach in front of her was amazing, what with all the tents and torches and campfires. But the soft leather slippers on her feet were full of sand. The long dress/robe/toga thing she was wearing, while a great color and very flattering to her new young body, was also annoying as hell to keep lifted up so that she didn’t stomp on the bottom of it and fall on her face. Her hair was long and thick and, yes, quite lovely she was sure, but the breeze from the ocean had picked up and, as Jacky would say, was blowing her goddamn tresses across her face. Plus, she was hungry. And tired. All she wanted was some carry-out, a bottle of wine and a Top Chef marathon on Bravo TV.

When a bur worked its way inside her slipper, Kat decided that she’d had it. She stopped and cleared her throat. Achilles didn’t even pause in his trudge.

“Hey! You left me way behind,” she yelled after him.

He did stop then. She was pretty sure she saw his shoulders heave with what was probably a monstrous sigh before he turned around to look back at her.

She looked at him.

He looked at her.

“There is a bur in my shoe,” she called across the stretch of sand that separated them. “And I am tired of scrambling around back here trying to keep up with you.” When he made no response she rolled her eyes. “Your legs are longer than mine.” He still didn’t say anything. “What? Are you a caveman? A little help here would be nice.” She threw up her hands, completely exasperated.

Achilles walked slowly back to her. “You talk a lot,” he said.

“Yeah, well, you don’t talk enough,” she told him, and when he was close enough, she reached out and grabbed his arm so she could balance to take off her slipper and dump out about a gallon of sand.

Kat could feel his eyes on her as she peered into her shoe trying to find the bur, and she let him look. Finally she found it, plucked it carefully out of her shoe and then matter-of-factly grabbed him with her other hand so she could repeat the procedure on her other shoe.

“You do not fear me?” His voice was deep and somber, though he sounded absolutely perplexed.

Still using him as a balance, Kat slid on her other shoe as she looked up at Achilles. “Should I be afraid of you?”

“Women are afraid of me, whether or not they should be,” he said.

Shoes free of sand and burs, Kat stood up straight and breathed a relieved sigh before brushing her hair out of her face and saying, “You didn’t answer my question.”

His lips twitched. “As you did not answer mine.”

“You haven’t given me any reason to, so no, I don’t fear you. I mean, I’d appreciate it if you’d slow down, lend me an arm and help me wade through this sand, but slight rudeness doesn’t translate into fear in my mind.”