Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(26)

He stared silently down at her and she recognized an internal struggle reflected in the depths of his sea-colored eyes. Finally he offered her his arm.

“Thank you.” Kat smiled and slid her hand around his bicep and they resumed their trek to the Greek camp, this time with Achilles not acting like he was leading a death march.

“Melia seems to be a remarkable healer,” Achilles said.

“She is,” Kat said, not sure what else to say. Yeah, she’s a great ER nurse was definitely inappropriate. Then a thought struck her and she decided to go with it. “What kind of man is Patroklos? What I mean is, will he be good to her? And, uh, is he a patient guy, because Melia is a rather unusual woman.”

“That I have already discovered,” Achilles said. “And, yes, Patroklos is a man of honor.” He glanced down at her and added, “He is also kind.”

“And he’s not married already or anything?”

“No.”

“So, how about you?”

“Me?”

“Are you married? Or anything?” Kat asked, even though she already knew the answer.

“No. I have no wife. Or anything.”

The silence stretched between them. Before it could become any more uncomfortable, Kat said, “I’m hungry. Do you think Agamemnon will feed us?”

“No,” he said. “We will not break bread with Agamemnon. He and I are not comrades. He commands my presence only to show he believes he has control over me.”

“Doesn’t he have control over you? He is your king.”

Achilles’ look hardened. “He is not my king.”

“Oh, well, then I guess I won’t worry about my stomach growling so loudly it embarrasses you in front of him.”

Achilles’ laugh seemed to surprise him as much as it did Kat, and he looked down at her shaking his head and smiling. “Princess, we won’t be in Agamemnon’s tent long enough for your stomach to complain.”

“Glad to hear it. I’m starved. Oh, and you should smile more. It looks good on you.”

By their joined skin Kat could feel the little jolt that passed through Achilles at her words and she wondered how long it’d been since the guy had been complimented by a woman. Then she remembered what the goddesses had said about him—that he’d taken no lover in years because women feared him, and she felt an unexpected little jolt of her own sizzle through her. This ancient hero and warrior—the man whose physical prowess people knew about thousands of years after his death—hadn’t had sex in years. Talk about starving…

“Rest assured, Princess, I will see that you are well fed when we return to my tent.”

Kat met Achilles’ gaze and the little jolt that had sizzled through her crackled and flared until she felt a lovely rush of heat begin deep inside her.

“I’ll count on it,” Kat told him softly.

Then they were both jolted out of their moment of intimacy by a shout of “Hail Achilles!” as a warrior in full armor saluted formally and then pulled aside the flap of an enormous tent for them.

Holding tight to Achilles’ arm, Kat stepped into a cacophony of exotic sights and sounds and scents. Right away Kat decided gold must be Agamemnon’s thing. The walls of the tent were scarlet, but practically everything else was gold gold gold. The thick woven carpets were gold. The chairs, most of which were filled with gray-bearded men wearing flowing robes and a bizarre amount of jewelry, were gold. The columns that held up the tent were gold. The goblets people were slurping wine from—gold. The three-tiered dais that was placed majestically at the rear of the tent, as if it were at the end of a catwalk—gold. And the pièce de résistance wasn’t the huge gilded throne that sat on top of that dais, but the old guy that perched on top of the throne.

He was big, Kat had to give him that, and he was wearing an enormous gold tunic-toga thing that looked like the mutant love child that would have been born if an Elizabeth Taylor Cleopatra costume and a classic Liberace cape had been allowed to mate. Plus, he was wearing enough jewelry to make the other grandpas clustered around him look like cheap relations. Not to mention his (gold, of course) crown, which glistened in the torchlight.

But what Kat kept staring at wasn’t the gold or the jewels. What freaked her out more than any of the opulence was his hair. It was long—as in down to his chest. And it was obviously dyed a dark, very fake-looking brown. It was also curled into Shirley Temple ringlets that somehow joined his long, totally dyed beard that was also ringletted. His eyes were lined in black, setting off his drag queen appearance perfectly. Actually she was finding it difficult not to giggle at the ridiculous pomp and circumstance until he spoke and she felt Achilles’ arm turn from warm man to hard-edged steel under her hand.

“So good of you to answer our summons, Achilles. Though you are, as usual, late.”

Agamemnon’s voice was powerful and contemptuous, as if he were addressing an annoying child. Its effect on the gathering was instantaneous. The talking stopped as everyone’s attention shifted to Achilles. Kat couldn’t help but notice how many of the men’s eyes widened in shock as they took in the fact that her arm was wrapped through his. Automatically she lifted her chin and glared back at them. Hell, no, she wasn’t like other women, those shrinking violets who peed themselves over a few scars and some grumpiness. She’d be grumpy, too, if she hadn’t had sex in years. Crap. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t had sex in years. At least not decent sex. And not with someone besides the Magic Tickler.