Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(63)

“Confused about?” Jacky asked.

Kat met her gaze. “I told Achilles who we really are.”

“Is that all that’s buggin’ you? I already told Patroklos.”

“You what?”

“Look, I had to do some serious bossing around when your boy carried you back here half dead. They wanted to bleed you and rub bull piss and pig snot or some such nonsense all over you. Being the good girlfriend I am, I insisted they f*ck themselves.”

“That didn’t go over well?”

“No. Not till I explained to Patroklos exactly who we are and why I know more about treating the sick and wounded than the ridiculous killer quacks associated with the Greek army.”

“How’d he take it?”

Jacky smiled. “With only a minor amount of freak-out. I did have to promise to draw a picture of a car for him, though.”

“A car?”

Jacky shrugged. “You know how boys are. I was just mentioning stuff from the modern world… one thing led to another… and poof! He wants a car.”

“Makes sense in a Twilight Zone kind of way,” Kat said. “You love him, don’t you.”

“Sadly, I do believe I might. You love Achilles, don’t you?”

“I think I might.”

“We are well and truly f*cked, aren’t we?” Jacky said.

“Yep,” Kat said.

“He’s really getting upset about staying out of the battle,” Jacky said, her eyes following Patroklos to the campfire. “I’d say I wished the Greeks would hurry and lose, but things are so different now. I just don’t know what to wish for, let alone what to do.”

“I know what you mean. Before they were going to lose and we were going to be zapped home. But now I’m, well…” She faltered.

“I’m not sure if I ever want to go back,” Jacky finished for her.

“Exactly.”

Odysseus felt old. His shoulder pained him constantly. He’d been wounded earlier that day during the battle. Leading a wave against Troy’s damnable walls he’d gotten within an archer’s range. He’d been lucky. The arrow had only scraped the length of his outer thigh and not embedded itself in his body. Still, it was a painful nuisance, causing him to sit heavily on a gnarled old driftwood log. Absently he pressed a hand against the bloody linen that he’d hastily wrapped around the leg wound. At least he had this stretch of beach to himself. Odysseus stared out at the moon-soaked sea and raised the wineskin to his lips.

“You look tired.”

Odysseus closed his eyes and let her voice wash over him. When he opened them the goddess had materialized in front of him. She was wearing robes the color of a dove’s wing, which matched her unusual eyes perfectly. She hadn’t brought her war helmet and shield, nor did she carry any other symbolic image of her power. He thought she looked like an exquisite maiden in the bloom of beauty and youth. Odysseus bowed his head.

“Your presence rejuvenates me, great Goddess.”

Athena waved away his flattery. “Aren’t you sleeping well? I’ve told you before—” Noticing the bloody cloth on his thigh she broke off with a little gasp. Then, as was typical for the Goddess of War, she schooled her face back into a stern expression. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been wounded?”

“It’s just an arrow scratch—it is nothing,” he said.

“I’m your goddess. I decide what is and isn’t nothing.” She stepped forward and sank to her knees beside him. “Let me see it.”

“Athena, no! You shouldn’t be—” Odysseus began, grasping the goddess’s elbow and trying to lift her to her feet.

Athena pressed her hand against his chest. “It is my wish to see for myself how badly my warrior is wounded.”

Her touch made his chest contract. With a sigh he released her arm and sat back, stretching his leg out so that she could see the wound. When he started to unwrap the bloody bandage, her soft hands stopped him.

“I will do this. You just need to be still.”

Odysseus sat there, frozen, breathing in Athena’s unique scent. She was so close that as she bent over his leg her long golden hair brushed his body, causing him to feel aroused and breathless, yet afraid she would notice and disapprove. Did she realize how much he loved her? Of course she did. She was his goddess. She knew everything.

“This could fester. Why have you not cleaned and dressed it properly?” Athena looked up at him, a frown causing her smooth brow to wrinkle slightly.

He started to fabricate a story about being too busy to notice it, but the words that came from his lips were much different than those his mind had planned. They were, instead, from his heart. “I was too weary to bother with it, Goddess. I almost wish it would fester and take me. Then, at least, I could rest.”

Her eyes narrowed in what an unknowing person would see as anger. But Odysseus understood Athena’s every expression and what he saw was the shock that his words caused within her.

“You will not die. I forbid it.” The goddess placed her hand gently against his wound. She closed her eyes, obviously gathering her power. Then she whispered, “Flesh obey your goddess’s demand. Knit blood and skin, now, at my command.”

Athena’s hand began to glow and Odysseus sucked in a sharp breath as her power surged into him. Her heat was a fire blazing in his blood, and he could feel his very flesh obeying her whispered command and healing itself. When she lifted her hand and opened her eyes, there was nothing but smooth flesh on his thigh and a small, pink scar.