Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(99)

“You have to force him out of the chariot.”

“How—” Automedon began.

“Encircle the chariot. The princess and I will do the rest.” Kat looked up to see Odysseus had joined the Myrmidons. “Now. Spread out around him. I’ll protect her while you’re getting into place.”

The Myrmidons obeyed Odysseus, leaving her alone with the warrior.

“I know how you can reach him,” Odysseus said.

“Tell me,” Kat said.

“It has to be through love. Don’t think about calming him—it’s gone beyond that. Don’t try to reason with him and explain about Patroklos—he won’t listen. Just make him know that, no matter what else has happened and will happen in your lives, he can count on your love. He has to believe that you value him above everything else. That you see him as truly worthy of you will be what reaches him.”

Kat looked into the famous warrior’s eyes and knew that he was speaking from his heart, soul and experience. She smiled. “She loves you.”

In the midst of chaos, Odysseus’s eyes sparkled as if he was a worry-free boy again. “She does, indeed.”

“Princess!” Diomedes called.

Kat and Odysseus glanced up. The Myrmidons had Achilles circled. He’d stopped insanely driving the horses. Now he stood in the chariot, growling at his men.

Odysseus held out one hand to her. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Kat took his hand, gripping it hard as if Odysseus’s strength could be transferred into her body through their palms.

Odysseus led her through the circle of warriors. He stopped just inside the line of men.

“Achilles!” he shouted. “I have something that belongs to you!”

Snarling, Achilles whirled to face them. His blazing red eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Katrina. With terrible speed he stalked forward.

Kat gave herself no time to think—no time to hesitate—no time to reconsider. She squeezed Odysseus’s hand, then dropped it and stepped forward to meet the beast. She saw the flash of surprise in those blood-colored eyes, and then the surprise was replaced by satisfaction. He reached her quickly, grabbing her shoulders.

“Now, woman, I will taste you.”

Kat gazed up into his ravaged face. It had gotten worse over the past twenty-four hours. The berserker’s possession had become even more physically pronounced. His skin was stretched tight, his lips were permanently curled to expose teeth that were more fang-like than human. His head appeared bulbous, as if it were literally trying to change shape. And covering this nightmare visage was gore and filth and the putrid odor of death.

She stepped into his arms, sliding her hands up and around his grotesquely misshapen shoulders. “There is no reason for this rage, Achilles. There is no battle here.” The monster hesitated. She could feel the tremor that quaked through his body. Kat focused all the love and desire and need she had for the complex soul who was still within the tormented body—her Achilles, the man who believed he had never been good enough and only thought of himself as almost a leader… almost a husband… almost a hero… and not ever truly worthy of love. She smiled. “I love you, Achilles. It isn’t a dream. Come back to me.” Then she pulled his ravaged face down to hers and kissed him.

That Agamemnon had pronounced Patroklos’s death and had been the mouthpiece that had sealed his fate had, by that time, been but an irony and irritant to Achilles. He’d known he couldn’t escape his destiny. Yes, for Katrina’s sake he’d pretended to believe in the dream, but it had been only that, just a waking dream he’d been allowed to visit temporarily. Like all dreams, by its very nature, it must end.

He let his despair at losing Katrina couple with the pain his cousin’s death caused, breeding rage, and then Achilles gave himself over to it. For the first time he didn’t hold on to his humanity. Instead he welcomed the glowing scarlet fire of the berserker, letting the creature fill him and burn away his agony. Achilles became rage, embracing the fate that had haunted him for more than a decade. The man retreated to the farthest reaches of his soul where he waited for inevitable death to free him.

The light of consciousness had nudged him once and the man had stirred, but then rage exploded, searing humanity and blinding him again.

When the light returned it came not simply in the form of a brightness that shined through the darkness of the berserker’s red rage. This time it was Katrina’s voice, a shimmering beacon of cool water that extinguished the berserker’s fire, washing a path of love from the external to Achilles’ spirit, the man within the man.

Achilles’ vision returned to him in a shocking rush. Katrina was standing within his arms.

Completely disorientated, Achilles could feel the wrongness in his body and the hideous changes the berserker had wrought. He wanted to fling her away from him and then find a place deep within the seas where he could hide himself forever.

And then Katrina smiled. “I love you, Achilles. It isn’t a dream. Come back to me.”

When she pulled his face down to hers and kissed him, Katrina kicked away the crutches of rage that had sustained him, leaving Achilles with only his humanity and her love as his support. He wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss.

She leaned back enough to look into his eyes. He knew what she would see. Though his consciousness had returned, his body had been ravaged, permanently changed by the complete possession of rage. He braced for her rejection, promising himself that he would fight off the berserker until he got Katrina to safety.