Odysseus didn’t think, he just reacted. His muscles tensed, giving him the power he needed to leap at the man. The intruder grunted as he hit him with the full force of his shoulder, fingers digging into his skin.
The two men clattered onto the ground, the knife between them. Odysseus was fast, but his body was still waking up. The assassin got to the knife faster, brandishing it between them.
“You think I’m afraid of a dull blade, you fiend?” Odysseus spat, crouching low. “You’ve touched the most precious thing in this world to me. I will take pleasure in ripping you apart with my hands.”
He didn’t like this arrangement, Odysseus had his back to the balcony. The villain stood between him and his bed, between him and his wife.
He took a step forward, watching the other man’s movements, watching his actions. Strength alone did not win wars. He had to be precise, had to be particular.
He needed this man alive. Too much noise and the guards would come, their son would come, and Odysseus wouldn’t get his chance to find out what this beast was here for.
No, this had to be done quietly, without drawing a fuss.
Or at least, that was his original plan.
His eyes darted to the bed, where Penelope sat up, clutching the blanket to her.
A blanket with a stain of red that grew by the second
Odysseus’ vision clouded, his jaw tensed. Every muscle in his bodysangfor this man’s demise.
Who was he to refuse?
He lunged again, grabbing the man by the middle and slamming him down on the ground. He let out a curse, jabbing his knife in wild movements. He might have found purchase. He could have very well severed an entire limb, but the king wouldn’t have known.
The intruder still fought, still struggled underneath him. He felt a punch to his side, maybe one to his face, but he couldn’t feel pain. The only thing he could feel was pure, unfiltered rage.
His fist connected with the assassin’s face. He felt bone crumble beneath his hand. “Hit harder.” The king jeered, adjusting his hold.
Odysseus’ hands were around his throat, thumbs pressing into his windpipe. He heard the weapon clatter to the ground beside him.
It was the sound of Penelope’s gentle gasp that caused the red in his vision to recede.
“Odysseus,” her voice was so quiet he could feel the tremble of her words deep in his soul.
His hands were on her in an instant. Cradling her face between bloodied fingers, brushing her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers, trying to still the tremors that wrecked his wife.
“You’re safe,” he whispered, trying to will her heart to calm, her breathing to settle. “I’m here. He won’t hurt you again. I’m here.”
“You’re bleeding,” she managed, fingers touching his arm. It turned out… the trespasser that ruined their night had landed a hit with his knife.
He pulled back enough to inspect her, to see the damage done to his wife. “Oh, my love.” His fingers swiped over the opening on her neck. The blade had cut her, and though it might be a shallow cut, he felt the rage building up inside of him again.
Odysseus closed his eyes, pushing a harsh breath out of his nose, settling himself. He had taken care of the threat. She was safe in his arms.
He reached down, wriggling the blanket out of her clenched hands. Quickly, he tore a strip off of it, holding it to her neck.
“I can do that.” She tried to move his hand away, but his fingers twitched against her skin, refusing to budge.
“Let me care for you, wife.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Let me do this.” His other hand cupped the backof her neck, keeping her steady as he applied gentle pressure to her wound.
“You’re hurt, too.” Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. He could tell she was fighting so hard to keep her composure. There would never be a moment that he didn’t adore this steadfast woman in front of him.
“I’m not the least bit concerned,” his lips turned into a gentle smile. “It will turn into another rugged scar that my wife will dig her fingers into while she screams my name.”
“Odysseus,” she blushed, laughing breathlessly into the night air. Her hand circled his wrist, tears finally staining her cheeks. “Odysseus,” it was different this time, urgent. “What did he want?”
“I don’t know.” He exhaled, answering finally. His eyes never left hers. “But I’m going to find out.”
