Her fingers brushed against the stained rag he held to her throat. “Am I still-”
“Just a little, dear heart.”
“Will it scar?”
“I hope it does.” His eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. “Another scar to prove to every man that dares to lay eyes on my wife. She is not to be reckoned with. She is a woman of strength, stature, power, and poise.” His hand left her neck, wrapping her up in an embrace. She still trembled. “And she is mine.”
Her tears fell freely, and he held her against his chest. Her fingers clenching against his skin.
It wasn’t until this moment that Odysseus took stock of himself. He was covered in blood. His, hers, the intruders. “My love, if I asked you to do me a favor… would you do it without fighting me?”
“Probably not,” she laughed, the words thick with tears.
“Will you go to our son’s room for the remainder of the night?” He loosened his grip around her, moving to meet her gaze.
“I don’t want to be away from you.” She whispered. Her voice was so small, it cracked a fissure in his soul.
“I know,” he leaned his forehead against hers again. “I don’t want you to be away, either. But I have to know what this man wants — why he was here for you.”
“Let me stay.”
It was Odysseus’ turn to laugh. “I love you, my queen, but to… extract the information I need from this man, I cannot be worried about you, too. The only man I trust to keep you safe is our son.”
“Will you fetch me when you’re finished?” Her eyes were wide. She was trying to be strong for him.
“Oh, foolish woman,” he pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss. “I will always come for you.”
56
HIS FIST COLLIDED with the man’s face again. The sound of broken bones was music to his ears. “Answer me,” Odysseus seethed, cracking his knuckles, trying to ignore the tremor of fury in his own chest. He could feel it rising inside him, desperate to be unleashed, but he shoved it back down.
Not yet.
Not until he had the answers.
Retribution.
Guilt sat in his stomach, heavy as a stone. While Odysseus had sat, waiting for the intruder to rouse, a realization dawned on him.
He had been so wrapped up in his wife, so wholly enamored with her and her teasing touch, that he hadn’t locked their door.
He had invited the attack.
He hadn’t kept her safe.
The man spat blood onto the floor, glaring at the king through hooded lashes. “You’ll have to do better than that, old man.” He grinned up at him, his front tooth missing as he did.
“Oh, I’m just getting started.” Odysseus’s voice was cool, but the edge of it gave away the depth of the violence he was holding back. He drove his fist into the man’s stomach. He gasped forbreath, gagging, his lungs fighting to re-inflate. “You put your hands on my wife, you bastard,” Odysseus growled, wiping the blood from his knuckles onto the man’s tunic. “You don’t walk out of this room alive.”
“Bring that pretty little bitch back here.” His words were strained, wheezing as he tried to keep the bravado. “I didn’t get to see nearly enough of your sweet Penelope.”
Odysseus was done listening. His hand shot out, grabbing the man’s throat with a steadfast grip. He squeezed, crushing the windpipe under his hand. “Keep her name out of your mouth.” He leaned in close, his breath harsh, his gaze hard as stone.
The man’s eyes bulged, the cocky sneer slipping away.
But Odysseus wasn’t finished. The man’s gagging laughter still haunted his ears. He pulled back, releasing the pressure just enough to allow him to gasp for air. “You want a taste of what happens when you touch what’s mine?”
Odysseus turned to the table behind him, where a dark, bronze tipped arrow lay waiting. He picked it up slowly, the metal glinting in the dim light. His gaze flicked back to the man, the gleam of the arrow reflecting in his eyes. “Let’s see if you still have that mouth after I’m done with you.”
