“Guess so.” But people fell in love in arranged marriages all the time. And Henry was more and more certain that it had happened to Hector. “Come on. Let’s go back. My fingers are cold, and I’ve got a paper to finish.”
When she tackled him from behind, he went down easily. Her training with Athena was paying off. He spit snow and rolled backward, and she laughed as Lux tried to help and grabbed her by the coat.
In the midst of shuffling bodies and barking, they didn’t notice four sets of paws make their way closer. They didn’t hear the strange growls until Lux broke away with a yip, his tail tucked low between his legs. But by then the wolves had made their way around to all sides.
They were already surrounded.
9
THE DOGS OF WAR
Ares held Odysseus a foot off the ground. He slapped his cheek, one and then the other, trying to get him to come around.
“Did you squeeze too hard, you big oaf?” Hermes hissed. “Did you kill him?”
“He’s breathing. Don’t you hear that desperate whistle of air pulled over his lips?”
So smug. But Ares hadn’t meant to choke Odysseus unconscious. Why bother? If Ares wanted him dead, one twist of his wrist would take his head clean off. Blood would splash across Ares’ fist. And Ares loved blood above all things.
“What are you doing?” Hermes asked.
“I’m looking for something.”
“That’s how you look for something?” Hermes watched the muscle in his dark brother’s arm. He had to be careful. If Ares lost his temper, Odysseus’ poor, mortal neck would pay the price. “What do you want?” Hermes asked. “Why don’t you ask me?”
“Because you don’t know,” Ares said lazily. He kept on slapping until Odysseus jerked awake. “There he is. Good morning, sunshine. Do you know who I am?”
“Ares,” Odysseus croaked.
“Good. Feel this?” Ares dug his fingers into the back of Odysseus’ skull, and he kicked like a snared rabbit.
“You don’t want to do that,” Hermes said. “Big sister won’t like it.”
“She’s not my big sister, little brother. I don’t care what she likes and doesn’t like.” He slapped Odysseus again. Despite everything, Odysseus’ jaw clenched with anger. No fear.
“Listen close, boy of many ways. I’m only going to ask once. You know what I’m after, don’t you?” Ares shook him lightly, and Odysseus grabbed onto the hand around his throat.
“Yes.”
“Good. Then where is he?”
He. Achilles. Ares had taken up his fallen mother’s cause.
“Just tell him,” Hermes said quickly. “Tell him and be done with it. Let Athena deal with the fallout.”
Odysseus sucked air down deep. “No. I won’t tell him, or her either.”
“Isn’t that too bad. Hera says you’re the only one who knows where to find him.”
“Hera?” Hermes asked. “What are you talking about? Hera’s dead.”
Ares smiled, lazily, in a way that made the skin scrunch up between Hermes’ shoulder blades.
Ares shrugged. “Whatever you say, brother. And anyway, I don’t believe her.” Ares’ fingers tightened. “There’s always more than one way to skin … well, anything.” A few notches tighter, and they’d hear the sound of bones breaking.
Hermes’ pulse quickened. If he could get to Ares’ fingers fast enough, he could make him drop Odysseus.
But how fast could he get there? He wasn’t as quick as he used to be. And he couldn’t afford any telltale gauging of muscles. No flexing or tensing. If he was too slow, or if he missed, Odysseus wouldn’t survive the impact. He had one chance.
Hermes sprang like a twitch. Like a beam of light. His fingers twisted around Ares’ fist, and Odysseus fell to the ground. Hermes heaved hard and pushed the other god back so fast he would have laughed with joy had Ares’ elbow not connected with his face and sent the side of his skull cracking off the trunk of a tree.