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Thalia
Pirithous lay next to her in the bed, the morning light streaming across his bare chest and highlighting the old scars that marked it. His face was turned toward her, and when she lifted her head to check the time on the alarm clock, his eyes opened, blue-gray and focused. She had never seen him wake groggy, outside of the days he’d spent in that fevered fugue state, and by the way he’d handled his convalescence, she didn’t think he was sick all that often.
“You’ll need to teach me some Achaean,” she told him. It wasn’t even seven in the morning, but if they were both awake, they might as well get down to business. Maybe they could nap together, later.
His lips curved slowly. “And how to wield a sword properly, yes, I know.”
The centaur’s head rolled in the mulch, dark eyes still burning with rage. Thalia swallowed and sat up. Her arm ached, but she could feel her fingers again, her whole arm. Pirithous shifted behind her, his hand touching the small of her back, warm and calloused against her skin. A small thread of comfort spooled out from the contact, spiraling up her spine.
“It will be easier next time,” he said softly.
She curled her fingers into her hair, leaning forward to hide her face and ease the cramping in her stomach. Next time. The thought made her sick. This was going to be the rest of their lives. Pirithous trying to escape some monster or another, or God forbid, some monster or another coming for them both. The centaurs had wanted her. To hurt him. Control him. And the gods—his gods—they would want the same. That’s what he was so afraid of, and for the first time, it terrified her too.
For the first time, she understood his reluctance. His refusals. Every hesitation at every turn of their relationship after the centaurs had arrived.
“Thalia.” His lips found the curve of her shoulder, and the heat of his body warmed her back as he drew her against him, holding her close. “I would keep you safe, always. You need only let me.”
She snorted. How often had he begun with that phrasing, then gone on to ask her to make him some new promise. To keep her safe, of course. To keep her locked up in the house, while he was at it. And if he thought she was going to give in, now, because of a centaur attack and one minor broken bone...
She turned her head, meeting his gaze. His eyes were filled with concern, but there was something else too, beneath it. She knew that look. It was the same one he’d given her the morning after they’d made love that first time. When he’d asked her to let him take back his promise not to defend her from the centaurs in the woods. Shrewdly calculating, that’s what he was. Charming and confident and stubborn and the most manipulative bastard she’d ever met in her life.
“Acts of the gods only,” she said. “That was our deal. Forces of darkness coming after you. And if you think I’m going to sit around at home while you’re fighting whatever monster came out of the Underworld, you can just keep dreaming. I don’t care how many broken arms I end up with, but I’m not under any circumstances going to leave you to die after we’re married, so don’t even think about asking me to make any more of your ridiculous vows.”
“As you wish.” But his lips twitched and she narrowed her eyes.
Every time she’d fought with him about this, he’d refused to hear any kind of reason. And why did she still feel like she’d been manipulated, after getting what she wanted?
“That’s it?”
He smiled. No. That was a smirk. He was smirking! “You’ve made your feelings quite clear, Thalia.”
“You’re not even going to try to fight with me about this.”
He leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers. “I am not even going to think of fighting with you about this. As you requested, of course.”
“You’re still Pirithous, right?”
“If I weren’t, you would not be clothed still.” His hand slid higher beneath her shirt, but the light of amusement left his face. “Thalia, do not offer them sacrifice again. Please. I will not make you swear any vow you do not wish to, but you cannot trust them. If you turn to them, give yourself to their protection—I do not wish to think of that either.”
The wine bottle. She wrinkled her nose, turning her face away. Of course he would have seen it, but she hadn’t thought of anything other than the pain in her arm and the comfort of her bed last night. Vicodin did that to a person.
“I only asked for you. Your protection, I mean. I asked Persephone to protect you, because you’d done everything that she asked. That’s all. I um. I’ll need to go to confession and pray to God that there’s some act of contrition to make up for it. But Pirithous?” She met his eyes again, touched his cheek, traced the thin line of his lips, pressed so grimly together. “I would do it again. I would do all of it again, to have this. You and me. No matter how terrifying it might be, or how much risk comes with it. There’s a reason that you found me. That we found one another. And I’m not going to let you go now that we did.”
He blew out a breath that sounded a whole lot like exasperation, and she braced herself to argue whatever it was he had to say. Because she loved him. Because she wasn’t going to live without him or live the rest of their lives together afraid of the possibility that one day Persephone would go back on her word. Because he had to realize that she was going to do whatever it took to protect him, just like he would for her.
But he didn’t argue. Didn’t say a word before he caught her chin in his hand and kissed her.
And the things he could do with his mouth—well, it was an impossible distraction.