Page 58 of Elysium
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 for breath, 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.”
“You gonna poke me to death?” The man in front of him jeered, barking a laugh.
“Something like that,” he mused, rolling the arrow between his fingers.
Odysseus turned his back to his hostage, crouching before the hearth in the room.
“It’s funny.” he gingerly held the arrow by the shaft, pushing the tip of the head into the flames.
“I’m not a fire guy myself. I much prefer the salt of the sea to the flames of a hearth, but… ”
He waited until the arrow tip glowed red, turning back to the intruder. “It’s ever so handy to keep around.”
He didn’t hesitate, didn’t give the man a minute to prepare for the pain he was about to endure. The moment the red-hot arrow met his flesh, Odysseus’ face twisted into a feral grin. The man’s scream only making him want more.
The smell of burnt skin quickly filled the room. “Who sent you?” He asked, digging the tip of the arrow into the smoking patch of skin.
“I’d be more than inclined to answer,” his teeth were clenched, his breathing ragged. “If your wife showed her pretty tits.”
Odysseus felt something inside of him snap, something primal in him roared. He took the still smoldering arrow and jabbed it into the soft part of his shoulder, grinning wickedly as it pierced through the other side.
The man underneath him screamed, blood gargling in his throat as he did. “Who sent you?” his words were pointed, clipped.
The walls were closing in, the blood was choking the air from his lungs, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t back down, not when there was so much at stake. His whole life had led him here, had brought him back to her. He couldn’t protect her if he didn’t win.
The man didn’t answer. Perhaps he couldn’t. His chest heaved as he tried to fill his lungs. “You have until I walk over to this table and find another arrow to answer me, pig.”
“Sparta-”
“What?” Odysseus turned on him quickly, grabbing him by the tunic. “What did you say?” When he didn’t respond quick enough, he shook him.
“You,” The man’s words were thick with blood, every breath a ragged rasp as he struggled to stay conscious. “Angered Zeus. You disrespected his daughter.”
The king laughed, shaking his head as he tossed the man on the ground at his feet. “Menelaus is the one that disrespected Helen.” He drove his foot into his ribcage. “Zeus is angry that he wouldn’t know marital devotion if it slapped him across the face.”
“He’s coming for her, Ithacan. What a pretty prize for the king of the gods.
” The man wheezed. “He is angry for his daughter. Angry at you, for dragging her reputation through the mud. Angry at the underworld gods for bringing his kin to your level. You have made a grave mistake, allying yourself with Hades. He wants your wife.”
“He’ll have to get in fucking line.” Odysseus dropped to a knee, settling inside the pool of blood on the floor. “I will protect her until my dying breath. What are you going to do with yours?”
He unsheathed the dagger on his thigh, waiting for the man to answer, to respond. He just coughed, spitting up blood onto the king’s feet.
“Very well.”
The dagger connected with his skin, driven into his heart.