Page 7 of Queen of Tempests and Sin

‘He’s a bit of a Hampton wick, that one,’ Martha muttered, nodding towards the new barman. I looked at her blankly, and she sighed. ‘A dick.’

‘Oh, yeah, silly me, huh? Cockney rhyming slang. I don’t understand why you don’t just say dick?’ She sniffed in humour—or was it disdain? I couldn’t tell. ‘Where’s Mike, anyway?’ I asked, referring to the pub’s famously grumpy landlord.

‘Oh, he’s had a hernia operation. Apparently, he’s being a right grizzle guts.’

‘More than usual?’

She gave me a wicked grin. ‘Here. Have a goosy gander at me phone, will you, treacle? I can’t get on me bloody Kindle app.’

She passed me her mobile. I squinted at it, trying not to laugh. ‘Good gracious woman, get some reading glasses.’ The font size on her phone was ridiculous.

‘They make me look like an old cat lady.’ She sniffed.

‘Well, you do have four cats, Martha, and this’—I pointed to her screen—‘makes you look like an old and blind cat lady.’

Martha narrowed her eyes and snatched the phone back, then downed her wine in one long, defiant gulp. ‘Calm down. Don’t get your Alan Whickers in a twist, treacle.’ She patted my arm as I furrowed my brow. ‘I gotta get back to me old pot and pan. Catch ya later, treacle tart. Have a safe trip.’ I watched her weave her way out of the pub. Talking to Martha was sometimes like trying to solve a riddle.

I sighed tiredly and sucked down the other half of my drink. Time to let the bourbon blur the edges.

* * *

Two drinks later, I was almost home, staring off into the trees along my street as I walked. Deep shadows clung to the branches—evening gradually stealing the last of the light from the sky. I’d picked up a New York-style meat-free sub at a street food stall and devoured it while my thoughts circled back to the gods.

Was this job somehow connected to them? Was the target a demigod, as Drakos suspected? If the gods were involved, I would be up shit creek with a broken paddle. The last thing I needed was divine wrath crashing down on me—I had enough problems. The whole thing reeked of Ixion… but surely, Drakos wouldn’t be foolish enough to tangle himself with the insurgent group?

The war with the gods happened over twenty years ago, and, according to the history books, had been a walking nightmare. I’d only been about four at the time, and Drakos had locked my mother and me away in his fortified Greek estate while the world burned, and my memories of that time were sketchy. Now the gods ruled over everything: silent, remote, and untouchable. People like Drakos carried on with their shady dealings—but, as I said, he’s a crafty cunt.

I cursed under my breath for not paying enough attention to the gods or their politics. It had never felt like my fight—until now.

After showering and stuffing the last of my things into my suitcase, I took a glass of red wine out into my tiny garden. Twilight was swallowing the sky whole, smudging out the last streaks of daylight as the firepit crackled beside me. Shadows danced across the patio, like restless companions, while I read through the file for what felt like the hundredth damn time.

When I’d memorised every detail, I held the document over the flames—then paused. I ran a finger across the photo of my target… Si Thalassa. It was only his face and neck in the image, but gods… he could definitely be a demigod.

His stormy gaze stared just off-camera, like a predator sensing danger. It was a harsh stare with a turbulent, vicious glimmer… his features were almost unreal. Pale-blond hair tied back in a casual knot, and his eyes, under high arching eyebrows, were the blue-green of the ocean, with tinges of grey and silver. Eyes that looked deep enough to hold the universe.

Mountain peak cheekbones and a chiselled jaw made him the epitome of male beauty.

‘Who are you?’ I whispered as my eyes zeroed in on his soft, lush lips that softened his more rugged face to distractingly handsome. Oh, my—those lips were… Pretty sure I was drooling, I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth.

‘Sorry, Si,’ I breathed as my eyes consumed that beautiful face.

A mental slap brought me back to my senses. This wasn’t some fantasy—this was a job; a contract, and I didn’t have the luxury of doubt or desire. I dropped the file into the fire, watching the golden glow of the flames as the scent of scorched paper permeated the evening air. Eventually, the golden flames devoured the only connection I had to the man I was meant to kill. All that remained were ashes—and my pounding heartbeat.

I worried my teeth against my bottom lip… I needed to pull on my big girl panties.

I had a mission.

And I had to succeed.

* * *

Still running on fumes from scant few hours of sleep, I arrived at some no-name private airport at 3.30 a.m. in Drakos’s sleek black limousine. He’d handed me an Amex Gold with the oh-so-classy instruction to “buy yourself a sexy dress” in case I needed to seduce the target. Alongside that, a thick envelope stuffed with emergency cash.

Naturally, I pocketed most of it.

The trip was all expenses paid, after all, and I needed to squirrel away every spare penny for my escape plan—one Drakos was blissfully unaware of. For now.

As for the dress—yeah, hard pass. I wasn’t about to rely on cleavage and perfume when I might be dealing with a demigod. Instead, I’d opted for the contents of the box.