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PROLOGUE
Last night...
THERONTHIAKOSSTALKEDthe damp London street, cursing the rain. It just never stopped. How could people live like this? he angrily asked himself, longing for the piercing heat and pure bright sun of Greece, the glittering blue sea that sparkled enough to make a person squint. The cloud-covered night gave the Mayfair street an air of mystery as he came to stand before the impossibly exclusive private members club, Victoriana.
Before him, two men stood either side of a door with such thick black gloss the paint looked like running water. The Tuscan columns supporting the portico spoke of riches and a sense of history that struck a nerve. Theron bit back a curse. This was exactly the kind of superior, expensive establishment that would appeal to Lykos’s ego. Theron made to step forward when, shockingly, one of the men raised his hand to stop him.
‘I’m here to see Lykos Livas,’ Theron stated, not bothering to conceal the distaste in his tone. He had neither the time nor the patience for this. The anger in him was overpowering and he wanted someone to blame.Neededsomeone to blame. And he knew just the person.
The other doorman nodded, holding the door open and gesturing Theron towards a woman wearing some sort of strange green tweed trousers that cut off at the knee and a waistcoat. Lykos had always had a flair for the dramatic, but this was so... English.OldEnglish.
The immediate press of warmth that greeted him after the cold London night was a blessed relief. His mouth watered at the thought of the whisky he’d fantasised about for the entire drive down from the Soames estate in Norfolk where he’d left Summer standing on the stone steps, unable to face the look in her eyes as he drove away.
He’d lost everything. Absolutely everything.
Theron followed the hostess weaving her way through a surprisingly large establishment, completely decked out—as one would imagine—in furniture and furnishings from the Victorian period. And, despite the negative bent of his thoughts, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the bar that stretched the entire length of the main room. Two houses, at least, must have been knocked together to create such a space.
He caught sight of his quarry, sitting at a booth of deep green leather with a woman no less exquisite than to be expected in Lykos Livas’s company. Theron’s gaze barely touched the brunette, his mind instead seeing rich golden hair, hazel eyes and lips that were ruby-red when full of desire and pale when devastated.
His fingers pulsed within his fist as Lykos finally turned to acknowledge him.
‘This is all your fault,’ Theron charged, his tone firm and bitter.
Lykos stared at him for a moment, his gaze so level Theron wondered if he’d even heard the accusation. Then he blinked that silvery gaze. ‘I’d say it’s good to see you but—’
‘We are well beyond niceties, Lykos, so I’ll say again, this is all your fault.’
‘That depends on what “this” is,’ Lykos said over the rim of his glass before taking a mouthful of his drink.
Inhaling a curse, Theron turned to the brunette. ‘Leave us.’ He hated being so cruel but he was at his wits’ end.
‘That is hardly necessary,’ Lykos protested half-heartedly.
‘It’s not as if you won’t find someone else to play with,’ Theron said truthfully, turning his back on the girl as he looked for the hostess. ‘Whisky?’ She nodded and disappeared into the bar’s darkness.
‘True,’ Lykos replied with a shoulder shrug, watching his companion leave in a huff before narrowing his eyes at Theron. ‘I see you once in ten years and now you won’t leave me alone?’
It was a relief to speak in his native tongue again. It had been—what?—a week since he’d left Athens and found himself in that hellhole in Norfolk. Some found the Greek language harsh, but to Theron it flowed liketsipourofrom Volos and tasted like honey inloukoumades.
‘This is not the time for jokes, Lykos.’
‘You never did have a good sense of humour,’ he groused.
Theron’s drink arrived and he slipped into the now empty seat. He palmed the glass, staring at it as if he hadn’t spent the last three hours wanting it.
‘You’d best bring the bottle,glykiá mou,’ Lykos said, leaning well into the server’s personal space. Not that she seemed to mind. At all.
‘What are you doing in London anyway?’ Theron asked before challenging himself to only take a sip of the liquid he wanted to drown in.
‘I like it here.’
‘I don’t believe you. I don’t believe that any Greek worth their salt would enjoy all the...grey,’ Theron said with such distaste it was as if the colour had taken up residence on his tongue.
‘Grey? I’m not quite sure I’ve seen London during the daytime hours. Is it that bad?’ Lykos asked, appearing to sincerely ponder it.
‘Yes. But Norfolk is worse.’
Lykos’s silver eyes narrowed and Theron’s dark gaze held the challenge. ‘Is that so?’ Lykos asked.
