Chapter 24
CORDELIA
Iditched the dress, showered, moisturised, scraped my hair into a messy bun, and pulled on a pair of Pilates pants and an off-the-shoulder crop top.
Back in my own little house, surrounded by familiar walls and silence, I finally felt my feet on the ground again. The arrogant asshole-sea-twat still simmered in the back of my mind, but the edge dulled as I downed a glass of wine.
‘Screw it,’ I muttered to myself, slamming the glass down. If Ixion wanted to end me, they’d have to stand in line. I needed a real drink—something with teeth.
Grabbing my hoodie, I strode out of the house and headed for the pub. Normality… that was what I craved. No gods. No assassins. No impossible emotions tying me in knots, just a noisy room where I was nobody.
For a few hours, at least, that was exactly who I intended to be.
I walked the mile to the high street, my boots striking a steady rhythm against the pavement. With every step, the city seemed to wake inside me, thrumming through my veins.
London was alive. A vibrant, breathing beast that wrapped itself around my heart and sank into my bones.
History whispered from its old brickwork, culture spilled from its streets, and its wild mix of tradition and chaos always made me feel…
grounded. The symphony of humanity, raw and unpolished, soaked through me, and I drank it in like oxygen as it settled the jagged edges inside my chest. For the first time in days, I almost felt like myself again.
Almost.
Because even here, drowned in the noise and heartbeat of my city, I could feel him—a storm pressing at the edge of my awareness.
Poseidon clung to me as surely as the humidity on my skin, an invisible tether I couldn’t cut.
The bastard haunted me, even in the one place I thought I might breathe freely.
It was predatory… claiming, and worse, my treacherous body didn’t recoil, it leaned into it, humming with an ache I hated myself for craving.
This was my city; my sanctuary. But the tether between us pulsed, drawing me back into the maelstrom no matter how far I ran.
I ground my teeth, shoving down the liquid need pooling in my core.
He wasn’t here; he couldn’t be—and yet somehow, impossibly, he was everywhere.
I pushed harder down the pavement, as if speed alone could shake him from my skin.
By the time O’Rourke’s came into view—its battered sign swinging above the door, golden light spilling onto the street—I was practically vibrating with nerves.
Normality. I needed routine. An Old Fashioned, familiar voices, the pub chatter wrapping me in its warm, easy noise; that’s what I told myself as I nodded at Jerry, then shoved the door open and stepped inside.
The scent hit me first—ale, body odour, perfume, but layered beneath it, threading through every breath I took, was him; masculine spice, patchouli, and the crisp kiss of ocean air.
My heart thundered in my chest as my gaze swept the room—and snagged on the darkest corner. He was there. His strength and power oozed from him, saturating the bar with an intoxicating pull—debonair, dangerous, the charged calm before a deluge.
Our eyes locked, and I death-glared him—the arrogant, smug sea bastard.
He lounged in his seat, owning the place with effortless dominance, one elbow hooked over the back of his chair, a tumbler of whisky dangling from his long fingers.
The low pub light kissed his silver-blond hair, tracing the sharp cut of his jaw and the impossible breadth of his shoulders.
He didn’t belong here, and yet he fit with predatory ease, like the shadows themselves had bent to make room for him.
And those sea-green eyes were fixed solely on me.
The crowd blurred, sound muffling until there was only the violent pound of my pulse and that look—hungry, unyielding… obsessive.
Fuck. He’d found me.
He rose from his chair, every movement coiled strength and liquid power, oozing into the room until the bar itself seemed to brace around him.
With lethal elegance, he carried the same inevitability as the scent of rain before a monsoon—an omen and a promise.
My pulse spiked in warning, heat unfurling low in my belly even as my mind snarled run…
but Gods help me, my body didn’t want to.
The crowd seemed to thin as he moved, conversations dulling to a background hum.
His presence devoured the air, thick and oppressive, pulling every eye in the room towards him without effort.
When he finally stopped in front of me, he was too close—his height blotting out the low amber light, the storm in his eyes locking me in place.
‘Little Red,’ he murmured, voice a dark purr meant for me alone. The sound licked over my skin, hot and infuriating.
I lifted my chin, forcing my voice past the knot in my throat. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’
A slow, wolfish smile curved his mouth, as if my defiance only stoked the fire. ‘And yet… here I am.’
He stopped just shy of brushing against me, but his presence pressed in all the same—hot, relentless, and suffocating. His gaze devoured me, roaming my face, lingering on my mouth, before dragging lower in a way that made my skin prickle with fury and want in equal measure.
‘You ran,’ he said softly, like it was a private sin only the two of us knew about.
I clenched my jaw. ‘I needed air. Space… You don’t own me.’
His hand lifted, not quite touching my face, but hovering close enough for the heat of him to ghost along my skin. ‘I never let go of what’s mine.’
The words sliced through me, half a threat, half a promise. My body betrayed me again—heart stuttering, thighs clenching, heat pooling low—while my mind screamed to slap him across that smug, beautiful face.
‘You arrogant—' My retort caught in my throat when his gaze flicked to my mouth again, a squall breaking loose in those sea-green eyes. The world narrowed to him, to me, to the electric crackle between us that was moments away from combusting.
And then— ‘Everything alright here, Cordie?’
Jerry’s gravelly voice cut through the tension like a bucket of cold water.
The bouncer loomed beside us, arms crossed, his presence broad and solid as a brick wall.
His eyes flicked between us, narrowing on Poseidon with the wary precision of a man who’d thrown more than a few cocky blokes out on their asses.
Poseidon’s head turned slowly, his gaze cutting to Jerry with the weight of an oncoming tempest. The air around us shifted, charged and restless, the tense heartbeat before lightning splits the sky. His jaw flexed once, twice, the muscle ticking with dangerous restraint.
I knew that look. One wrong word from Jerry and the entire bar would be swimming.
‘Si,’ I said quickly, forcing brightness into my tone as I touched his arm, grounding him. Those beautifully dangerous eyes flicked to me, and for a heartbeat, I swore I saw the swell of waves crashing against a shore. ‘Why don’t you buy me a drink?’
Jerry’s brows shot up, but I kept my smile firmly in place as I angled my body towards the bar, sliding in between them like a human shield. ‘It’s been a long day, and I could use something strong. Whisky. Neat.’ I gave Poseidon a look that said play along or else.
His nostrils flared, his gaze still pinned on Jerry like a predator reluctant to leave its prey, but then, slowly, he leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.
‘Only because you asked so nicely,’ he murmured, voice dark velvet and full of warning, before striding towards the bar to signal the barman.
I exhaled in relief, my pulse pounding as I threw Jerry a tight smile. ‘It’s fine. Really. He’s… intense, but harmless.’ He was so not harmless.
Jerry grunted, unconvinced. ‘Yeah, well, just holler if Mr. Cheekbones there forgets how to treat a lady.’ I gave him a tight smile.
Poseidon turned with two tumblers of whisky as I reached the bar, the amber liquid catching the dim pub light. He handed me mine with a deliberate slowness, his fingers brushing mine, his eyes locked on me as if he was daring me to look away.
‘Neat. The best they have,’ he murmured, his mouth curving into the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
I raised the glass to my lips, buying myself a moment, and took a sip. The burn slid down my throat, settling me, but his gaze was more intoxicating than the whisky. I forced a smirk. ‘Trying to charm me with top-shelf liquor, Si? That’s a weak strategy.’
He leaned against the bar, close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off him. ‘Not trying to charm you, Little Red.’ His voice was low, intimate, threaded with steel. ‘I’m reminding you that no matter where you run, I’ll find you.’
My pulse jumped, a traitorous flutter in my chest. I tilted my head, feigning nonchalance, though my grip on the glass was too tight. ‘Sounds a lot like stalking.’
‘Sounds a lot like truth.’ His mouth quirked in a dangerous smirk as he took a slow sip of his drink, eyes never leaving mine. ‘You can drink your whisky, pretend I’m not here, pretend you’re not mine, but we both know the second you walk out that door, I’ll be walking beside you.’
Heat dripped low in my belly, damn him, but I masked it with sarcasm. ‘You’re really bad at this whole “giving a girl space” thing, you know that?’
He leaned closer, his breath brushing my cheek, the scent of salt and storm clinging to him like a second skin. ‘I’m not here to give you space, Little Red. I’m here to close the distance.’
I swirled the whisky in my glass as I forced my voice steady. ‘You don’t get to waltz in here and pretend everything’s fine, Si. Not after what you did.’
His brows knit. ‘What I did?’
I shoved my glass onto the bar, the slam making a few heads turn. ‘The mark.’ My voice came as a low, furious whisper. ‘You branded me without my consent.’