Chapter 25 #3
Poseidon and Zeus each plucked a drink from a passing tray and stopped at our table, the sea god immediately claiming the space at my side, his arm brushing mine, while Zeus planted himself opposite Bronte. His presence hit like a thunderclap—sharp, charged, and impossible to ignore.
Bronte clocked his stare instantly—those eyes locked on her as if the crowd melted away and only she remained—but she lifted her wine with deliberate nonchalance. ‘Well, isn’t this cosy. The great Zeus, reduced to loitering at a drinks table. How very… mortal of you.’
His gaze flicked over her, slow and assessing. ‘You smell… strange,’ he said, frowning.
Her brows shot up. Then she laughed, sharp and unimpressed. ‘Well, you’re a real lady-killer, huh, Mr Charming.’
I swallowed a guffaw, and Si coughed into his drink.
Zeus’s mouth curved in something sharp and humourless. ‘Careful, little mage. You’re speaking to a force that reduces mountains to ash.’
Bronte arched a brow, unimpressed. ‘Please. You gods are all the same. Ego the size of Olympus, zero self-awareness, and a desperate need for applause. Honestly, it’s exhausting.’’
I nearly spat out my drink. Poseidon smiled behind his glass, clearly enjoying himself.
The air crackled faintly, as though the electrical storm in Zeus wanted out—but his gaze never left her, drinking her in like she was the sole star in his sky. His voice, when it came, was low, steady, and quite worryingly dangerous. ‘Exhausting? Perhaps. But obsession… obsession is eternal.’
Bronte’s laugh was short and cutting. ‘Obsession, stalking… It’s a very fine line, big guy. Don’t get them confused.’ She tipped back her glass as though she’d ended the conversation, but Zeus’s eyes still burned, bright and unyielding.
Chatter swelled to a roar as Persephone swept into the ballroom on Hades’s arm, her presence commanding every eye in the room. The crowd shifted, bodies bowing and parting like a tide in reverence to their queen.
Bronte’s hand snatched mine; her grip was warm, grounding. ‘Come on, Cordie,’ she said, eyes bright with mischief and awe all at once. ‘Let’s go and see our new Queen.’
I let her drag me through the throng as we moved closer to where Persephone and Hades stood side by side—night and rebirth incarnate, every inch the rulers they were. When Sephy’s eyes met ours, she beamed, gesturing us closer just as Hades handed her a glass of wine, then went to chat with Hermes.
‘Congratulations, your majesty,’ Bronte said with a sly smirk, dipping into a picture-perfect curtsey. I copied her, though mine was more of a drunken bow than anything elegant.
‘Thank you. Now stop with the over-sucking up, Bronte. Tell me’—Sephy leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially—‘have you seen Zeus? He’s been asking about you, apparently.’
I almost choked on my wine. ‘Oh, yeah. That god’s got one thing on his mind when it comes to our Bronte, and it’s the booty train. Toot, toot.’
Sephy shrieked with laughter, nearly spilling her drink. ‘I knew it!’
Bronte’s elbow drove into my ribs hard enough to make me wheeze, which only made me laugh harder.
‘Careful, Cordie.’ Bronte arched a perfect brow. ‘People in glass houses shouldn’t throw booty trains—unless you’ve forgotten Poseidon eye-fucks you like you’re his dessert at every meal.’
My cheeks combusted, flames licking down my neck.
Sephy cackled like a banshee, clutching her stomach, and of course, when I dared a glance across the ballroom, Poseidon was standing by a tall black table with Zeus and Perseus, who were deep in conversation, a tumbler of whisky in hand.
His smile was pure predator—slow, knowing, and smug enough to make me want to hurl my glass at his infuriatingly perfect head.
I seriously wanted to club him.
‘Duty calls,’ Sephy said with a grin as she kissed our cheeks, then slipped her hand into Hades’ and let him guide her back into the throng of their subjects.
They looked every inch the power couple—her glow, his shadow, perfectly matched as they moved through the crowd as though gravity itself bent around them.
Bronte swirled her wine lazily, watching them disappear into the swell of people. ‘Gods,’ she muttered. ‘They almost make monarchy look tolerable.’
I gave a short laugh, though my eyes had already strayed across the room—straight to the one person I didn’t want watching me.
And yet, of course, Poseidon’s eyes were still locked on me.
‘Let’s get pissed,’ Bronte declared, already striding towards the nearest server as if it were her royal duty.
‘Finally, a decree I can get behind,’ I muttered, trailing after her with zero hesitation.
Bronte and I had hit our stride somewhere around wine number three.
The world was softer, funnier, somehow easier.
She was cackling at something I’d said about Si—no, Poseidon—when I leaned in and assured her, probably a bit too loudly, ‘He won’t control me.
I won’t give in. This girl will not be pushed around. ’
Bronte gave me a look that was part “aww, cute” and part “you’re delusional”, then clinked her glass against mine.
We drifted towards the edge of the dancefloor, watching couples sweep across the floor in elegant arcs.
My eyes snagged on Erebus, dark and magnetic, dancing as though the shadows had taken form.
Heat flushed through me before I could stamp it out.
I leaned closer to Bronte and muttered, ‘I’d like to put a saddle on him and ride him like a horse.
Giddy-up there.’ Erebus flashed me a wicked grin, and I snapped my gaze away before the fire in my cheeks betrayed me.
Bronte’s laugh nearly doubled her over, but when I glanced back, Poseidon’s head had already turned. His eyes swirled like a squall, drilling into me as if I’d just declared war.
I lifted my chin, glaring right back. ‘What’s his beef?’ I muttered.
Bronte cut him a sly glance. ‘Gods have preternatural hearing, remember, darling. I think he’s tuning into you.’
‘Jealous? I doubt it,’ I scoffed.
Her grin was sly enough to scuttle a ship. ‘Gods don’t like to share their prized possessions.’
There it was again—that damn word. Possession. My spine stiffened, and I shot her a sharp glare. ‘I’m no one’s possession.’
Bronte just clucked her tongue, akin to an exasperated teacher. ‘I think you’re living in an alternate reality, because that god has dibs on you. Big, glowing, neon dibs.’
I opened my mouth, already primed for a fiery rebuttal, but she cut me off with a raised hand.
‘No, no. Don’t say anything. Just let me watch him squirm while you ogle Erebus.
Honestly, the god of darkness is a hottie.
’ Bronte studied Erebus, then her gaze flicked to Poseidon.
‘Seriously, somewhere a pig has sprouted wings and taken to the sky… the god of the sea hasn’t thrown a hissy fit and lost his shit.
What pray is the secret control you have over him? ’
Before I could shoot something back, a shadow fell over me. A presence… His presence.
‘Dance with me.’ The words were less invitation, more decree, low and edged in command.
Before I could answer, Bronte tipped back her glass and drawled, ‘Careful, sea god… she’s got two left feet and a mean right hook. Might be the shortest waltz of your immortal life.’
His head tilted, eyes flashing with that tempestuous silver-blue, and then he laughed. His laugh was deep and dark, rolling through me; it was velvet-dipped thunder. I wanted to bathe in it—in those Stygian promises it carried, whispered and wicked.
He smelled of storm winds, of salt and ozone—the crisp bite of air just before a tempest broke the world apart.
I blinked once. Then twice. My legs wobbled under me as an intense throb of desire rocked through me, sharp and merciless.
Oh, for the love of everything holy. I’m a hormonal disaster zone whenever he’s near. Pathetic. I need to get a grip.
‘I’ll take my chances.’ His gaze never left mine as he set his glass aside. Then, with effortless certainty, he captured my hand, the strength of his grip leaving no room for refusal.
My pulse stuttered, and I gave her a “help me” look, but Bronte just smirked at me like she was front row at her favourite movie.