Chapter 9 #2
I laugh once, bitter. “You think I haven’t been around dangerous things before?”
His eyes sharpen instantly. “What did you just say?”
I freeze.
I shouldn’t have said it. I shouldn’t have let that slip. My mouth is too loose around him. My thoughts come out before I can lock them back up.
Orpheus tilts his head slightly. “You’ve been around dangerous things.”
It’s not a question. It’s him repeating it like he’s testing how it sounds.
I inhale slowly, trying to recover. “I’ve been around powerful people.”
His gaze doesn’t soften. “That’s not what you said.”
I clench my jaw.
I can feel it happening. I can feel his attention sharpening, focusing, like a predator catching a scent.
I hate that my pulse jumps.
I force myself to shrug. “It was a figure of speech.”
Orpheus doesn’t move. He just watches me.
“You know the etiquette,” he says quietly.
My stomach drops.
“What?”
“The way you hold yourself,” he continues. “The way you speak without groveling but without disrespect. The way you didn’t flinch when I told you who my father is. The way you recognized the difference between mercy and strategy.”
I keep my face blank, but my hands feel cold.
“You’re observant,” I manage.
“I’m old,” he replies. “I notice patterns.”
I swallow hard. “So, what are you saying?”
His gaze drifts over me slowly, not sexual, not hungry. Assessing.
“I’m saying you’re not as ordinary as you want to be,” he says.
A chill moves through me.
I force myself to lift my chin. “Maybe I just read too many books.”
For the first time, a faint curve touches his mouth.
“Maybe,” he says, and something in his tone tells me he doesn’t believe it. Not for a second.
But he doesn’t press.
He lets the silence sit, heavy and charged, until I can breathe again.
Then he speaks, softer.
“I’m walking you home.”
I should argue. I should insist I can do it myself. I should keep distance, keep boundaries, keep things professional.
But the truth is, I can still feel the alley in my bones.
I can still feel the fear that hit when I thought he was about to be attacked.
I can still feel the way the vampires looked at me like I was something to be taken.
I can’t stop thinking about the gray-haired one from last night.
He could be anywhere.
Waiting.
Watching.
I swallow hard.
“Fine,” I say, trying to sound annoyed instead of relieved.
Orpheus’s eyes flicker, and I swear I see satisfaction there. Not smug. Something darker. Like he wanted that yes more than he wants to admit.
He gestures toward the door. “Come.”
We leave the office and move through the private hallway.
The club below is still running, but from up here, it feels distant like a separate world. Like I’m walking through the veins of something alive, and Orpheus is the heart of it.
Servants and attendants bow as we pass.
I don’t.
I feel their eyes on me, though.
I ignore them.
Orpheus doesn’t look at them either.
It’s like the only thing he sees right now is the path ahead.
And me.
We descend the private stairs and slip out through a side exit.
The city air hits my face, cool and damp, and my nerves tighten again. The street lights cast long shadows across the sidewalk. Cars pass, their headlights sweeping over us briefly, then moving on.
Orpheus walks beside me, not too close, not far.
His presence is like gravity.
I hate how quickly my body adjusts to the idea that he can keep me safe.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye.
He looks too calm for someone who just ripped a man’s head off.
He looks like he could do it again and not even wrinkle his shirt.
We walk in silence for a few blocks.
Every now and then, my eyes flick to the alleys. The shadows. The corners where someone could be waiting.
Of course, Orpheus notices.
“I told you,” he murmurs. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m not.”
“Not tonight,” he corrects.
I don’t want to ask what he means. I don’t want to know if he plans to keep doing this.
Following me. Watching me. Protecting me.
Because the truth is, part of me wants it.
That’s the part that scares me the most.
It doesn’t take long for us to reach my street.
The little cottage is waiting like it always is, porch light flickering that I’d left on, paint chipped, steps worn down from years of coming and going. It’s the perfect little home for just me. It’s small and meant for going unnoticed.
Orpheus’s gaze sweeps over it, and something dark moves in his expression.
Disapproval. Anger. Possessiveness.
I don’t want to think about why.
I step up onto the porch, hand moving toward my key.
Then I stop.
Something’s wrong.
The door is shut, but the lock looks off.
Not broken exactly. Just not right. Like it’s been forced, and someone tried to make it look normal afterward.
My skin goes cold.
Orpheus stops behind me.
“What is it?” he asks, voice low.
I don’t answer. I stare at the door like it’s a mouth about to swallow me.
My hand trembles as I reach for the knob.
Orpheus’s hand covers mine.
“Move,” he says softly.
I step back without thinking.
He turns the knob and pushes the door open.
The air inside is stale. Wrong.
Orpheus steps inside first, his body blocking the doorway like a wall.
I follow, heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s trying to climb out of my throat.
The living room is a mess.
Not destroyed. Not ransacked like someone was searching for treasure, but clearly disturbed.
Couch cushions tossed. A drawer left open. My bag from yesterday tipped over with its contents spilling out onto the floor.
Orpheus’s gaze moves over the room, sharp and furious.
“Stay behind me,” he says again, and this time I don’t argue.
He moves through the space quickly and silently, checking corners, rooms, and shadows.
I stand frozen near the entrance, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
This isn’t random or a simple burglary. This is someone letting me know they can reach me.
Orpheus returns after a moment, his expression unreadable.
“No one’s here,” he says.
My knees feel weak. I grip the doorframe.
I take a step forward, and my eyes catch something on the table. A piece of paper.
White. Clean. Too deliberate.
My stomach drops.
Orpheus sees it too.
He reaches for it first, then pauses, glancing at me like he’s giving me the choice.
I step forward, my fingers numb as I reach to pick it up.
My name is written across the top. Not Cassia.
A different name. An old name.
My breath catches as if someone punched me.
Orpheus’s body goes rigid beside me.
“What is that?” he asks, voice dangerously quiet.
I stare at the note, the words swimming. I force myself to read the words.
Cassiopia,
Miss me?
You’re not as good at disappearing as you think.
Talos
The room tilts.
For a second, I’m not in my house anymore.
I’m somewhere else, somewhere hotter, harsher, filled with the sound of metal and laughter that wasn’t kind.
My throat closes up.
My hands start shaking so badly the paper crinkles.
Orpheus’s gaze is on me, intense, but I can’t look at him. I can’t explain. I can’t breathe.
Talos found me.
After everything I did to make sure he wouldn’t.
After all the running. All the hiding. All the nights I slept with a knife under my pillow because I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being hunted.
My vision blurs.
“No,” I whisper.
Orpheus’s hand closes around my wrist, steadying me.
“Cassia,” he says, sharper now. “Who is Talos?”
I shake my head, but the motion is weak.
The dam breaks. The tears come so fast it’s humiliating.
One second I’m standing there, trying to hold it in, trying to be strong, trying to be the version of myself that doesn’t crack.
The next, my face is wet, and I can’t stop it.
I make a sound, half sob, half laugh, and it feels like my body is betraying me.
Orpheus swears under his breath.
His hand moves to my face, wiping at the tears like he doesn’t know what to do with them, like they’re a foreign substance.
“Stop,” he says, not cruel, just lost. “Stop crying.”
I laugh again, broken. “Yeah, that’s easy.”
His jaw clenches, and for a second, I see something spiral in his eyes.
Panic.
It looks wrong on him like it shouldn’t exist.
“I don’t know how to help you,” he admits, voice low and furious, like he’s angry at himself for the truth.
I wipe at my face, but the tears keep coming.
“I told you I didn’t want protection,” I whisper, choking on the words. “I told you I was fine.”
Orpheus’s gaze is a storm. “You’re not fine. You’re anything but fine.”
I look down at the note again, and my stomach turns.
“He found me,” I breathe.
“Who is he?” Orpheus demands again, each word sharp. “Tell me.”
I shake my head, and the motion is frantic now. “You don’t understand.”
“Make me understand,” he snaps.
“I can’t,” I whisper, voice cracking. “I can’t do this. I can’t go back. I can’t . . .”
My breath catches, and the sob tears free.
Orpheus’s face goes still.
For a second, he looks like he’s deciding something, then he moves.
Before I can even register what he’s doing, he sweeps me up into his arms.
I gasp, startled, my hands automatically clutching his shirt.
“Orpheus,” I choke out. “Put me down.”
“No,” he says, and his voice is final.
The house blurs.
One second, I’m staring at my broken space, the note still clutched in my hand.
Next, the world snaps.
Air rushes past me. Cold night. Streetlights streaking into lines.
His speed steals my breath, but his hold is solid, unshakable, like I’m locked against him.
I press my face into his chest, eyes squeezed shut, trying not to scream.
We stop so suddenly my stomach lurches.
When I open my eyes, we’re back at the club.
But we’re not going inside through the main entrance.
Orpheus takes a private door, pushing it open with a sharp motion, carrying me through hallways that smell like stone, smoke, and him.
My heart is still pounding, but now it’s not just fear.
It’s the intimacy of being held like this. The way his body is warm, steady, unyielding.