Chapter 9 #3
The way he doesn’t seem to care if anyone sees.
He doesn’t take me back to his office.
He takes me somewhere else.
He opens a door to a room, dimly lit, larger than any space I’ve ever slept in.
A bed draped in dark fabric. Candles. Heavy curtains. A sense of privacy that makes my skin prickle.
His bedroom.
He sets me down carefully this time, like he remembers I’m fragile after all.
I take a step back automatically, wiping at my cheeks.
Orpheus shuts the door and turns the lock.
The sound is loud in the quiet.
I stare at him. “What are you doing?”
“Keeping you safe,” he says.
My chest rises and falls too fast. “I don’t need this.”
“Yes, you do,” he replies, and his tone leaves no room for argument.
I shake my head, tears still clinging. “You can’t just take me.”
His gaze sharpens. “I can.”
The words hit like a slap. I flinch, then anger flickers through the fear.
“I’m not your prisoner,” I snap.
Orpheus steps closer, and the air changes. Not threatening. Focused.
“You’re not,” he says, voice lower now. “You’re not a prisoner. You’re not a toy. You’re not an employee tonight.”
My throat tightens. “Then what am I?”
He hesitates.
Just for a fraction of a second.
That hesitation tells me more than any answer could.
“Mine,” he says finally, and the word is quiet, but it lands heavily.
My stomach flips.
I should demand he open the door and take me back, even if it means walking into a house that’s been violated.
But I can’t stop thinking about the note.
About Talos.
About the way my old name looked on that paper.
My hands start shaking again.
Orpheus sees it. He swears softly, then closes the distance, gripping my shoulders gently but firmly.
“Look at me,” he says.
I lift my eyes.
His expression is intense, but there’s something else underneath it.
Something protective to the point of obsession.
“I won’t let anyone touch you,” he says.
I swallow, voice small. “You don’t know what you’re promising.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “I do.”
I laugh weakly. “No, you don’t.”
Orpheus’s jaw tightens. “Tell me.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Cassia,” he says, and my name on his tongue feels like a leash. “You’re shaking. You’re crying. You’re terrified. And you’re still trying to protect whatever monster is chasing you by staying silent.”
My throat burns.
“It’s not that,” I whisper.
“It is,” he replies. “You’re hiding. I can feel it.”
I look away.
Because I know he can.
I’ve been hiding for so long it’s become muscle memory. Smile. Deflect. Keep moving. Don’t tell anyone anything that can be used against you.
But Orpheus isn’t just anyone.
That’s the problem.
I take a shaky breath. “He’s from my past.”
Orpheus’s eyes narrow. “A lover.”
The word is sharp.
I flinch. “Not like that. Not anymore. He wanted to be, but I didn’t.”
His hand tightens slightly on my shoulder. “What is he?”
I swallow. “Dangerous.”
Orpheus’s mouth curves, but there’s no humor in it. “So am I.”
I meet his gaze then, and something unsteady moves through me.
“You don’t understand,” I whisper. “You being involved makes it worse.”
Orpheus’s eyes darken. “Everything is far worse when you’re alone.”
My chest tightens.
I wipe at my face again, exhausted. “What do you want from me?”
His gaze drags over me, not lustful, not yet—just intent.
“I want you safe,” he says. “And I want to know who thinks they can walk into your home and leave a message as if they own you.”
My throat tightens. “He doesn’t own me.”
Orpheus leans closer. “Then why are you afraid?”
The question hits too close.
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
The truth is complicated and ugly and tangled up in things I’ve sworn never to speak aloud.
The truth is I know the gods, and the gods know me.
The truth is Talos didn’t just find me. He’s captured me again.
Orpheus watches me for a long moment.
Then he exhales slowly, like he’s making peace with something he doesn’t like.
“Fine,” he says. “You don’t have to tell me tonight.”
Relief hits so fast it makes me dizzy, but it doesn’t last.
His next words wrap around my throat like a promise and a threat at the same time.
“You will tell me,” he says. “Eventually.”
I swallow hard.
Orpheus steps back, gesturing toward the bed. “Sit.”
I hesitate.
“Cassia,” he says, and his voice is softer now, but it’s still commanding. “Please. You need to breathe.”
I move to the edge of the bed and sit, hands clenched in my lap like if I let go, I’ll fall apart again.
Orpheus kneels in front of me.
The sight is so wrong it steals my breath.
A King on his knees.
Not bowing. Not submitting.
But positioning himself lower, deliberately, so I don’t feel like he’s towering over me.
It makes my throat burn again.
“I’m going to keep you here tonight,” he says quietly. “No arguments. No pride. You’ll sleep behind locked doors with guards on the hall.”
I look at him. “That feels like a cage.”
“It’s a shield,” he replies. “You don’t have to like it. You just have to survive it.”
My breath shakes. “And what about tomorrow?”
His gaze flicks up, intense. “Tomorrow, I find this Talos, and we deal with this problem.”
A chill rolls through me.
“That’s a bad idea,” I whisper.
Orpheus’s mouth curves slightly. “So was stepping in front of a blade for me.”
I flinch.
“Don’t throw that back at me,” I mutter.
We stare at each other, the air between us charged with things I don’t want to name.
I can feel how close we are to crossing another line. Not physical, not yet.
Something emotional. Something that will make it impossible to pretend this is just a job.
Orpheus rises slowly.
“I’ll have Miriam told you’re safe,” he says.
My throat tightens. “She can’t know everything that’s happened.”
“She won’t,” he replies. “But she’ll know you’re not going home tonight.”
I nod faintly.
Orpheus’s gaze drifts over me again, slower now, like he’s taking inventory. Bruises he doesn’t see. Fear he does.
“You’re not just an employee,” he says, almost like he’s speaking to himself.
My breath catches. “What?” I whisper.
His jaw tightens. His eyes flick to mine.
“You were never just an employee,” he corrects, voice lower. “Sibley knew this when she hired you.”
The words settle in my stomach like a stone.
I don’t know how to accept what he’s implying without letting it swallow me whole.
So, I do what I always do when something feels too big.
I deflect.
“You’re going to regret this,” I whisper.
Orpheus’s gaze sharpens. “Regret what?”
“Getting involved,” I say, voice cracking slightly. “You don’t know who you’re protecting.”
His mouth curves faintly. “That’s what you’re afraid of.”
I look away.
Because the part of me that’s been running isn’t just running from Talos.
It’s running from everything I used to be tangled in. Everything I used to see. Everything that still clings to me like smoke.
Orpheus steps closer again, and I feel it, the pull of him, the gravity.
He reaches out, fingers brushing my cheek, wiping away the last of my tears.
The touch is gentle.
It makes my throat tighten all over again.
“I don’t care,” he says quietly. “Whatever you think you’re hiding, whatever you think you are, it doesn’t change this.”
“This,” I whisper.
His eyes lock on mine. “You’re a vulnerability. One I can’t let go of. Not anymore.”
The word should insult me. It doesn’t.
It terrifies me. Because it means I matter.
In a world like his, being someone’s vulnerability is the most dangerous thing you can be.
Orpheus’s thumb brushes my cheek again, slower.
“I’m going to keep you safe,” he says.
I swallow hard. “Orpheus . . .”
He leans in, close enough that I can smell him, smoke, and something dark and rich underneath.
Not kissing me. Not taking. Just close.
Like he’s testing the line.
Like he’s reminding me he could cross it at any moment, and the only reason he isn’t is because he’s choosing restraint.
“I’m not letting you go back to that house tonight,” he murmurs.
I close my eyes briefly, exhausted. “Fine.”
When I open them, he’s still watching me like I’m something he can’t let out of his sight.
The worst part is, for the first time in a long time, I don’t want him to.
Because safety has a cost.
I can already feel what he’s going to demand in return.
Not money. Not favors. Truth.
I don’t know if I can survive giving him that.