Page 1 of Queen of Tempests and Sin

SERENDIPITY

LONDON, ENGLAND.

Elias Drakos was a cunning man.

Cruel and opportunistic, his criminal pursuits had earned him a stench no wealth could mask. Not even a Savile Row suit, Burberry shirt, or pristine Prada dress shoes could disguise the sewer rat beneath the polish.

The woman twisted her mouth in distaste as he entered the room. Drakos, despite his vices, was a valuable contact—for her and for Ixion, the insurgent group seeking to wrest control of the human world from the gods. Drakos wouldn’t recognise her because of her ability to shapeshift; she was literally hiding in plain sight. The woman would conceal her true form until the right moment.

The three primordial gods stood in her way, but she was patient. She had aeons of life experience to cultivate such patience. Fortunately, the divine were divided. Her sources told her the three primordial gods were at war, which worked in her favour. Hades would eventually side with her. He loathed his brothers almost as much as she did.

A bodyguard stood beside the oak door as Drakos approached the desk—an imposing mahogany monolith dominating the luxurious Mayfair office. He was aware of the danger, aware of her connection with the Resistance, but they needed him and his services, so fear was dulled by necessity. He concealed his nerves with a confident swagger.

‘Madame Basilissa,’ he said with a shallow bow, trying not to recoil under her icy gaze. ‘A pleasure.’

She watched him with predatory calm—beautiful, yes, with long dark hair and steel-grey eyes, but there was an energy to her, a power that curled around the room like smoke.

‘Sit, Mr Drakos,’ she commanded, her voice husky, laced with a faint accent.

Drakos complied and tried not to fidget. He never bowed to women. In his mind, they were the lesser sex. But he was not a fool. This one, he sensed, outmatched him.

Drakos ruled his empire through fear and manipulation. But he sold loyalty to the highest bidder—and if Ixion won, he intended to be on the right side of history.

‘You have a worthy assassin, I believe.’ Madame Basilissa looked up from the papers she was studying.

‘The best,’ he replied, allowing a smirk. ‘No one better.’

‘Very good.’ She held his gaze. ‘The target will not be an easy kill. This dagger…’ She raised a blade encased in a clear silver-edged scabbard. The hilt was ornate, forged of intricate silver filigree, a blue crystal glowing from its bolster. The double-edged blade shimmered with strange patterns—like star-fire frozen in crystal.

Drakos’s breath caught in his throat. This appeared to be a weapon of the gods.

‘…is lethal to all life,’ she continued, ‘except humans. The assassin must pierce the target’s heart with the dagger, and then they must decapitate them with the blade. I want the head.’

‘The head…’ Drakos echoed as he carefully picked up the blade. ‘The head…’ he repeated again as he eyed the weapon.

‘Yes. Do not fail me, Drakos. You have one month to achieve this.’

He blinked. ‘One month?’

‘One month,’ she repeated. ‘You will receive more details from my assistant in the morning. You must destroy the documents once the assassin is clear on the details. Depending on which country the target is in, I will arrange the collection of the head. We believe the subject will travel to America, but one of my minions will confirm this with you first.’

She narrowed her eyes at Drakos. ‘The assassin will need to drug the victim with this. Don’t worry, it’s odourless.’ The woman handed him a small vial of white powder. ‘And give the assassin this phone.’ She passed a phone to Drakos. ‘The assassin will receive a call once the target is in place, and we know for sure how long they will be in the area.’ The woman then produced a black lacquered box. ‘This will grant invisibility. The assassin may use it as they wish. Do not open the box until they need it. And I want it back afterwards.’ Madame Basilissa’s shark-like eyes sharpened. ‘Understand?’ He gave a slight nod and tried not to gulp. Basilissa’s smile was a knife’s edge.

Daeira had done well—stealing the helm of invisibility with Minthe’s help. The nymph’s jealousy made her predictable. She was so desperate to become Hades’ consort that she would do anything once Madame Basilissa had promised to dispose of the irritating new Persephone. And when Hades discovered the theft? He would blame Zeus. He always did.

Suppressing a smug grin, Basilissa turned back to Drakos. ‘The assassin will fly privately. Diplomatic immunity has been arranged. Details forthcoming,’ she stated, and Drakos nodded again, a feeling of foreboding choking his throat.

‘Ten million has been transferred; the rest will be sent when the contract is honoured.’ Drakos resisted the urge to grin. ‘But be aware, Mr Drakos.’ Her gaze chilled. ‘I do not tolerate failure. It would be unfortunate for those you care about to bear the brunt of my wrath.’

A razor-sharp panic clawed at Drakos’s insides, and pressure clamped down on his chest. He forced a tight smile, schooling his features. ‘Do not worry, Madame Basilissa. My assassin is… unmatched.’ He inhaled deeply through his nose, trying to calm his racing heart.

‘Good.’ She returned to her papers.

The meeting was over. Drakos ground his teeth at the abrupt dismissal. He placed the dagger, phone, and vial in his briefcase, tucked the box under his arm, and left the office.

Once in the elevator, he pulled out his phone and dialled.

‘Hello, little flower. I’ve got a job for you,’ he said, voice low. ‘Start packing. It looks like you’re going back to your motherland… Meet me as soon as the plane lands—we’ll go through the schedule. You’d better not let me down…’ He paused, inhaling deeply. ‘I’m afraid there will be consequences if you don’t succeed. Failure is not an option.’