Page 62 of Queen of Tempests and Sin

‘What the… ’ I breathed, staring wide-eyed at the stunning woman.

Sephy waved a breezy hand in my direction. ‘Cordie, meet one of my best friends, Bronte. Bronte’s a mage. She travels through teleportation gateways. Don’t worry, it’s totally normal.’

Yeah, totally normal. Of course it was.

‘Good to meet you, Cordie,’ Bronte said, her voice pure velvet. She tilted her head as she gave me a slow once-over; her incandescent golden-brown eyes were warm, curious, but not judgy. Her midnight-black hair flowed in waves to her waist, and her tailored trouser suit hugged every curve of her spectacular figure like it had been stitched by actual gods.

‘So, you’re the woman who has caught the eye of the fractious god of the sea?’ Bronte’s golden-brown eyes sparkled with amusement as she looked me over again, like I was both a puzzle and an answer.

I blinked. ‘Apparently. I must’ve lost a bet in a past life.’

She laughed… a deep, smooth sound that made her seem even more regal. ‘Or won one, depending on your taste for chaos.’

‘Oh, I’m all stocked up on chaos, thanks.’

Sephy spluttered into her wine. ‘You have no idea how much. I still can’t believe he didn’t kill you after you tried to assassinate him. He must have it bad!’ Her tinkling laughter rang out like wind chimes on a summer breeze.

I groaned and covered my face with one hand. ‘Can we not bring that up like it’s a funny anecdote?’

‘Oh, honey, it is a funny anecdote,’ Sephy grinned, clearly delighted.

Bronte raised an elegant brow. ‘You did try to kill him.’

‘In my defence, I was doing my job,’ I muttered into my wine.

‘And now you’re drinking wine with him and flirting at parties?’ Bronte’s eyes gleamed. ‘You move fast.’

‘She stabbed him again tonight,’ Sephy helpfully added.

Bronte looked way too pleased. ‘I like her already.’

‘Half the divine pantheon is obsessed with you,’ Sephy said a little too cheerily. ‘And the other half’s waiting for the drama to unfold.’

Bronte sipped her wine, then grinned. ‘I, for one, live for drama, and you, Cordelia, are giving main-character vibes.’

‘I didn’t exactly sign up for all this. It’s a fucking nightmare,’ I muttered sullenly.

Sephy leaned in, eyes glittering with mischief, her grin sharp enough to cut glass. ‘No, Cordie. It’s not a nightmare, it’s karma. You’re his karma, and trust me, there’s a difference.’

‘And probably his future aneurysm. Honestly, it’s romantic,’ Bronte added with a smirk.

I groaned. ‘I need new friends.’

Sephy and Bronte clinked their glasses together. ‘Too late.’

Thanatos joined us with Hecate, Perseus, and three men I’d never seen before.

‘This is Charon,’ Thanatos said, gesturing to the striking stranger. So this was Charon—the guy myths painted as a creepy old boatman. His Achilles-like golden hair tumbled around his shoulders, and his unfathomable honey-brown eyes shimmered with curiosity as his gaze met mine. I smiled politely and shook his hand.

‘And I’m Dionysus,’ said a large man, squeezing between them, his voice rich with amusement. The god of wine and pleasure. Honestly, finally—a job description I could get behind. Dionysus was effortlessly dashing, with a roguish smile and an air of mischief that clung to him like expensive cologne. He wore tight leather pants and a garishly bright Hawaiian shirt that hugged his Corinthian shoulders like it had been tailored by a drunken god with excellent taste.

‘Hello Cordelia. We’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Hermes.’ The third man stepped forward. Hermes was tall, with wavy, chin-length auburn hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His topaz eyes sparkled with mirth, and the corners of his mouth twitched in a knowing smile as he cocked his head. Hermes was god of speed and messages, and from the way he grinned at me, I figured half of Olympus’s drama probably started with him whispering shit just to see what happened. Honestly? I liked him already.

I noticed Charon giving Bronte full-on puppy dog eyes, like she hung the stars and moon and probably made his coffee in the morning. I smirked. The poor guy was a goner.

She, of course, was utterly oblivious. A walking, talking siren in stilettos, and completely unaware she was leaving a trail of heart-eyed immortals in her wake.

Sephy leaned towards me, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Charon’s staring at Bronte like he wants to write sonnets about her.’