Page 4 of Immortal Sun (Dark Olympus)

CHAPTER 4

CLEO

“Myths which are believed in, tend to become true.” —George Orwell

M y room is enormous and modern, black framed windows overlook the rocky beach with a perfect view of the Olympic Mountain range. I hope to God Jake is camping at some hot spring and not really out there isolated in the glacier ridden peaks. Shaking off my fear, I focus on my room.

I do a small twirl. All the bedding is pristine white, matching the curtains in complete defiance of the dark wooden features everywhere else.

What started as a chill only grew as I unpacked and got ready for the evening.

Literally no matter how many clothes I have on or how close I stand to the fireplace, it’s impossible, it’s like the sun fell out of the sky or something. I even laid down in the bed before training and tried throwing blankets over myself. It’s not like I have windows open or anything.

My teeth chatter as I change into a fresh set of clothes, a pair of faux loose leather pants and a black low cut t-shirt. I don’t know why I pick it, especially since I’m freezing my ass off. I grab a pair of cute Converse and call it a night. My hair’s already a mess so I pull it into a tight bun, then I add some lip gloss.

I don’t bring my phone since that would be rude, and who would I call anyway? Jake, again? The reminder makes my stomach sink. Everyone seems to think he’s fine and just on a random adventure but all I have is missed calls, a weird voicemail about finding something, and nothing since then. He should have waited for me at the very least before starting his solo adventure.

When I find him I might actually kill him.

I adjust my bracelet on my wrist and momentarily touch the half sun amulet, wishing something electrical would happen, or that it would speak to me. I don’t believe in magic or fate, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to believe; it just means my belief is dead now that everything’s been taken from me. My hands brush the silver. Nothing happens. The only time it ever has was when Jake and I put the sun pieces together. A sliver of orange light emitted from it then, but it freaked us out so bad we stopped immediately and when we told our mom, we got grounded for nearly breaking the bracelets.

I sigh and walk out of the bedroom and click the door shut, then walk by Jake’s room. When Cyrus let me in, I noticed all of his things were still there down to his textbooks and some of his clothes. It smelled like him. And the smell brings back my renewed hope. He’ll be back. I just need to enjoy my time here while I can. I just need to wait for his return.

I also need to focus first on getting through tonight without faceplanting into the food from exhaustion. Maybe more answers will come. I walk down the hallway and then down the stairs to the first floor.

By the time I make it into the loud bar, I’m officially five minutes late. I look around and frown. The dull roar of the room isn’t too crazy, but what catche my attention is the nice table with a black linen table cloth surrounded by men in suits. It was out of place.

I almost trip on the bottom step when several seats are pushed out all at once. There’s a man with ash-colored hair and dark eyes staring at me from the head of the table opposite Cyrus, and there’s another sullen-looking guy who seems to be about my age—the one guy who refuses to stand—with bright red hair, crystal-blue eyes, and what might be a permanent scowl.

Another man with dark hair is penetrating me with his eyes like he can’t decide if he wants to shake my hand or cut it off, his hair is pulled back into a low ponytail.

Every single guy is built, and I don’t mean in an “oh, you do CrossFit” sort of way, but in a big hands, broad shoulders, “I could kill you” sort of way.

There must be something in the wine they’re drinking because they’re all stunning, even the angry one who remains sitting. Seriously, I half expect him to put his feet on the table and yawn.

“Our new trainee and hopefully manager.” Cyrus holds up a crystal wine glass. “Cleo.”

“How very interesting.” Sullen guy brushes pieces of his ash hair away from his face. His eyes are a vibrant, angry green, his mouth is turned down like he’s pissed at the world, but his fingers are strangely feminine and long as he grabs his wine and starts to chug. Drops of red wine slide down his chin. He wipes it away with his sleeve and pours more, he reminds me of Daemon from House of Dragons . The other two give me polite half smiles that seem more like sneers. Remembering my need to make a good first impression, I smile genuinely in return.

Cyrus gets up and walks toward me. The way he moves is almost reserved, like he’s holding back from sprinting, every muscle in his neck bulges as he approaches. His massive hands pull the white wingback chair away from the table. I awkwardly sit as he pushes me forward. Is this part of the training?

His hand lingers near my shoulder, gripping the chair. Waves of heat pulse from him, the warmth is inviting after being so cold upstairs. I lean back just enough that I can feel my shoulder graze his fingers.

I touch my bracelet for good luck and take a deep breath.

He exhales, just barely, then grasps one of my shoulders I turn to him as he speaks.

His lips form an amused smile. “We’re so very glad you could make it.”

“Well,” I really want to reach for the glass of wine right in front of me, but I’m training. “You did say training starts at seven.”

“And continues for way longer than that.” One of the guys says into his glass.

Cyrus stiffly walks back to his seat, and the rest of the guests sit, each of them finding their wine glasses more interesting than me—not that I care.

“So,” the pretty sullen guy leans forward, smile predatory. “How long does training take you? How familiar are you with mixing drinks? Wines?”

That’s a weird question considering I just got here but I run with it anyway, he’s probably just trying to be insulting? His expression is one of challenge.

I place the black napkin on my lap. “I’m not sure. I hope I can at least prove myself tonight when I start training with Cyrus.”

The guy with dark hair pipes up. “It’s rare for him to join the training, you could pick any one of us you know.”

“No, thank you.” I say quickly. “I mean I at least kind of know Cyrus and I know I’ll be in good hands.” I hope I didn’t just insult them all.

“Bet I could make you so jealous you’ll explode.” He says to Cyrus lowly, so softly I almost missed it. Turning to me, he twists his wine glass with his fingertips with slow exaggerated movements. “He knows how good I am with my hands around all sorts of things in the bar.”

I regard him closely. Is he already drunk?

Cyrus’s jaw clenches. He abruptly turns to the guest with the slicked back black hair. “Control your son’s mouth before I control it for him.”

Son?

The man clears his throat. “Apologies, Cleo, my son has a rare disease where he’s unable to control the words coming out of his mouth—it’s called stupidity.”

I reach for my wine glass then lift it to my mouth but look to Cyrus for permission first, he inclines his head. “It shows.” I answer.

Sullen guy shoves away from the table causing some of the silverware to jangle to the floor.

“Tyrell.” His dad barks out his name. “Sit down before you embarrass yourself even more. You know the rules.”

Tyrell braces himself over the table, his hands press against the wood like he’s ready to start making firewood out of it. His green eyes flash. “Oh yes, the rules. If you’re so strict about them, maybe Cleo should know what she’s getting into before everything?—”

“Enough!” Cyrus shouts slamming a hand down onto the table hard enough to make me jump a foot. Flames leap and flicker in the fireplace like a piece of wood just fell, though I don’t see anything from my seat. “Cleo’s my new employee, which means everyone needs to attempt not to be a complete jackass.”

His blue eyes swirl with fury, locking into mine with the intensity of a storm. “At least one thing Tyrell says is accurate, however.” He clears his throat like he’s uncomfortable. “You’ll need to know all of the drinks by heart, we have a very particular menu at Styx, most of which you’ll be attempting to sample tonight.”

“You’re serious?” I ask with a faint smile. “I mean maybe if I take tiny sips, and we’ll have food right?”

Cyrus doesn’t answer. Instead, he beckons a staff member over, and within ten seconds I’m being served some sort of fish, fresh vegetables, and four more small samples of wine with a menu placed gently next to my plate.

“Dag,” Tyrell says between bites. “How are things in our crime ridden City? You always have the best gossip.” Well, that was a subject change if I ever saw one.

Tyrell’s father rolls his eyes and takes a bite of fish before shoving his plate forward in disgust like he knows how the conversation is going to go. It’s strange, he looks the same age as his sons. His hair is slicked to perfection but doesn’t look oily like a used car salesmen; instead, it looks classy like he was born out of his time or something. Even his gray suit is immaculate, with a red shirt beneath the vest. He’s wearing spectacles that look oddly suiting, and the closer I look the more he looks like he possibly East Asian.

Dag, the only other man at the table, is cutting his carrots into tiny bites like he has no teeth in his mouth and needs them as small as possible to digest them. His auburn hair is a mass of messiness. His lips press together in annoyance. His skin is darker than the others, but his eyes are extremely blue. “Oh, you know even big cities have rumors. Yesterday someone reported a sighting of the giant squid that the locals call the Kraken, said his dad nearly had a heart attack. I’m sure it was just drift wood.” He laughs and shoves at his carrots with his fork. “And just yesterday a tourist asked the mayor where they could see the giant squid we’ve been keeping here for a hundred years.”

I smile and look down at my food. “Are people really that gullible?”

Dag turns to me then points his fork at Tyrell. “Exhibit A.”

“Very funny.” Tyrell crosses his arms, his bulky chest strains against a black T-shirt. “If anything, they should be worried about waking up the cranky ass Kraken.”

Cyrus starts choking and nearly spits out his drink then wipes his mouth with his napkin. “You can barely walk on two feet without tripping let alone holding your own against a kraken.”

“Hear, hear!” Tyrell’s father lifts his wine and bursts out laughing.

Dag joins in. “You’d have to find your courage first and I heard since failing your challenge you’ve been drinking it away at Apep’s pub.”

Tyrell rolls his eyes. “Apep has great beer, and I have courage I just don’t have super powers like others to match it.”

He locks eyes with Cyrus. Weird.

“One loses courage when in the presence of an immortal.” His eyebrow arches. “Right, Cyrus?”

I smile at their teasing, knowing that it’s in good-natured fun, but I’m semi-weirded out that they’re suddenly talking as if immortals and krakens exist.

“Those are my favorite movies right down to Hercules. I still can’t get over the cartoon version. I have every song memorized,” I should really stop talking. And sampling wine.

Dag snorts out a laugh. “Hercules, huh? Heard he’s even stronger than…Ra.”

Cyrus drops his fork onto his plate, and the room goes quiet. Glancing around the table, he gives a nonchalant shrug. “It slipped.”

Tyrell suddenly looks very intrigued. “How very fascinating.” He leans in. “I’d be intrigued to know what you find so… attractive about it.”

“Yes,” Cyrus agrees, suddenly recovering from his fork slippage. “What do you love about those…stories?”

I pause mid-bite and set my fork down. Did I offend them? I lick my lips and suddenly feel hot as all eyes fall to me. “I’m like anyone else I think. I love the fantasy of something that’s not the reality we live in.”

Cyrus leans in over the table, his smile almost. “Is there something wrong with the current reality?”

I scoff. “War, famine, more war, fighting, divisiveness. Everything is wrong with our reality. Why else would people jump to social media? Why else would we be consumed with technology? Reality sucks, it’s total chaos. Fantasy is our win.”

He leans back a bit. “Chaos and Fantasy are often one.”

I’m clearly a bit buzzed and in need of a nap, because I keep talking. “Well, why is this place called Styx other than Cyrus has a private collection of Egyptian artifacts. It’s his escape from the chaos I’m assuming.”

Everyone is silent. Did I say too much?

“It’s to piss off Anubis.” Tyrell snorts. “Such a softie these days, one would think he wasn’t even a god anymore.”

I frown in confusion. How am I not following this conversation? “I’m sorry, what?”

Cyrus flashes a tight smile. “He has a friend named Anubis, piece of work, right? Practically a demon.”

Everyone laughs around the table. Why is that funny?

“Cyrus, has a vested interest in this year’s eclipse, smartest one in the family,” Tyrell’s father adds.

“Wait, family?” I look around the table.

“Apologies,” he says. “My name’s Inti. You’ve had the unfortunate privilege of meeting my son Tyrell, and this is Daggon or Dag. We’re Cyrus’s brothers, sort of.”

“Brothers,” I repeat. “But you all look like you’re the same age and wouldn’t that make you his brother, and you his nephews?” Wait that’s not right.

“The mountain air,” Cyrus pipes up. “It’s some of the best air in the world, right Tyrell? Make sure to take a lot of walks during your time here.”

“I’m sure I will.” I need to find Jack anyways.

“It’s puzzling,” Inti says. “And sad. Seattle and the Olympic mountain range are no longer… well it used to be different. A lot of things used to be in this forsaken world.”

Cyrus clears his throat and stands. “Everything has a time.”

“And some of us are bored of it,” Tyrell says under his breath. “I’ll see you guys later. I’m out to hunt.”

Inti rolls his eyes. “Stop calling it that.”

“What?” Tyrell shrugs on a black peacoat and winks. “None of the women seem to mind when I say it to them.”

“Because they want to be your prey,” Daggon says in a bored tone. “How old are you again?”

Tyrell’s eyes flash. “Unless…” He turns those beautiful blue eyes toward me. “…I already have my prize right here?”

“Go,” Cyrus barks. “Before I break your neck and feed you to the Kraken.”

I laugh at his joke.

Nobody else does.

The table stills for a minute. The air buzzes with tension.

Tyrell swallows slowly, his once confident eyes waver before a forced smile appears on his full lips. “He’d probably rather eat her.”

Every muscle in my body freezes. Me? What?

He’s probably drunk, though he’s walking in a straight line and didn’t slur his words. Maybe it’s just part of the Seattle culture?

He storms out of the bar.

I almost ask about the tension, but everyone’s already getting up. Daggon grabs his navy peacoat and a black scarf while Inti walks over to Cyrus and puts his hand on his chest then whispers something.

Cyrus’s eyes never leave mine as he listens.

He finally nods his head.

The room suddenly feels too small for both of us. “Um, thank you.” I start to grab my plate, then set it back down. “Should I clear the table?”

“We have waiters for that.” He stands.

I have trouble looking away from him and can’t explain why, other than he’s just really good looking. Yeah, that has to be it; that and the wine. “I know but technically that is my job.”

“Not tonight it is.”

“Have some Scotch with me.” He asks it, but the words feel more like a command as he walks around the bar and grabs a few bottles then slowly starts to pour small amounts in each glass. “These are our top shelf bottles, compliments of the one you met previously, Mason. He’s Scottish born, rich as shit, and we’re the only bar he’ll sell to.”

“Oh?” I sip the whiskey; it burns down my throat. “What’s that?” I take a look around. The ambiance is really dark down to the Mahogony bar top and even crazier when you see the wingback chairs scattered around the large room. Most of the tables are high tops but a few, like the one I was just at, were regular sized. The door keeps swinging open as people start to filter in. My eyes narrow when a man with what looks like red contacts walks a woman towards the wall and presses her against it, drink in hand. I look around for security then see her small smile, he takes a swig of his glass then grips her by the chin, her lips part. He quickly kisses her, she visibly swallows then looks up at him with what can only be described as absolute obsession.

“Distracting, isn’t it?” Cyrus says making me jump a foot. I spill the drink in my hand and try to quickly set it down, but miss the countertop, making it topple and shatter loudly on the floor. Without thinking, I get down on my hands and knees to clean up the mess not realizing the glass nearly exploded, sending shards everywhere. Belatedly I realize my kness and hands are peppered with small cuts.

Do I move?

Tell him?

It hurts. Bad. Great. I already messed up on my first night because I saw two people kiss. I wince when I try to stand up. Cyrus is immediately by my side lifting me into his arms and placing me on the counter. Oh, um okay.

He examines my knees hooking his hands gently behind them to pull me forward from the bartop. “I’m okay.”

His hands are so warm though. They feel nice.

I instantly think of the kiss I’d just witnessed and imagine his fingers fanning the flames across my skin. I rebuke every and all weird thoughts about my boss immediately. I’m just tired.

He leans down and blows across my bare skin. Immediate heat slams into my body so hard that my eyes close. Dizzy, when I open my eyes he’s standing up and not even touching me. “Better?”

I blink down at my skin, you can barely see the small dots of blood and the glass is all but gone. He holds up a rag and dumps it in the trash. “Shall we continue this in my office?”

This ? What is this ?

The corner of his mouth lifts in an enticing smile. “The whiskey tasting, Cleo.”

“Yes!” I did not need to yell in his face while my own is probably blushing like crazy. What’s wrong with me? I fight the urge to fan myself from the heat pulsing through my body. “I mean, yeah probably safer for the glass.”

Kill me now.

“Yes, we must keep the glass safe at all costs from the new trainee.” He winks and holds out his hand. I grab it and hop off the bar and turn around just in time for the same guy kissing that one girl holds up two fingers.

Two of what? I panic for the two seconds it takes Cyrus to grab two new wineglasses and a bottle of wine without the label. He tosses it in the air then spins it like spin the bottle on the bartop, pops open the cork and pours them to the brim. “May the blood of the gods nourish you.”

Say what? I frown and reach for the bottle. “What is?—”

He jerks the bottle away. “You’re still in training. Whenever someone asks for a number of something but doesn’t specify what, you will always assume it’s for this one bottle.”

“Okay.” I watch him put it away in the freezer. “What’s in it?”

He smirks and leans forward until his face is inches from mine. “Why the blood of the gods, what else would it be?”

I narrow my eyes. “No, but seriously what is it?”

“I’m many things, Cleo, but I would never lie about something so sacred.” He winks. “Think you can help me carry the whiskey to my office or are you going to trip?”

I make a face. “I can walk and carry a few glasses.”

“Excellent, follow me.” He grabs four, I follow him slowly and when I look over my shoulder it’s to see the same couple answering a random dial up phone attached to the wall by a door. They hang up. The door opens into complete darkness. Before they walk in, they toss back their drinks and throw the glasses onto the ground while the door closes behind them.

Do they sell drugs here?

What the hell did Jake get me into?

It sure as hell isn’t a speakeasy.

I gulp and hurry after Cyrus. “So the drink, does it have like psychedelics in it?”

He sets the glasses down onto his large mahogany desk, it matches the bar perfectly. The rest of the room is pristine with large historical paintings, shelves of books on one side and a fireplace with two large blood red chairs facing it.

He leans against his desk and retrieves the glasses from my hands. “We don’t sell drugs if that’s what you’re insinuating and every drink here is as pure as the way the moon chases the sun.”

Weird analogy but I run with it. “So that room back there?—“”

He holds up a finger. “You still haven’t signed your NDA have you?”

Crap. No. I shift uncomfortably on my feet. “It was the only thing I haven’t signed but it seemed like a strange ask about a bar so I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“Simple.” He pulls out a sheet of paper and an ancient looking quill with a large orange feather on the top of it. “You are here to serve. You live and die by your service as anyone in this industry does. The customer however, is not always right. If you see something wrong, always come to me personally. We have a lot of wealthy clientele. Understand?”

No, not really. No bar has ever asked me to sign an NDA. Does he mean local celebrities? A chill runs down my arms. “Okay, I mean I guess if I have to sign to work here.” And I have nothing for me back home and I’m still waiting on Jake what choice do I really have?

He grabs a glass and sips. “Do you trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?” I counter with a smirk. “Sorry that sounded snarky.”

His eyes change in a way that’s so intense I take a step backwards. “You’re alone in Seattle. You’re all… alone . Aren’t you?” His whisper sends chills down my spine, his voice sounds like it’s really far away. I’m suddenly warmer than I’ve been all day. He leans over me. “My advice would be to sign and discover the treasure of the Nile, maybe then you’ll finally find yourself.”

My eyes start to burn with unshed tears.

His deep voice repeats in my head over and over again like a low rumble, accusatory, ringing true.

Alone. Alone. Alone.

“P-people know I’m here.” I find my voice, swallowing slowly as he does a small walk around me. “I mean, I have friends.”

Do I, though? Really?

“Cleo? Are you okay?” He lifts his glass to his full, sensual lips. “You don’t look well, and you started telling me you weren’t alone. You must be exhausted.” He presses a hand to my forehead and frowns.

What just happened?

I have the pen in my hand.

And somehow I’ve already signed on the dotted line.

When did I do that?

“What does the contract say again?” I ask in a quiet, damning voice.

“A little of this.” He walks over to his desk and sets down his glass next to it. “We went over this remember? Don’t be a nark and you’ll be good.”

Oh. Right. “So all employees sign this then?”

“Until the end.” He sighs. “Of their time here of course and then we simply burn the contract.”

I stare at him, really stare at him.

He’s so tall it tenses my neck to look up. His muscles are bulging through his black shirt and his eyes remind me of emptiness—shit, they’re deep fathomable, chaotic, and black ready to swallow me whole.

I hear screaming in my head and almost fall like I’ve been teetering over the edge only to have someone grab me back.

I stumble backwards.

“Cleo? Seriously are you okay?” he asks. He picks up a pen and holds it out toward me. “Don’t forget to date it. Beginnings and ends are important.”

With trembling hands I scribble down the date. Why does it feel like a countdown? I need to find my brother. I have little to no money and nowhere to go, but at least here I’m close to him. Plus, I’ve already signed my name.

I stare down at the piece of paper. When did that happen again? I’m so confused.

It’s in Egyptian. Is this some sort of flex or party trick?

He’s already signed on the other line.

His signature is beautiful, I don’t know why that’s what I fixate on, but I do.

His massive body moves behind me. I close my eyes. I can’t tell if it’s fear or lust, or anger that he’s making me question myself, my own morals at this moment. Again, he’s a complete stranger who’s my brother’s boss.

It feels so wrong that I want him closer.

I lean slightly, attracted to his heat.

“Are you still cold?” he murmurs in my ear.

I jump away and nearly knock over a stack of papers on his desk, but he slowly turns me around and bends over until we’re eye to eye.

I have to be seeing things. Maybe it’s from the alcohol, but it’s like there’s a darkness in his soul, in his eyes.

He blinks and breaks eye contact. “We can finish your training tomorrow.”

His eyes are sad, like even calling him his name is depressing. It’s strange, and what sort of boss makes you sign a contract in a different language? I look down at the contract again, there are countless names on it, not countless, hundreds, maybe thousands, where did the stack even come from? Mine is right on top in red pen. How huge is his turnover? I mean if this is the same NDA. Or maybe he has multiple companies.

Strange.

Even stranger, I’m disappointed. What is this stupid feeling in my chest? It’s foreboding, like I just did something I can’t undo, but it’s just a name right? All he wants is for me to use his name since I don’t work for him and to make sure I sign an NDA which is completely understandable given the situation.

“So, what does the contract say again?”

“For you?” Cyrus lifts up the paper. “This contract is binding and connected to your time here. Should you take any of the artifacts, break them, do anything that might expose what we do here at Raaidan Enterprises we can sue you, and when you sign, you agree to the binding terms.”

Ah, makes sense, so he has an entire empire, not just the bar, thus all the pieces of paper under mine. “And for others?”

The tilt of his head is close, not predatory but close. “Others? You mean other employees? It’s all the same thing that my lawyer drew up.”

Right. Why am I even worried about other employees right now? I think the amount of whiskey I had plus the weird company tonight is messing with my head.

I lick my dry lips. I’m suddenly so thirsty my throat burns. “Perfect. Sorry, I’m just a little out of it. I probably should have eaten more at dinner. Sorry Cyrus.”

He jerks back and inhales slowly, eyes closed, like he hasn’t breathed in a very long time. “It finally sounds nice. How strange.”

When he exhales, he looks down at me, his eyes no longer stormy. “Cleo.”

I get a sudden vision of an eclipse, the sun starts to get swallowed before it brightens again but it’s too bright, I prefer the dark. I rub my eyes and shake my head.

“Cleo?” He’s standing closer now. “Are you still with us or did you drink too much? You’re probably exhausted. Why don’t I get you to your room?”

I sway a bit. “Sorry, I just checked out for…a few seconds.”

“A minute actually, but you’re tired.” His smile is friendly as he points me toward the door. “Take a left, then follow the hall to the stairway up.”

“Left. Okay.” That was strange. I press my fingers to my temples as he reaches around me and opens the double doors.

I start going left; he gently points me to the right.

I walk like a zombie all the way down the hall and up the stairs, ending up in my room.

The last thing I remember is setting my alarm.

I dream of darkness. Of peace.