Issa, however, remained still as stone, her gaze darting between the cold fury tightening Idan’s jaw and the flash of triumph in Artya’s eyes.
‘It would be an honor to join you all, especially given the infamy of the Rider family,’ she purred, gliding closer to Idan.
Artya slid toward the gap next to him, her hip brushing his shoulder as she tried to wedge Sheba aside.
‘I believe this spot is spoken for,’ Issa clipped, leaning over to block the Sacran woman’s path.
Artya’s lip curled, but she draped herself over Idan’s other upper arm instead, squeezing into the narrow space between him and Molan.
She leaned down, whispering into Idan’s ear. ‘Fokk, I’ve missed you, lover.’
It was loud enough for Sheba to hear, and she stiffened.
To his credit, Idan reared away from Artya, the sigils on his neck flared a violent, angry dark gold.
He exhaled, biting back a curse as his arm went around his rightful lover’s waist. ‘Have you met Sheba, my other half?’
Artya’s eyes blazed with a heat she quickly suppressed, shooting Sheba a tight, fake smile.
‘A pleasure. I hope you don’t mind us former amours catching up.’
‘As long as you behave,’ Sheba murmured, matching the goddess’s faux simper.
Artya appeared nonplussed, flicking her eyes over Sheba, raising a chin in a nonchalant greeting before turning back to Idan.
‘We Sacrans believe in open love, so am I now welcome to your harem, Simi’Ren?’
As she spoke, her elegant fingers plucked a piece of fruit from his plate while her other hand wandered beneath the table, boldly squeezing his thigh.
Idan’s growl was a tectonic shift.
‘Enough,’ he rumbled, the sound vibrating the glassware.
‘How do you two know each other?’ Harlow interjected. She stood over them with a platter of flatbreads, sensing blood in the air as she glared at the newcomer.
‘Idan and I were affianced on Sacra,’ Artya said, her voice dripping with feigned nostalgia. ‘He was always my true love, but his wars kept us apart. Our passion never faded, did it, darling?’
‘Strange that. I haven’t thought of you for months,’ the god warrior in question growled.
Before Sheba could respond, Artya leaned over and took a deliberate, mocking sip from his wine glass, her eyes locked on Sheba’s with glittering, dark intent.
Idan snapped. ‘Fokkin’hell.’
He surged to his feet and stepped out of his bench.
With a muttered grunt of ‘Excuse us,’ he snagged Artya by the arm, hauling her upright.
He led her toward a shadowed stone alcove out of earshot and towards the back of the dim restaurant, ignoring the Rider family’s curious and amused glances.
Sheba followed, her right hand still clutching her goblet of Pinot, concerned that he might lose his unholy shit and level the building.
‘Let’s please keep calm, honey,’ Sheba said, rounding up on the pair, her voice steady despite the divine anger rolling off his bunched muscles. ‘Artya, I think it’s best you leave now.’
Artya laughed, the sound like breaking crystal as she sneered at Sheba.
‘You poor, fragile, misled, mortaltemporius. You’re but a heartbeat in his timeline. A plaything. He’s using you to fill the silence until he grows bored. When your skin sags and your breath stops, he’ll still be exactly as he is now. And he will come back to me, because only a deity can love a god.’
‘I’ve seen and heard enough,’ Sheba snapped.
