God of Fury (Legacy of Gods, #5)

by Rina Kent

Why did you come into my life if you were going to leave? Why did you make me addicted to you if you didn’t plan to stay? If I say I’m sorry will you come back?

Until I’m drunk on his taste, his smell, and his warmth. On his breath and the feel of his flexing muscles beneath mine. But most importantly, on the pulse that beats in his throat. He’s alive. He’s here. His hands land on my hips, tugging me against him as he kisses me with the same ferocity, digging himself into that nook in my chest even I have no access to. But I don’t care. As long as I can feel his heartbeat thundering against my chest, as long as I can hear his growls of pleasure, as long as I can smell his intoxicating scent, I can flounder in self-hatred afterward. I can take on those vicious voices. I can pretend I’m not an entity of emptiness with no sense of identity whatsoever. I can take anything as long as I have him. Because Nikolai is the only one who kisses the pain out of me, even if temporarily.

The longer I forget, the more cruelly my head torments me. But I’m done with my daily dose of self-loathing now. I’m fine. Probably. Hopefully.

“Tell me something in Russian.” I cup his chin and stare deep into those eyes that have become my undoing as I say the words Grandpa said Russians take seriously and literally. “Ya nee ma goo bees tee byah zhit.”

“You’re an artist’s dream muse.” “Then make me yours.” He laughs. “Maybe you already are.” “Fuck yeah. That’s a good thing, right?”

“Tell me something you noticed about me no one else knows.” “Hmm. You have eleven moles on your body.” “Okay…” “I’m not done. You have two hundred seventeen lashes on your right eye and two hundred twelve lashes on your left one.” His lips part. “You…counted them?” “Almost every night since you stayed over. That’s last night’s count. Might change today. You tend to lose some on your left eye.” “But why would you count my lashes?” “I love them. They’re dark and long and so fucking pretty when you’re sleeping. Besides, no one but me can count them, so that’s a huge bonus.”

I have no words to say, so I lower my head and capture his lips in a slow kiss. That queasy feeling only gets more intense the longer my mouth ravages his. My insides melt when he meets me stroke for stroke, grunt for grunt. If I wasn’t sure before, I am now. I’m completely and irrevocably in trouble because of Brandon King.

“Because I’m fucked up.” His voice sounds like death’s lullaby, anguished and shattered. “Because I look at myself in the mirror and get the urge to shatter it to pieces. Because I’ve been haunted by the bitter taste of nausea and self-loathing for so long, I don’t know how to live without them. I was doing fine, pretending and putting on a façade, so why the fuck did you ruin that? Why did you come into my life and destroy every wall I built and ruin every lie I told myself? Why do you touch me like I’m beautiful? Why don’t you hate me when I can’t stand my-fucking-self?” “I can’t hate you, baby. It’s impossible.” I lift his wrist up and brush my lips at the edge of the cut.

“Please…” His voice is muffled. “Please let me hold you like this. It doesn’t hurt when you touch me.” I grab onto him, pressing him further into me, harder, closer, until I’m not sure where I end and he begins. Seems that Bran runs way deeper than I thought, but as he hangs on to me as if I’m his only anchor, I know that I’ll never let him go. Not even if I burn with him. For him. In him. I’d willingly catch fire if he so much as asked me to.

No, it’s not them I was scared of. It’s me. It’s always my-fucking-self. I’m my own worst enemy.

A few weeks ago, Mia introduced me to Maya, and she’s nice, but I prefer Mia’s company. We’re both introverts and get along without talking much.

I missed his comforting heat and that look in his eyes. Maybe the reason I’ve been on that high longer than usual is because I didn’t have him. He has a way of grounding me, pulling me down when I go up. Since he came into my life, I haven’t gone on self-destructive sprees—except the last few weeks. In the past, I couldn’t care less about whether or not I survived the violence and the mayhem. Now is different. Now, the thought of being without him terrifies me. Death terrifies me because it would take me away from him. I’m never leaving him again. Not even if I have to inhale pills and turn into the zombie I despise for it.

My wife has fallen into an irreparable puddle on her chair, but she’s not what’s making my blood run cold. It’s the look in Bran’s eyes as his entire body angles in Nikolai’s direction. It’s awe and affection but also fear. A fear so deep, even I can see it. What is he afraid of? He doesn’t look to be scared of Nikolai, more like he’s scared for him. But why and from what? There’s also another disturbing emotion. I recognize that look. That’s how I looked when I first realized the depth of the emotions I felt for his mother. He’s in love with him. It’s not a crush, mere admiration, or a fling. My son is fully, truly, and irrevocably in love with the gangster. God rest my soul in fucking pieces.

“You want me to believe I’m better than all the men and women you fucked your way through?” “They were only physical. They meant nothing.” “And I do?” “Baby, you mean fucking everything.” My heart does that violent thud again and I’d swear he can feel it against his chest, but I don’t care enough to pull away from him. I tease my fingers over his new tattoo, a sense of raging possessiveness engulfing me. “Good. Because you’re my property, Niko. You have the ink to prove it.” “And you are mine,” he breathes out with the same intense possessiveness.

“Absolutely, and, baby?” He kisses the top of my head and his next words nearly give me a heart attack. “Even if you hate yourself, I’ll love you for the both of us.”

I didn’t want anyone to see me. Because the moment they get past the perfect image to look inside, they’ll find a grimy, spineless piece of fucking shit whose worst enemy is his own mind.

The door opens and I look up, hope blossoming in my chest with a force that hurts. But that’s the thing about hope, it exists to be crushed.

“I’m sorry. I thought… I thought you’d find me weak and revolting. The idea of you seeing me differently haunts me, Nikolai. I don’t want to lose you.” “But you’re okay with me losing you? I’m a shell without you, Bran.” He drags my hand to him and slams it against his chest. “This thing only beats for you and because of you. I used to live an aimless life where adrenaline was my god, but you came along and tamed my demons. You balance me. You complete me. You’re fucking in me. So seeing you bleeding out on the floor was no different than watching myself die. No, it was worse. I’ve never felt so scared for my life, but you…you’re my everything. How could you do that to me? To us?”

“I’m supposed to be the one who proposes,” I grumble while slipping his ring onto his finger. “I hate you for beating me to this.” “You pursued me in the beginning. I had to be the one who proposed first.” I glide my hand across his nape and pull his forehead to mine again. His fingers stroke my hair as we breathe each other in. This is the happiest moment of my life and I want to soak in it for as long as possible. “The rest of our lives, huh, baby?” He nods, lips curling into the most gorgeous smile. “The rest of our lives, baby.” “I wouldn’t have it with anyone but you.” My mouth reaches for his and I kiss him slower this time, taking my fill of him.

I love this man with everything I have and don’t have. I love him with my sane and insane parts. He’s my lotus flower. My Prince Charming. The love of my life. Mine.