God of Fury (Legacy of Gods, #5)

by Rina Kent

He’s just so fucking hot.

“Thanks, baby.” “For what?” “For bringing me back.” “Bringing you back from where?” “Somewhere unpleasant.”

My face breaks into a grin. Does this mean Bran carried me to the bed? I inspect the clean sheets that I certainly didn’t change and yup, definitely him. He’s organized to the point of being a bit neurotic. Or a lot, depending on your definition of the word.

It’s about him. The way he cried out my name and held on to me and kissed me. The way he let me in. Even demanded it.

Maybe it’s the fact that you call him that and a few other nicknames, not to mention the fact that you got this fucking place just so he’d feel safe away from everyone else?

My king and the standard for everyone

But that was before he kissed me and asked me to fuck him. That was before he looked at me with those soft eyes. He pulled my anger apart with every touch, every kiss, and every groan and grunt. I couldn’t hold on to that rage when he put his hands on me.

The battered cells in my hyper brain didn’t mellow out, but his presence provided them with tunnel vision. A target for my monstrous energy. Others fuel that energy. My lotus flower tamed it.

He reads it immediately and I think he’ll ignore it, if not permanently then at least for a few minutes. If push and pull were a game, my lotus flower would be the undefeated champion. So imagine my fucking surprise when he replies immediately.

He’s fucking adorable.

My lips pull in what must look like the most stupid grin ever. I knew my efforts would come to fruition. Now, I need to work harder to make myself indispensable in his life. My mind might have quieted down today, but that dark thought about never giving him a way out stays the same.

I grin. He loves me. I just know he does. Okay, he doesn’t, but he cares, and that’s a good start.

“Are you mad about something, my lotus flower? Maybe a certain scene you saw earlier today?”

“In that case, should I call Simon to join us? That’s his name, by the way, Simon. He’s gay and loves threesomes. Or maybe you can sit down and watch as I rail him.” He lifts his fist and punches me in the face. Oh fuck. He’s really losing it, my Prince Charming. More. Give me more. I grin up at him. “I take that as a no?” “I’m going to fucking kill you.” “Promises, promises.” “Nikolai!” “Yes, baby?”

How can the asshole be so pliant when his body talks to mine? He acts as if I’m invisible outside, but when I’m touching him, kissing him, he’s all mine. Mine for the taking. Mine for the owning. Fucking mine

“Mmm. Stay like that.” I slap his ass cheek and I don’t miss the way he bites his lip as he follows my movement.

pepper kisses on his nape, his spine, and his ass cheeks, kissing and nibbling and leaving so many of my marks, he’ll never be able to remove them. Not now. Not ever. Mine. He’s fucking mine. And everyone who sees these marks will know he’s taken.

“Niko…”

Bran might be quiet, but he’s fucking loud in bed.

“They feel so fucking good… Fuck…you feel so fucking good, Niko.”

The kiss is sloppy at best, but it’s fucking erotic. I’ve never kissed anyone after sex, but it’s vital with Bran. I have to kiss him to feel him. To get beneath his skin and dismantle him.

“So I can go fuck Simon and the dozens of others waiting in my contact list?” This time, he whirls around and faces me, that menacing danger dancing in his coral-blue eyes. Yes, baby. Feed me your fire. “Fuck another person and we’re over, Nikolai.”

Only one addiction can actually lead to my decimation. One addiction forces me to forget everything else whenever he’s in my vicinity. Whenever he touches me, kisses me, fucks me. I pretend my outer skin doesn’t exist.

I’m not Brandon King. I’m not the broken entity who sees black ink instead of his reflection in the mirror. Not the weak man who’s more often than not swallowed by disgusting nausea and the terrifying notion of nothingness. I’m just me

His lotus flower. His Prince Charm...

But that vacuum of emotions only lasts for the duration of the mindless release and the unbound lust. It lasts until I lose his touch...

I do the forcing—every time. I just rip off the plaster and walk away, but it’s getting harder to willingly lose his lips, his touch. I’m almost scared of that moment when I have to lock myself in the bathr...

The more I enjoy myself, the more painful...

But it’s not as painful as forcing myself away from that damn penthouse. It’s not as painful as waking up every day and having this queasy feeling in my stomach because I know he’s waiting outside the mansion’s gate. Grinning. Nikolai isn’t really a cheerful man. I’ve ...

He doesn’t show them the version he shows me. Always smiling, grinning, and being an infuriating ray of sunshine, as if my mere presence makes him happy.

That part boggles my mind. Why would he be happy with me when I can’t stand myself most of the time?

Even if every day, I want to watch the blood endlessly flow out of my wrist. Today is one of those days. I didn’t go to Nikolai’s penthouse yesterday and I feel like I’m sucking breaths through a straw.

I must fall asleep, because when I open my eyes, my head is lying on a muscled thigh and long fingers are stroking my hair.

“Are you okay?” He slides his other hand from my chest to wrap it around my neck. “I am now.” “You lied about being hurt?” I ask with a ball lodged in my throat. “I never said I was. I just mentioned that I was not okay.” “You clearly are.” “No, I’m not. I’m lonely without you, baby.” I suppress a smile. “I thought you said you didn’t want to see, and I quote, ‘my fucking face.’” “I lied. I always want to see your face.” “I lied, too,” I whisper, then clear my throat.

I steal a glance at Bran, and he’s busy staring at his coffee as if searching for an answer to the fucking universe. Black, no sugar like his soul.

“Jealous, baby?” He fists my hair and tugs me back. “Don’t mess with me, Nikolai.” “Don’t mess with me.” I wrap my fingers around his throat and squeeze. “You have no right to act butthurt when you’re the one against a public relationship. If you don’t like people thinking I’m with Simon, boo-fucking-hoo. It’s your fault.”

What the fuck happened to him? Why does he go into this mode sometimes, as if he’s being chased by a monster?

I’ve seen my blood more often than not in the past two weeks. The other day, I let it flow and flow until I lost consciousness in the bathroom. A part of me wished I’d never wake up.

Art is the only thing that keeps me grounded. I don’t even go to practice anymore after I purposefully sprained my ankle. I’m withdrawing from social circles with all sorts of excuses. Studies. Work. Pending deadlines. I just don’t have the energy to deal with anyone or anything at the moment. But more alone time only pushes me toward bad habits. Cutting and blood and fucking self-loathing.

After I started uni, I began cutting my wrist, but only in the exact same spot, drawing over the three lines that could be hidden by a watch.

It was manageable, until it wasn’t. Until now, where I’m fantasizing about cutting my fucking wrist off.

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? You were never a booty call. I don’t even do those. And I’m the fucking toy, not you. I don’t even like running anymore. You ruined it like everything else. Fucking bastard. Fuck you. I’m messed up, Nikolai. Extremely so. You should be glad to have dodged a bullet.

Two weeks without him has been a fucking eternity. I didn’t care before him, but after him, it’s torture to go day in and day out without his touch. Survive without his presence, his flirtatious nature, and his clingy texts. Without his grins and his daft jokes. Without…

“Lotus flower…? What are you doing here?”

could swear I heard his voice when I was sleeping and even saw him sitting in the chair beside my hospital bed and felt him stroking my hair. But then again, I’ve often been delusional when it comes to him.

Me But you never told me what you want. Don’t fuck with me, Nikolai. You’re the one who fucked with me first. You texted me and were talking big on the phone and even came to save me. Maybe you’re the one who can’t stay away from me. You’re right. I can’t. I tried and it’s not working.

My gaze continues tracking his movements as he strides toward me, and fuck. I missed seeing him up close in his elegant shirts and pants, looking so hot and fit. Though a part of me wishes he was a bit disheveled like I’ve been this entire time.

They’re intense and fucking angry, but I sense something different there. Lust as ferocious as mine. Longing that almost matches my own.

“Have you touched someone else, Nikolai? Hmm?” I stare up at him, clenching and unclenching my hand on the sofa to keep from grabbing his hip or his back. Anywhere I can touch him. God, I fucking missed the heat rolling off him and the feel of his skin on mine. Just one more push. A tiny one. “Why are you asking? Jealous?” “Don’t fuck with me. I didn’t even agree to the damn breakup, so technically, we were never done. So tell me, Nikolai. Who did you fuck? Simon? Someone else? Couldn’t keep it in your pants, right? You’re pathetic.” “If I’m pathetic, then what are you? Delusional?” “If you don’t tell me, I’m walking out right now. Who was it? Who took my fucking place?” “No one.” His eyes widen and his grip loosens around my hair, even as he keeps me in place. “Really?”

His answer comes in the most beautiful form. My lotus flower sighs with resignation as he crashes his lips to mine.

I’m trapped again, completely helpless in the arms of the man who flipped my world upside down and refuses to leave. The man because of whom I’ve barely slept since last week, sick with a level of concern I’ve never felt. Not even for myself.