God of War (Legacy of Gods, #6)

by Rina Kent

I fell for the villain. It happened back when I was a clueless girl. But he ruthlessly broke my heart and trapped it in a jar. Since then, I’ve sworn to hate him to the end of my days. Eli King might be a savage devil, but I’m out of his way. And league. That is until I wake up in a hospital and find him holding my hand. He tells me the words that change my life forever. “We got married two years ago, Mrs. King.” So I set out to investigate how I landed myself into this marriage. Turns out, my memories are darker than my present. I thought I was ready for the hurricane.

I thought I could handle his soulless eyes and cold shoulder. I thought wrong. Nothing can stop my husband. Not the secrets surrounding us. Not the hatred between us. Not even me.

His eyes exude a bottomless darkness, and their stormy gray color never rages or revolts. Never deviates from the coldness I faced the day he shattered my heart to pieces and stomped all over it.

“Turn around and remove your distasteful presence from my sight, and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear your embarrassing confessions.”

Whoever said time heals everything has obviously ne...

So I snake my fingers into my hair, pulling it up, biting my lower lip while I stare into his black soul. “Fuck you,” I mouth.

I hate that I know all these details about him. I wish I could be hit with amnesia so I can just forget him, his favorite drink, his wardrobe choices, and his entire malicious personality.

“Only if nothing means literally freezing mid-note for, like, five minutes and then storming off the stage.”

“I had…a block.” Of senses. Of existence.

Why the hell do I manage to be like this and concern every single person I love about my mental state?

“Didn’t stop you when you were falling into a puddle at Eli’s uninterested feet.”

In fact, I hate He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.” “As you should, sis.”

“Only after my ring is on his finger.”

“I take after my beautiful bitch of a sister. Muah ha ha.”

“To what do I owe this displeasure?”

“The real question is.” His smooth, deep voice touches my warm skin like a whip. “What have you done to owe me the displeasure, Ava?”

The god was never a god, after all. He’s more akin to a devil. Sinful, seductive, and destructive.

People say eyes are the windows to the soul, but it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking, no matter how long you stare at them. They run deep—so deep that I was pulled into their midst once upon a time.

I cross my arms to stop my hands from giving away my mental state. If there’s something I’ve learned about Eli, it’s that he’s a master manipulator and a predator who wouldn’t hesitate to use people’s weaknesses against them.

“You might believe you’re the sun and that the world revolves around you, and I’d hate to burst your bubble, but no, no show I do is for you.”

“Even when you were looking at me the entire time you were acting like a prostitute?” I force a smile, refusing to fall for the provocation. “You know me. I love giving attention to admirers.” A curve touches the corner of his lips. “So I’m one of the admirers now?” “Clearly. Or you wouldn’t be following me around like a simp. Sorry, you’re not my type.” “Is this the part where I get on my knees and beg?” “I’m afraid that won’t cut it.” “How about if I send flowers and a box of chocolates?” “Unoriginal. Try harder.” “If I cry into my pillow?” “Only if I get to witness it personally.” “So I have a shot. Fantastic.”

“What do you want, Eli?” “From you? Nothing.” “And yet you’re haunting me like a vengeful ghost.”

“I’ll call when I have any fucks to give about your opinion of me.”

“Whoa there, soldier. Slow down on the stalkerish tendencies, would you?”

Fuck Eli. Fuck the cello. Fuck my fucking head.

Darkness materializes around me with depressing finality and I completely lose any sense of my physical body.

Like every time I get my episodes, I repeat the usual mantra I taught myself. It’s my attempt to prove my existence to the shadowy version of myself.

Did Eli just call me a good girl? The Eli King?

I peek at him and immediately regret it. His somber gray eyes are as angry as a hurricane and as tempting as the damn devil.

Like the Eli I’m used to and the Tin Man we all know and hate.

The fact that all of this happened during a time I have zero recollection of leaves me hollow.

He drove to the King household in the middle of the night and nearly drowned Eli in their pool.

even with that incident, and many others, including, but not limited to, chasing him with a golf club and sending thugs to beat him up, you still didn’t budge. Like, you weren’t even feeling sorry or anything. You were…cold.”

“It just doesn’t make sense. I’d never go against Papa, especially not for that psycho Eli.”

Long, cruel fingers squeeze my face as flashing anger engulfs me whole. “You’ll keep your goddamn mouth shut, Ava, or so help me God, I’ll sew it shut for you.” The door opens and I jolt as I meet those eyes. The same eyes that threatened me. No, they terrified me. I can still feel the harsh grip of his fingers around my jaw and the tremor that passed through me at the time.

Eli is my husband, but something tells me this marriage is more of an imprisonment. A way for him to control me. Sew my mouth shut, as he promised.

Dad taught me that people fear you when they can’t figure you out.

Which is why I’ve made it my mission to remain as clear of the public eye as possible. The eldest heir to two of the world’s largest empires is a mystery by all important accounts.

“Don’t touch Elie with your sullied presence,” she told me while pushing me away.

“You’re my wife and will go wherever I go, Mrs. King.”

Maybe a ghost. Or am I the ghost?

She still has throughout our marriage, so that’s not a major issue, per se.

Conveniently, or maybe inconveniently, depending on your angle, Ava erased all her memories from before our

wedding to the latest incident that nearl...

I saw the way she clenched the sheets and hid further into the pillow. And while she’s an expert at hiding from the world, she can’t escape me.

She is, however, my wife. My fucking property.

Yes, I contemplate breaking her neck sometimes, but that neck is too pretty to be broken.

A body made for fucking. And an attitude that will get her killed—and almost has countless times.

Though to be fair, it’s been a long time since she lost the spark, so seeing it back is a welcome change. For now.

What was that about applauding my resolve? Oh yes, I can’t actually kill my wife. That’s a felony in almost all countries as far as I’m aware.