Filthy Gods (American Gods, #0.5)

by R. Scarlett

He was a mere man, I knew that, but he and his friends were treated like gods. It didn’t help they looked like it, too. Intimidating, perfect and deadly.

There was something untouchable, something holy and unholy about the boys. Sacred and sinful all at once. Bastards of Grace. Fame, wealth and power poured out of them. They were the things of legends and myths.

“You’re a god, Nathaniel Radcliffe,” I gasped, my fingers tangling in his dark mane, pulling hard. “A filthy god.”