God of Malice (Legacy of Gods #1) by Rina Kent

“The club? No, it’s for fucking power, Glyndon. I didn’t need to be part of the Heathens, since I’m already a Serpent. And do you know what we want? Those fucking Heathens and Elites wiped off the planet. You served as my opening to Landon, which is about the only reason I’d get close to a dull person like you. But then I thought, why not make that fucker Killian part of the equation, too? He likes your type—naive, innocent, waiting for corruption. So I talked about you a little, threw him the bait, and peeked his curiosity. Surprise, surprise. He fell right into it.”

Oh my God. The reason Killian came to this cliff was because of Devlin’s death, wasn’t it? It’s why we met. Because of this…this person I don’t know anymore.

I don’t think I did in the first place.

“It’s time you play your role properly, Glyn.”

He lifts me up by the hair and I shriek as the roots nearly rip, but I don’t focus on that when he drives his fist into my face.

My whole body jerks back as red-hot pain explodes in my nerve endings. My mouth fills with blood and I choke on it.

I attempt to escape from his hold, but he punches me in the ribs, knocking the breath out of my lungs.

“See, they’re all playing nice with each other and I don’t like that. What’s so fun about powerful secret societies if they’re not constantly at war? And I’m not talking about petty fights, night raids, rivals’ week, and the whole boring charade. I’m talking about actual blood, Glyndon, you feel me?”

I gather as much blood in my mouth as I can, then I spit it in his face. “I’m sorry I wasted a tear on you. I thought you struggled with mental illness, but you used my compassion to orchestrate your twisted anarchy. You’ll never get away with this, you sick bastard.”

He wipes the blood with his palm, then raises it and slaps me across the face with enough force to make me see white dots.

“Glyndon, Glyndon, dear fucking Glyndon. Boring, sweet, and absolutely forgettable Glyndon. You’re missing the whole point here. It’s not about whether or not I get away with it, it’s about fucking war. See, when you go running back to Killian, he’ll know we did it, since we’ve been getting on their nerves for a while now. If you go to Landon, the Elites will be after blood. It’ll be even more fun if you get Eli and Creighton involved. Do you hear that?” He cups his ear mockingly. “That’s the sound of a win-win.”

I smile, then laugh long and hard and so maniacally that even I start to believe I’ve gone crazy.

He shakes me with his hold on my hair. “What the fuck are you on, bitch?”

I spit in his face again. “You’ll never get what you want, Devlin.”

He punches me hard enough to throw me to the ground. My vision blackens and I think I hear him laughing and laughing and laughing.

He who laughs last laughs best, arsehole.

If he thinks I’ll go to either Killian or Landon and start a war, he’s sorely mistaken. I’ll wait until I heal and then I’ll talk to Jeremy and Gareth so they’ll take care of him.

They’re reasonable enough to not get too violent or start a war.

I think I’ve got the plan all in motion until I feel strong arms lifting my head.

For a moment, I think I’m imagining things, that in a moment of weakness, he’s the one who comes to mind first.

But when I strain to open my eyes, I find Killian’s dark face staring at me, his fingers stroking my cheeks, and his voice a raging volcano.

“Who the fuck did this to you?”

Unable to keep my eyes open, I let them close, a pained moan leaving my lips. For some reason, it feels safe with him here.

I don’t want it to, but it does.

And I can finally admit that.

“Fuck, baby. Open your eyes. Tell me who did this.”

I purse my lips and let the darkness swallow me in its clutches.





38





KILLIAN





Of all the feelings that exist in my arsenal, irritation and anger take the crown as the prominent ones.

Especially fucking anger.

There needs to be an outlet to relieve the constant rage lurking inside me. A little bit of violence, a little bit of mayhem.

A little bit of anarchy.

I thought I knew anger so well, that I was already acquainted with the sensation of bubbling blood in my veins, the tensing of my limbs, and the red covering my vision.

Turns out, I never knew what actual anger was until I found Glyndon’s half-unconscious body by the cliff.

After that stunt of posting her hand in another man’s on IG, I was already planning murder—all eloquent thoughts Mom planted in my head to get Glyndon back long gone.

Or maybe they weren’t. I was just using another method to pursue her.

And since she wasn’t answering my calls, I had to use the tracker I implanted in her phone to find out where she went.

When I realized where she was driving, a disturbing uneasiness hooked against my bones and left me on the edge. I drove with the recklessness of a madman who had every intention of risking his life.

The scene I find, however, is nothing I could’ve conjured in my fucked-up mind.

At first, when I see the curled-up figure lying beneath a tree, I refuse to believe it’s her.

The early morning light casts a bluish hue on her legs that are tucked into her chest.