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

My heart thunders as I kneel beside her, so gently, so calmly as if another entity has taken over my body.

I touch her shoulder and carefully tug. Her head rolls and bumps against my knee.

The person I see in front of me is almost unrecognizable. A map of violet bruises spread over her cheeks, and one of her eyes is blue, swollen, and slightly open. Blood mars her once translucent skin and leaves a dry trail beneath her nose and mouth.

It’s like someone used her as a punching bag.

Someone who’ll wish for death when I get my fucking hands on them.

This is the part where I realize I actually had no clue what anger is all about. Those bursts of anger I felt before? Those could be called strong irritations or waves of mild anger at best.

But they don’t compare to this all-encompassing rage flowing in my veins instead of blood.

Splashes of red cover my vision until it’s difficult to see Glyndon through them, but I still grab her face and cradle it on my lap. She’s so small and weak in my arms. I always thought she was easily breakable, but that didn’t matter once I decided she was under my protection.

I just never thought someone would have the fucking audacity to touch her.

My hands are steady as I inspect her body for other injuries. My professors always expressed awe at my ability to remain collected under stress. The way I have a muted response to threats and disasters—a fact that enables me to find a solution faster than my colleagues.

That muted response is faltering right now, but I grab on to it with all my might. That’s the only way to assess Glyndon’s condition.

The good news is, she’s breathing.

The bad news is, she’s doing it with effort.

“Who the fuck did this to you?” I don’t recognize the masked rage in my deadly calm tone.

Or the need to break all hell loose.

As if realizing I’m here, Glyndon blinks, and a lone tear slides down her cheek as a pained moan slips from between her lips.

I reach out a finger and wipe that tear, but she’s out again.

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

No reply.

I hold her hands in mine and they’re bloody, a few nails broken.

She fought, my Glyndon. She didn’t let the scum brutalize her without hurting them in return.

Obviously, she lost, but still, I’m so fucking proud of her.

When I start to lift her up, something slips from between her stomach and leg. It was hidden by her curled-up position earlier.

A mask.

My fingers slide against the latex material and over the grotesque details of the horror skull mask with a toothy grin.

Fucking Serpents.

Logically, I know this is a provocation for war, which I promised Jeremy I wouldn’t instigate.

But that was before they touched what’s mine.

They’re asking for war, but they’ll get fucking annihilation.





After assessing Glyndon’s condition personally, I don’t find anything awry aside from the external injuries. I still take her to the hospital for a checkup and sure as fuck use all the tricks to have her seen first.

One of my professors confirms it’s only external, after all, prescribes her pain medications and says he’ll have to report it to the police. I let Jeremy deal with him and take her back to the mansion.

My body has been stiff, ready to snap in two, and I’ve been absolutely unapproachable ever since I found her.

No, make that ever since she received that video and bolted on me.

There’s nothing I want to do more than stay by her side and wait for her to wake up, but I have some lives to fuck up first.

So I call Brandon to come and stay with her. The only reason I trust him is because he’s her blood and obviously cares about her well-being.

Not her other brother, because fuck that guy.

But they show up together at my bedroom, and that fucker Gareth lets them in.

“What?” He feigns innocence when I glare at him. “They’re her brothers. I couldn’t let one in and kick the other one out.”

“Glyn!” Brandon runs to her side, a look of shock written on his face as he crouches by her bed, then looks at me. “Is she…”

“She’ll live. Can’t say the same about the one who did that to her.” I glare at Landon, who strides inside with the nonchalance of someone who owns the place, then his eyes narrow when he sees his sister’s state. “And what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I’m here for my sister, and if you’d attempted to keep me out, I would’ve burned this whole fucking place down—after I got her out, of course. I also received a text.” He fetches his phone and shows me a text from an unknown number.

We spit on your grave.

Attached is a picture of Glyndon, all battered, with a skull mask lying beside her.

These motherfuckers clearly want to die young.

“I want in on whatever you’re planning,” Landon informs me.

“And what makes you think I’ll let you?”

He steps in front of me so that we’re staring at each other. “I wasn’t asking, Carson. I’ll be in whether you like it or not. I could’ve done this on my own, gotten my club involved and wiped those scum off the face of the earth, but you have more information about the Serpents than I do, and this operation isn’t about some trivial grudge, so it needs to be thorough. No one fucks with my sister, not even you, hear me?”