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

Her lips part and I smirk before I stare ahead. “Don’t look so surprised. Told you, my superpower is mind reading.”

She puffs out a breath. “You’re just offering excuses.”

“I’m not you, baby. I don’t do that. Everything I say or do comes from assertiveness.”

I slow the car to a halt and her attention snaps to our surroundings. To the forest that stretches for as far as the vision goes—dark, empty, and a perfect crime site.

Not that I’m contemplating crime.

Or am I?

“You still didn’t answer my question.”

She flinches even though my voice is the usual range. Okay, maybe it’s lower. Which goes without saying, in view of the amount of blood that’s been rushing to my cock since earlier.

Impulse control is my specialty, but even my godlike abilities are proving to be lacking whenever this girl is in sight.

She doesn’t even smell special—an important sense that usually either makes me interested in fucking someone or crossing them off my list.

It’s paint, I realize. She smells like oil paint and something fruity. Cherries. Or raspberries.

Too sweet, low-key, and definitely not something I’m usually into.

Glyndon as a whole is not something I’m usually into.

“Where is this place?” she whispers.

“Your posh friends haven’t taken you on a ride to this part of the island? It’s where we bury the bodies.”

She chokes while swallowing, and I burst out laughing. Christ. I could get used to the feeling of seeping under her skin, watching her flounder with her cheeks reddening and her eyes widening. Or witnessing the light in her irises change from high to low and everything in between.

I’ve been studying emotions since I realized I was different—back at that mice incident—and this is the first time I’ve meet someone whose emotions are so transparent, so visible, it’s fucking fascinating.

Curious, even.

I’m tempted to explore it more, delve deeper, hook against her darkest parts and expose it all.

Everything.

I want to see inside her.

Literally and figuratively.

“I was kidding,” I say after my laughter subsides.

“You’re not funny.”

“And you didn’t answer my question. If I have to ask again, it won’t be with words, Glyndon.”

She gives me a look, dirty and a bit condescending. “Do you get off on threatening people?”

“No, and I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t being difficult over a trivial matter.”

“So my privacy is trivial now?”

“There’s no such thing as privacy in this day and age. Any form of privacy is a smokescreen that’s coded by numbers and algorithms. Besides, the topic of your virginity isn’t private anymore since I now know about it.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re stalling.”

She releases a long breath, whether in frustration or resignation, I’m not sure. But she remains silent for a while as the sound of the engine fills the car.

“I just didn’t feel like having sex. Happy now?”

“My happiness has nothing to do with this. Why didn’t you feel like having sex?”

“That’s another question.”

“Never said there was a limit to the number of questions I’d ask.”

“And let me guess, I have to answer or you’ll threaten me with something worse, and if I keep fighting, the threat will escalate until you take it too far.”

I can’t help the smile that pulls my lips. “I knew you were a fast learner.”

She stares at me for a beat, two, three and doesn’t break eye contact.

Ah. I see.

That’s what attracted me to her the first time. The way she held my gaze when many find it impossible to stare at me for long—my brother and mother included.

Whether they’re uncomfortable or intimidated by me, I don’t know.

Jeremy once said I have a look that makes people uncomfortable in their own skin, so it’s a given that they’d choose to stay away.

Not Glyndon.

Not once has she looked away from my eyes. As if she needs to see me at all times.

I don’t even need to see me at all times.

My being is a condensation of atoms and molecules, a homogenous, perfect combination of my parents’ genes that formed a human being who’s unable to relate to humanity.

So the fact that she’s interested in seeing this entity—even out of fear—is another rare occurrence.

The accumulation of all these arbitrary, divergent traits in one person should be frowned upon.

With another sigh, definitely resigned this time, she lets her quiet voice fill the car, “I haven’t found anyone I want to have sex with.”

“Why not? Surely you’ve had some attention.”

“I just haven’t felt like it. Do you have any other questions, Your Majesty?”

“Not for now, no. I’ll let you know when I do.”

She narrows her eyes. “Really? You won’t say anything about the topic?”

“Like how I’ll eventually fuck you? I’m happy to talk about it, but I don’t think you’re ready for that conversation.”

“I’ll never let you.”