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

“Define funny.”

“The fact that you’re even asking means you will.”

“I’m just considering my options.” I sit on the edge of the dock, letting my feet dangle, then retrieve a cigarette and light it.

Glyndon approaches me but stops and waves away the smoke. “Why am I not surprised you’re addicted to poison?”

“I’m not addicted to anything.”

“The cigarette hanging from your lips testifies otherwise.”

I pull it from my lips and hold it in the light of fireflies. “It’s a habit I use to keep my hands busy.”

“Does that mean you’ll quit if you want to?”

“I’ll quit if you take their place and keep my lips and hands busy.”

“No, thanks.”

I lift a shoulder and tap the spot beside me. “They look better from this angle.”

“What look better?” she asks in a spooked tone, and why the fuck am I getting harder?

“Fireflies or bodies, whatever floats first.”

“Your dark sense of humor is really on another level.” She slowly approaches, then before settling down, she hesitates.

That habit of questioning everything I offer will be gone soon.

“Don’t worry. I won’t fuck you tonight.”

“Wow. Thanks.” She flops down beside me, her fruity perfume getting stronger. Or my sense of smell is picking her up faster.

“You’re welcome.”

“That wasn’t an actual thank-you.”

“Then why did you say it?”

“Sarcasm. Ever heard of it?”

“I know. I’m just messing with you.” I tuck that blonde strand behind her ear and it turns red, along with her neck.

“Do you like messing with people a lot?”

“Not all people, no. Just a select few.”

“So I’m a VIP now?”

“If you want.”

“Seriously, talking to you is like speaking to an evil robot.”

“Evil robot, huh?”

“Yeah, you know, the ones who get destroyed at the end of sci-fi films.”

“You mean the ones whose red eyes flash in the last second of the movie, signaling their return?”

“You shouldn’t be proud of being evil.”

“That’s the thing, baby. I don’t see myself as evil.”

“Please don’t tell me you see yourself as a hero.” She sounds even more spooked than earlier.

“No, I don’t. I just see myself as neutral. Instead of black, white, or gray. I’m colorless.”

“You’re an entity. You can’t be colorless.” She huffs. “You’re just black.”

“Black?”

“Yeah, I give people colors and you’re definitely black, like your soul, heart, and that disturbing head of yours.”

I stare at her for a beat and then smile. Jesus.

This girl is getting herself into big fucking trouble.

Because I want to keep talking to her.

And I don’t even like talking to people.

I want to own her, even though I have no fucking clue what owning people is all about.

It can’t be different from having pets then wanting to see inside them, right?





11





KILLIAN





“What the fuck is this? Shitting on my parade day?”

I don’t pause at Nikolai’s voice on my way inside the mansion. Instead, I reach the fridge and grab a bottle of water.

He throws the nearest object he can find at me, a Zippo, and I tilt my head to the side, letting it collide with the bottle of vodka. It shatters against the counter in a ceremony of glass and liquor.

“I’m assuming you’ll clean it up and replace my vodka,” Jeremy says from the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed.

“It’s my vodka. Fuck off.” My cousin shoves an ice pack on his swollen jaw and props his foot on the edge of the sofa.

Leaning against the counter, I cross my legs at the ankle. “Bad mood?”

“And you’re not? That loser won against you.”

I lift a shoulder. “I won something better than a meaningless match.”

Like Glyndon’s company and even a temporary truce from fighting me once she was watching those fireflies—and I wasn’t touching her.

She eventually relaxed once I forced my hand to remain still. Something that proved to be harder in practice than theory. Turning this into a habit is out of the question. After all, I only need her to get her guard down a little, let me in a little so I can figure her all out and, in retrospect, delve into the reasons behind my interest in her.

Am I ready to go the extra mile for that? Sure as fuck.

Considering the crease in her brows when I drove her back to her dorm, I’d say I still have a ways to go.

She’s a stubborn, hotheaded little shit, and I’m here for every fucking second of it.

Glyndon might be the solid, huge rock, but I’m water and water might slam into the rock at first, but it’ll eventually break through it.

“What’s better than winning, motherfucker?” Nikolai grunts. “Next time, don’t take my fight if you’re going to lose it. My image is at stake here, Satan’s heir.”

I pull out my pack of cigarettes and stare at it for a beat, remembering Glyndon’s words from earlier about poison. Then I shake my head and stuff one between my lips. “I assume you won the one after?”