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

“The price of becoming a Heathen is handing over your life. In the literal sense of the word. If you aren’t willing to pay that, please exit through the small door to your left. Once you leave, you’ll lose any chance to join us again.”

My head whips in the door’s direction, and I can feel my legs twitching, urging me to bolt the hell out of here.

A few participants, no more than ten, get cold feet, bow their heads, and get out. The outside bunnies give them their phones and take away their masks and bracelets.

After a moment, the door closes with a low creak and the man on the speaker goes again. “Congratulations again, ladies and gentlemen. We should now begin our initiation.”

Silence and anticipation fill the air as he continues, “Tonight’s game is predator and prey. You’ll be hunted down by the club’s founding members. That will be five to ninety, so you have the upper hand. If you manage to reach the edge of the property before they hunt you down, you’ll be a Heathen. If not, you’ll be eliminated and escorted out.”

Hunted down?

What the hell is this? Do they take us for animals?

“The founding members have the right to use any methods available to hunt you down—including violence. If their weapon of choice touches you, you’ll be automatically eliminated. Bodily harm can and will happen. You are also allowed to inflict violence on the founding members—if you can. The only rule is not taking a life. Not intentionally, at least. No questions are allowed and no mercy shall be granted. We don’t want any weaklings in our ranks.”

Wait. Weapons? What the hell does he mean by weapons?

Maybe I should’ve left, after all.

“You have a ten-minute head start. I suggest you run. The initiation has officially begun.”

Many around me bolt in all directions and I remain rooted in place—the severity of the situation finally dawning on me.

I stare up at the people in masks, who don’t move from their positions, watching the unfolding commotion, shuffling of feet, and excited sounds.

My fingers twitch, but I turn around and do what I’ve never done before.

I let my instincts take over.

I run.





15





KILLIAN





“Look at them acting like cattle,” I mutter under my breath as the five of us stand still, watching the scattering of prey in a splash of chaos.

The air reeks of greed, fear, and potential crime. My demons’ favorite flavors.

The whole concept behind the club means fuck all to me. Occasions like these are the only reason I even participate.

“Motherfucking salivating is the word you’re looking for, Kill. I’m gonna break some bones and drag fuckers across the ground. If anyone dares to stop me, they’ll meet the same fate.” Nikolai clenches and unclenches his fist, unable to hide his excitement for the hunt.

When we first discussed this initiation, I suggested this game. After Jeremy put it to vote, there was a unanimous agreement from the rest—my boring brother included.

Considering the bow and arrows strapped to his back, he might not be as averted to violence as I previously thought. He just prefers doing it in closed circles.

Like how we used to go hunt with Dad once upon a time.

“That rubber on the arrows, Gaz?” Nikolai pokes the tips. “This probably won’t hurt as much. Pick something else.”

“It’ll do.” My brother does a whole body search of Nikolai. “Where’s your weapon?”

He punches the air. “I prefer my fists.”

“You won’t be able to win with your fists.” Jeremy swings his golf club, points at my baseball bat, and then at the chain White Mask is holding. “We’ll be able to hunt more than you.”

“That’s what you think.” He grabs the railing, shoves his mask against one of the cameras, and screams at the security who are watching every nook and cranny of the property. “You better keep the right count for each of us, motherfuckers, or I’ll skin your balls for dinner.”

“Hannibal Lecter much?” Gareth deadpans.

Nikolai’s head swings in his direction. “You! Don’t even think about intervening or playing the fucking pacifist tonight, cousin. I mean it.”

Swinging the bat over my shoulder, I step in the direction of the door.

“Where are you going?” Jeremy asks from behind me. “The ten minutes aren’t up yet.”

I grin from beneath my mask but don’t look back. “Since when do we play fair?”

His low chuckle and Nikolai’s shouts about needing to jump down mix, then fade to nothingness.

My ears fill with the buzz of the hunt.

When I was young and Dad figured out he had a ‘defective’ on his hands, he took me hunting, probably figuring out that it’d help dull my urges.

He taught me how to stalk prey and focus my energy on becoming a human hound. But over the years, the excitement of hunting animals slowly withered and became dull.

It’s different with people, though.

Tonight is one of the few occasions where I don’t have to repress my compulsions and can allow my cravings to break their boundaries and roam loose.

Usually, monotonous emotions and an endless circle of boredom trap me in their clutches. My demons will chant, twist, and writhe, urging me to commit any fucked-up act just to drive it all away.