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

“Can someone tell me what’s going on?” I ask, seriously thinking I’m losing my mind.

“Check your Instagram,” Cecily says quietly, almost apologetically.

I give them one last wry look, then tap the Instagram app. The first picture that shows up on my feed was posted an hour ago, and has over a hundred thousand likes and tens of thousands of comments.

My fingers shake as I watch the stilled picture.

It’s when Killian kissed me against the stairs. His hand is around my throat, the other on my hip, and he’s basically eating me for dinner. His bare chest is glued to mine and the way he’s touching me is so possessive that it goes without saying what type of relationship we have.

An outsider would look at this and know that not only is Killian fucking me, but he’s also so dominant and possessive of me that no one would dare come close.

He cemented it by the caption.

Off. Limits.

“No, he didn’t,” I whisper.

“He so did and also, also! He tagged you. That’s how we saw it.” Annika taps on the screen to show my account’s name on the picture.

“Everyone could see this,” I’m practically talking to myself. “Like everyone, including…”

I jump up when my phone lights up with a text.

Lan: Let’s do it your way, little princess. Don’t show your face near the fucker or I’ll kill him.





25





KILLIAN





I give up on attending my classes for the day exactly two hours after I arrive at med school.

And yes, they’re important and I should probably be present, put up with the general anxious atmosphere of my colleagues and the ego of professors who think they’re special just because they’re older and have some experience.

Thing is, I’m distracted as fuck. An emotion I haven’t experienced…well, ever. I tend to be focused to a fault, methodical to the point of weeding out any need for impulsive action.

And yet, my systems, my patterns, and the very marrow of my life are being disturbed by a certain fucking rabbit.

I run a hand through my hair as I listen to the ringing for the dozenth time this morning.

When it goes to voicemail, I pull it from my ear and stare at it while tapping the back once, twice. Three times.

Maybe I should’ve chained her to me, after all, so I could choke the fuck out of her when she’s being difficult for no reason.

“You’re not coming?” Stella, a colleague with obvious fake red hair, asks on her way out of the school while carrying her white coat.

We’re supposed to have a pathology class in the morgue, and that would usually be the highlight of my week—seeing inside dead people.

Not today, obviously.

“I have more important things to attend.” I’m still staring at my phone and seriously contemplating if shaking it will force the one on the other end to finally pick the fuck up.

“How about later? I can give you the code to my dorm.” A hand touches mine and that’s enough to make me break my hyperfocus from the phone.

Stella grins, thinking getting my attention is a good thing.

The only smart one is Glyndon fucking King. She never wanted my attention. In fact, she tried everything under the sun to escape it.

She doesn’t know this yet, but there’ll be a day where she’ll sprint in my direction, not the other way around.

“When did I give you permission to touch me?” I ask in a closed tone, not bothering to mask my true nature.

Stella, who I probably fucked once—and she’s definitely forgettable if I did—startles and steps back. “I’m sorry, I just thought it was okay.”

“You thought wrong.” I step past her and head to the parking lot.

My feet come to a halt when I find someone leaning against the front of my car, legs crossed and his fingers toying with a key so close to the paint.

Not far from him stands a replica.

Landon and Brandon King.

Though their looks are identical—everything else isn’t. Who I assume is Brandon dresses like a preppy boy with khaki pants and a polo shirt. His hair is styled, too, and he appears to be right out of a lacrosse team.

Landon’s hair is messy, out of control, and he’s in jeans and a denim jacket, not to mention that the look in his eyes is more dispassionate.

More…empty.

Probably as empty as mine.

Interesting.

“Nice ride,” he says, still letting the key hover a few inches away as a form of a threat.

“Thanks,” I reply nonchalantly. “It’s special edition.”

“Impressive,” he says with no note of amazement whatsoever.

“I know.”

“Then you should also know that I’ll vandalize it and then your life if you don’t stay away from my sister.”

So this is about that Instagram picture. I figured it’d ruffle some people’s feathers, but this is a lot faster than I thought.

“I’d love to help you with that, but what to do?” I show my good-boy smile. “You saw how much she was into it. I mean, me.”

“That’s not true.” Brandon steps in my direction. “Glyn would never choose someone like you, so you must’ve coerced her in some way.”

“Someone like me?” I tilt my head. “You mean a fourth-year med student at nineteen, heir to an empire, and a leader in one of the world’s most prestigious colleges? Oh, and your sister’s boyfriend.”