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

She pouts, but then she releases a sigh and nods.

Brandon rubs the back of his head. “You should probably take his threat seriously.”

“Nah, he doesn’t scare me.”

“He should. Don’t underestimate him.”

“Oh, I won’t. I also won’t let him put his nose where it doesn’t fucking belong.” I smile. “Now, who wants some pancakes?”

The little rabbit can ghost me all she wants. She refuses to talk to me? Fine.

But I’ll make sure she’s the one who comes running, not the other way around.





26





GLYNDON





Today is just not my day.

Not only did the girls grill me about all the Killian drama, but I also got an earful from Professor Skies due to being late. The icing on the cake was bumping into a glass door after class.

In my defense, the last one happened because of all the people who kept watching me as if I were an exotic animal.

Attention isn’t my scene, but that wanker went ahead and put me at the forefront of everyone’s mind.

They wouldn’t stop talking about me behind my back, whispering, and murmuring, and making my anxiety shoot up.

I contemplated hiding in the bathroom for a bit, but then I thought that I don’t really owe people anything and shouldn’t be feeling ashamed about that kiss.

Yes, the bastard is at the top of my shit list, but that doesn’t mean I have to feel any form of shame.

So I held my head high, barely, finished my classes, and then went to the art studio.

We were supposed to paint a nude today, with one model for about fifteen students, but I realized halfway through that the features and the body lines on my canvas weren’t the model’s.

Far from it.

My sense of eroticism drove me to the nightmare I’ve been trying, and failing, to escape every time.

It made me put rough strokes around intense eyes and recreate every cut in his abdomen, hauntingly broken crows, and even the slight freckles on the top of his shoulders.

I need help.

When my colleagues take a break to smoke, I use the chance to check my phone.

I’m fully intent on ignoring Killian’s calls for the sole reason that I need time for me and myself.

But then I find a text from him.

Psycho: Run all you want. I’ll just occupy myself with…

Attached is a picture of my brother eating from a plate, his head down, so I can’t see his expression.

My heart skips a beat.

Please don’t tell me he coerced or threatened Bran with something?

I don’t think about it as I slip out of my painting jumpsuit, grab my bag, and drive all the way to the Heathens’ compound.

Judging from that picture and the wallpaper behind them, they must be somewhere in the mansion.

I stop the car in front of the closed gate.

In my haste to come here, I forgot that this is a private property—a guarded property with enough security to put the queen’s royal guards to shame.

The other two times I came here, during the initiation and last night’s party, it was open to all. Well, not all, but the guards didn’t stop me.

Before I can think of a believable lie to grant myself access, the giant gate opens with a haunting creak.

My hands sweat on the steering wheel, but I choose to take the opportunity and drive inside. I can think about everything else after I make sure Brandon is safe and outside that snake’s reach.

I tried calling and texting both Killian and Bran, but there was no reply. Oh, and the psycho left me on Read.

Once I get to the mansion, I find the front door open as well. This time, I search my surroundings for possible guards.

The gothic air of the house, mixed with emptiness and silence, fills me with a creepy vibe that I can’t put my finger on.

A swish of air throws my hair in my eyes and I swear a shadow creeps up behind me.

Or maybe I’m just paranoid.

I quicken my steps inside, choosing to focus on my mission instead.

I’m not one step up the stairs when I hear a scream from a room downstairs.

My hand shakes and I rub it on my shorts as I slowly head in the direction of the sound.

Please don’t tell me I’m too late.

Again.

A sob catches in my throat and it remains there, stealing my ability to breathe properly.

I push the huge double doors open, half-shaking, half-nauseated.

Not again, please—

My thoughts come to a halt when the scene unfolds. I don’t know why I expected to find some torture chamber, but what’s in front of me is far from it.

In fact, it’s…a game room.

Gold-and-red wallpaper covers the space and a red carpet spills on the ground with the density of blood. Huge screens occupy most of the walls, all complete with red LED lights. An elegant billiard table sits in the middle, and some board games are set up in the corners.

The reason behind the noise is from the screens.

“Give it up already,” Killian says from his position on luxurious dark red leather chair while clutching a gaming controller.

He’s speaking to a girl who’s sitting cross-legged on her own huge chair and tapping manically on her controller. Her lips are pursed and her fair skin is red.

“Don’t listen to him. You can win,” Bran says, sitting on the armrest of her chair.

My breath comes out in a slow whoosh.