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

Wait. He’s letting it go?

My movements are slow and awkward at best as I take a seat at the back of the class, thankful to be hidden by my canvas.

That’s when I realize the painting I did last time is missing, and in its place, there’s a blank one.

And then, something completely out of left field happens. Professor Skies pulls out a painting, and not just any painting—my painting—and showcases it to the whole class.

My ears heat, ready for the onslaught of his words, this time to embarrass me in front of the whole class.

But I can’t look away from the black and red shadows intertwining, clashing, and slamming into each other like forces of nature. I’m proud of that painting, of my state of mind when I put it together, but now, the professor will downright humiliate me again.

Maybe I should run before the roasting starts.

No. I’m a big girl. I can take it.

“The blend of cold, gloomy, dark, flat, and absolutely exaggerated impressionist style can manifest in different ways.” He motions at the painting. “This is one of them. Definitely not the best, or the first, but it has a unique style that’s worth studying for emotive value. Well done, Miss King.”

The whole class's attention slides to me, but the best I can do is stare incredulously as if I’m having a stroke.

Maybe I am having a stroke.

If this is a dream, it’s too cruel. Wake me up, please.

I pinch my thigh and it sure as hell hurts.

“Moving on,” the professor announces and talks about today’s lesson while keeping the painting there.

My painting.

I’m still dazed long after the class ends. I honestly expect him to call me up front and tell me it was all a distasteful joke, but he just leaves.

And so does everyone else.

Only Stuart stays behind and smiles at me, a bit awkwardly. He’s been taking Killian’s threats seriously and keeps enough distance between us to fit three other people.

“Congrats, Glyn. It’s long overdue.”

“Thanks…I guess…I’m still unable to believe it. You know how much he hates me and thinks my art is rubbish and a poor imitation of my mum’s. He even said I’m not worth being her daughter and Landon’s sister.”

Stuart rubs the blond strands at his nape. “He can be a snob.”

“Can be?”

“Well, he is, but hey, look at the bright side. He finally sees your worth.” He grins. “If it means anything, I think your art is more provocative than your mum’s and even Landon's. I like it.”

“Thanks.” I can’t help the smile that breaks on my lips.

It’s the first time someone has told me that, aside from my mum. She tried to dull my insecurities early on, but she’s my mother. She’s inclined to treat her children the same, but I think, deep down, she loves Bran the most and she definitely thinks Landon is an artistic genius that even surpasses her.

Something she’s proud of.

Stuart and I head to the cafeteria to pour caffeine into our systems, but we’re stopped in the hall by a very familiar, very blonde, very colorful, à la Harley Quinn style, girl.

Cherry pops bubble gum in my face, watching me like I’m nothing more than the dirt on her shoe.

She’s been roaming around the restaurants and parks I go to lately, probably keeping an eye on me or something.

This is the first time she’s gotten close, and to say I’m not comfortable in her presence would be an understatement.

“Do you need something?” I ask in my neutral tone.

I’ve been in a good mood all morning and she ruined it in a fraction of a second.

“Shoo, nerd,” she dismisses Stuart. “The grown-ups need to talk.”

“Maybe you’re the one who needs to shoo until you grow some manners,” I tell her.

“It’s okay… I’ll be in the cafeteria.” Stuart basically flees the scene, leaving me alone with Cherry.

As in, the girl Killian fucked for a long time and who obviously liked it enough to come back for more.

No. I’m simply not going to think about that detail.

“Ugh, the more I look at you, the surer I am that you’re more boring than your country’s weather, you lack personality, and you’re probably as prude as a nun. What the fuck does Killer see in you?”

“Obviously what he doesn’t see in you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than indulge in petty boy drama. This is not secondary school, last I checked.”

“Listen here, you little snobbish bitch.” She gets in my face, her voice hardening. “You think you’re special? Think you’re the only one Killer has made feel like a queen before he tossed them aside like a used condom? Been there, done that, have the fucking marks to prove it. So gloat while you can, because he’ll be done with you soon, and when that happens, he’ll come back to my bed, because he knows that’s where he belongs. With someone like me, not a stupid fucking neurotypical bitch like you.”

I can feel the blood rushing to my face, but I force myself to remain calm, because I know that’s what will get on her nerves the most. “Are you done?”

“No,” she snarls. “If you don’t stay away from him, you’ll get yourself killed. Consider that the first and only warning I’ll ever give you.”