God of Pain (Legacy of Gods #2) by Rina Kent

I try not to think about the scene I left back at the shelter, but it keeps niggling at the edge of my consciousness.

So I pull out my AirPods and put on Tchaikovsky’s third symphony on the highest volume, hoping it’ll be able to drown out the restlessness.

Ten minutes later, I feel more balanced. No surprise there. Only my Tchaikovsky is able to do that.

A presence appears behind me and warmth radiates off my back. I whirl around, my breath catching when my eyes clash with Creighton’s chest—that’s covered with a shirt, thank Tchaikovsky.

I pull out an AirPod and breathe harshly. “You scared me.”

“You didn’t wait so we could go back to campus together.” His low, rich voice vibrates through me as he falls in step beside me.

“We never said we’d go back together.”

“Why else would I ask you what you were doing?”

“I don’t know. Making conversation?”

“I don’t talk without purpose.”

Oh, so that’s what this is all about? I mean, yeah, he doesn’t talk, no matter how much I try to push him, but maybe that’s really because he finds no purpose in speaking for the sake of speaking.

“There was a purpose behind all those questions?”

He nods, his dark lashes lowering like a prison against ocean eyes.

“And what was it?” I pull out my second AirPod and place them back in their case, then throw them in my bag.

“Don’t ask Bran to be your fake boyfriend.”

My hand pauses on the zipper before I slowly close it, and my steps falter until I fall behind. My face feels frozen as I stare up at him. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Yeah, I did. Which brings on the question: what makes you think you have the right to tell me what to do?”

He comes to an abrupt halt and I crash against him before I jump back. When he spins around and stares down at me, his face has tightened and his hand is in his pocket again.

As if he’s stopping it from doing something.

What, I don’t know.

“I won’t repeat myself another time.”

My breath catches. Just how the hell does he manage to pack so much punch and dominance behind his words?

“Seriously, what do you want from me, Creighton? You pushed me away, didn’t you?”

“And you pushed back.”

“What?” When he remains silent, I insist, “I did no such thing. I put distance between us as you so eloquently instructed. I don’t even text you anymore. This isn’t how it’s supposed to work.”

“This?”

“Scaring me away, then talking to me and volunteering at the shelter I go to. Is this like a game of push and pull or something?”

“Were you scared away?”

“Wasn’t I supposed to be?”

“You were, but I’m surprised it took that little to scare you.”

“Yeah, well, pain frightens me.”

His eyes shine with something similar to…excitement.

And that right there scares the bejesus out of me. It’s not normal excitement like the type I get whenever I go shopping or when I practice ballet. It’s nothing that innocent or harmless.

That look in his eyes is downright demented.

Is he supposed to be thrilled at the prospect of frightening someone?

“Don’t ask Bran or anyone else to be your fake boyfriend,” he repeats, with an edge this time.

“And if I refuse to follow your demands, which are super illogical, by the way?”

He steps closer until his chest nearly brushes against mine and grabs my jaw with his thumb and forefinger, imprisoning me in place. “Then you’ll be acquainted with the pain you’re so scared of.”





7





CREIGHTON





Over the past week, I’ve been on the edge of something dark and absolutely nefarious.

The urge I’ve controlled so well ever since I hit puberty has been seeping into my nightmares, my meal time, and my fighting time.

All my time.

It has heightened, magnified, and reached altitudes that even I am unable to shove into the hollowness of my soul.

And the reason is none other than the girl sitting across from me.

The guardian of her hell, Jeremy, allowed her to spend the night in REU’s dorm. We’re in the apartment she shares with my cousin, the silver angel, and the girl my brother is obsessed with.

Usually, Remi drags me to these nights with a lot of begging and a bribe in the form of fish and chips. Tonight, however, no begging happened.

The fish and chips are nonnegotiable, though.

I take a bite and slap Lan’s hand when he tries to snag a piece.

“Stingy bitch,” he mutters under his breath.

“And what are you doing here?” Bran asks him from the other side of me after they deliberately put me between them.

“Can’t I hang out with my brother and sister and friends?”

“Friends?” Bran tuts, seeming disgusted. “Since when do you have those?”

“I have a friend.” He nudges my shoulder, but I ignore him, so he stares at the opposite side where Cecily and Ava are bickering with Remi while Glyn tries to mediate. “Isn’t that right, Ces?”

She stops in the middle of cursing Remi, drags her fingers through her grandma-like hair, and smiles. “Sure.”