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

It won’t matter one bit once I have her at my mercy.

One thing’s for certain. I’ll keep my promise.

Annika Volkov’s pain will be mine.





8





ANNIKA





I’m losing it.

My pulse quickens, my ears prickle, and my limbs shake at the faintest sound.

It’s been this way since last night.

Ever since Creighton looked at me with that frightening heat, metaphorically stripped me, and then stood and left.

But not before he issued that warning with a mere gaze.

It’s crazy how expressive his eyes can get when he puts in the effort. In a fraction of a second, they’ll morph from blank and absolutely indifferent to scorching lava.

I kept tossing and turning in bed last night, staring at the window and the door. For some reason, I thought he’d ambush at night, when the world sleeps and he’s camouflaged by the darkness.

Like the night he committed arson in my brother’s house.

The anticipation kept me awake, tossing and turning in bed with my heart pulsing in my throat.

I refuse to address or put a name to the feeling that’s been sinking in my stomach since this morning.

After school, I go to the shelter with Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake blasting in my ear. It takes an inhuman effort to stop myself from dancing in sync with the music.

It’s quiet today, with dejection floating in the air because their resident ‘Hot Stuff’ didn’t show up. Yes, we have more volunteers, thanks to him, but it’s inconvenient when their entire work ethic is centered on his presence—or lack thereof. Oh, and his six-pack. Harry started a whole group chat where they share half-naked pictures of him and bicker over who’s going to worship his ‘huge dick’ first. Seriously, not one of them has seen his dick, so that’s a total overstatement.

In no time, he has a fan club, fanatics, and antis—the latter being only me at the moment. I’m just in that group to grasp hold of the situation, nothing more.

And he does get half naked a lot. If I didn’t know he was aloof to a fault, I would swear he’s doing it on purpose.

If it were up to me, I’d kick him out of the shelter so that we can get our peaceful atmosphere back. However, if I do voice that thought, I’ll be stoned to death by the fanatics.

Even Dr. Stephanie appreciates all the helping hands.

I play with Tiger for a bit, exchange some small talk with the other volunteers, and then I get busy list-checking the stock in the storage room.

Since no one usually comes in here, I put my Tchaikovsky on speaker and twirl as I move from one aisle to the other.

My feet tingle and burst with inexplicable energy. I’ve always loved dancing, to the point that Mom had no choice but to teach me and enroll me in ballet classes when I was four years old.

Sometimes, it feels like I’m putting that talent to waste by choosing to go to college. Other times, I remember that I love ballet for ballet, for moments like these where it allows me to purge negative energy. It’s not for stardom or for people to watch me.

Yes, I’m a people person, but not in that sense.

As the music reaches a crescendo, I open my arms and twirl on pointe across the aisle.

Then, in that moment of excitement, I slam into a wall.

No, not a physical wall—a wall of muscle.

The music starts a slow descent, completely at odds with the chaos brewing inside me.

A merciless hand grabs my elbow to stop me from toppling over. I stare up at his ethereally gorgeous face, at the lips that rest in a line, completely devoid of emotion.

He’s a cold god whose only language is disapproval.

A predator whose sole purpose is trapping prey.

That’s currently me.

My breasts are smashed against the hard muscles of his chest. Our bodies have collided in a mesh of strength against softness.

In this position, the difference in size is too great to ignore. I’m so small compared to him that he could easily break and stomp all over me.

Leave me absolutely wrecked.

The skin where his fingers are touching my elbow sparks in a million fires, expanding all the way to my chest.

I’ve always heard about overwhelming tension, the type that lingers like a weight at the back of one’s throat and robs them any semblance of sanity and logical thinking.

But I never imagined it would be this…frightening.

This powerful.

And I need out of his orbit. Now.

I try to pull my elbow free, but it might as well be caught in a trap.

So I force my lips into a smile that probably looks awkward at best. “Oh, hi. I didn’t know you were coming today. You should probably go out and greet the fangirls and fanboy, Harry. They’ve been dejected thinking you wouldn’t be here—”

“Shut up.”

My lips slam shut in an attempt to actually stay quiet. Just two words are enough to stiffen my spine. All the anxiety from tossing and turning and staring at my balcony last night crashes back into me.

“You truly fucked up, Annika.” He pushes me backward with his commanding hold on my elbow. “I told you to give up on the fake boyfriend idea, but you went ahead and provoked me. You. Fucked. Up. You’re lucky I didn’t jump through your window and turn your skin red.”

A gasp echoes in the air and I realize it’s mine as my back hits one of the shelves. Creighton still has my elbow hostage, his body pressed against mine.