God of Wrath (Legacy of Gods #3) by Rina Kent

“But his family is dangerous.”

“The world is dangerous, hon. But we don’t hide from it. We don’t bury our heads in the sand and pretend all is well. If you want something, either you fight for it, or you let it go so someone else can.”

“I don’t want to let him go.”

“Why not?”

“Because I love him.”

Mum smiles and I pause at the words that left my mouth so easily, so naturally, without my even having to think about it.

It’s true. I love Jeremy.

If I wasn’t sure before, all the time we’ve spent together recently has made me certain.

“There you have it, your answer.” Mum kisses the top of my head.

“But…but what if he doesn’t love me?”

“Who wouldn’t love my beautiful baby?”

“The world isn’t you and Papa, Mum.”

“All your friends, aunts and uncles, and grandfathers love you to death. You’re a sweetheart.”

“They…they don’t count either.”

She raises a brow. “Is Jeremy the only one who does?”

“No…I mean, it’s not like that…”

Mum smiles and glides her fingers through my hair. “Believe it or not, a long time ago, I also thought your father didn’t love me.”

“No way.” He basically worships the ground she walks on.

“I know. He was a real wanker when we were young, which is why he’s making it up to me for the rest of our lives.” She smiles nostalgically. “Those times feel so distant now. Guess how I knew he loved me.”

“How?”

“He fought for me. He slaughtered his demons to be with me, and that’s when I knew he didn’t only love me, but I was also the love of his life.”

My heart squeezes with both awe and admiration.

I’ve always had a huge crush on the way my parents love, appreciate, and respect one other. I’ve felt blessed to be the product of their love, despite their overprotectiveness. Now, I’m even more certain I have the best parents in the world.

“Thanks, Mum.” I hug her, and she wraps her arms around me, letting me bask in her warmth.

“No, thank you for trusting me with what happened, Cecy. I’m so proud of your strength.”

I could cry right now, but I don’t, because she’d start crying, too, and Papa might start drama if he finds out I made his wife cry.

As if sensing I’m thinking of him, Papa’s voice comes from the entrance.

“Kim, love, where’s my grandfather’s hunting shotgun? I found some bastard on our doorstep who claims to be our daughter’s boyfriend… Oh, here it is. Be right back. I’ll shoot him and come back in time for dinner.”

Mum and I pull apart to stare at each other.

Holy shit.

Please don’t tell me Jeremy followed me here.

Most importantly, did Papa say he’s going to shoot him?





36





XANDER





There’s some lizard in front of my house.

One with a repulsive look in his eyes, an unwelcome presence, and presumptuous words coming out of his mouth. He has no business being here, so I’ll hastily get rid of him, throw him in the nearest ditch, then join my beautiful wife and daughter.

It’s only taken me a minute to grab my grandfather’s hunting shotgun, and when I storm back to the door, the lizard has let himself in and even locked the door behind him.

He stands by the entry table, tall, disgustingly well-built, and well-dressed in black trousers and a matching button-down. Some tattoos peek out from the collar of his shirt as if he’s some fucking gangster.

The late afternoon sun slips through the tall French windows, casting a shadow on his dark features, hair, and expression. He looks like a brutish version of my friend Aiden, which says something, considering he’s the epitome of savage fuckery among us.

I point the gun in his direction. “Get off my property before I paint the walls with your brains.”

He doesn’t even flinch, blink, or move. His expression remains the same—blank, unreadable, definitely what a bloody lizard would look like.

“I can’t leave without doing what I came here for, sir.” He speaks with ease, too comfortable in his own skin for someone who looks no older than twenty-five. Oh, and he’s definitely assertive.

That’s what the unchanging glance in his eyes translates to. He’s so assertive and confident that it can be seen from a mile away. That’s what pissed me off about him at first glance. The second the driver stopped the car in front of my gate, I found this guy waiting there like a serial killer with some creeper tendencies.

A rush of familiar footsteps reaches me, followed by distinctive gasps and my daughter’s soft voice. “Papa, what are you doing?”

“Stay back, Cecy. I’m going to drive this intruder out and come join you. Kim, call the police.”

A gentle hand wraps around my bicep, and I’m enveloped by my favorite type of warmth as my wife says calmly, “Put the shotgun down first, Xan. We can talk about this.”

“I’ll talk to the intruder’s corpse after I put it to rest.”

“Papa!”

To my horror, Cecily all but runs to the American’s side, grabs his hand in hers as if it’s an everyday occurrence, and meets my gaze carefully, shyly, and then she strokes the side of her nose.