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

Moisture rims Ava’s eyes and she stares at Cecily, but then she lowers her head without saying anything and slurps from her drink.

“Jeremy!” Cecily hisses under her breath. “If you make her cry, I’ll spend the night in the dorm. Think of that before you say anything else.”

I slide my attention to her. So she did figure out that my purpose is to break Ava and eliminate her as competition. I can think of a thousand ways to make her cry, but it’s not worth it if I have to lose access to Cecily for a whole night.

Maybe some other time. When she’s not around.

Cecily stares at me with an expression of both pleading and simmering anger. I resist the urge to stroke the freckles beneath her eyes. The one hundred fifty-three of them. And yes, I counted them.

I’ve always loved how, despite having her feelings tucked beneath the surface, she doesn’t trap them or allow them to fester and devour her from the inside out.

At least, not anymore.

When we first started out, she was too closed in on herself, too scared of her own demons, and too cautious. But it’s different now.

My Cecily, not Ava’s, has been slowly but surely growing into the beautiful woman she was always meant to be. She started going to therapy with one of her professors she trusts and tells me all about their sessions.

She told me she shouldn’t be trusted with people’s traumas until she finally resolves her own.

Tonight, she’s wearing a dress—one of the few occasions she’s willingly gotten into one. It’s a simple little black dress, but it molds against her curves and has spaghetti straps, one of which keeps falling off her shoulder, creating the most torturous tease.

It doesn’t matter how often, where, or how I fuck her. It doesn’t matter whether I take her as a man or a beast; there will never be a day where I will look at Cecily and not feel the need to sink into her heat, own her, and tuck her as close to me as possible. I want to trap her in that small nook between my heart and rib cage so that she’ll never find a way out.

Until one day, she wakes up and realizes that she was always supposed to be mine.

Not fucker Jonah’s. Not Landon’s.

Mine.

“So, I’m curious.” Remington nearly jumps on top of the table, but the one by his side, Landon’s fucking clone, grabs him and pulls him back down. “How did you un-prude Ces, Jeremy?”

“That’s not even a word,” she tells him, her voice heated.

“Oh, I’m sorry, vocabulary police. The question remains, how did you stop being a prude?”

“Stop calling her a prude, Remi!” Ava throws a napkin at him, appearing angry on Cecily’s behalf.

“She was never a prude,” I say, and Cecily’s hand quivers in mine, her body goes softer, and her lips slightly part whether it’s in awe or admiration, I don’t know.

“You must be talking about a different Cecily, because this one,” Remington points a thumb at her, “is a certified prude who goes all red at the mention of sex. Look! Ladies and gentlemen, the evidence is right here.”

Sure enough, Cecily’s ears and cheeks are changing color. I stroke her hand in mine, and she mutters, “I’m going to kill you, Remi.”

“Me, too.” Ava throws something else at him. An olive.

“You can try, but succeeding will be impossible.” He grabs Creighton by the shoulder. “Protect me from these crazy cougars, spawn!”

His cousin merely removes Remi’s hand to focus back on my sister. He’s been effectively pretending, or actually thinking, that she’s the only person at the table, despite Annika’s subtle attempts to stay engaged in the conversation.

“What the fuck? What the actual fuck?” Remington stares incredulously at Creighton. “Did you just brush me off, spawn? I can’t believe this. I spend all my time raising you, but now that you have Anni, you completely dumped me?”

“Cut it out,” Brandon tells him with a somber expression.

Ava and Cecily then gang up on Remington. Creighton is still ignoring him. Glyndon tries to break up the fight.

Killian and I lean back in our chairs to watch the freak show while I simultaneously plan to get her the hell out of here sooner rather than later.

“What a circus,” I mutter under my breath.

“Welcome to whatever shit the Brits like to do,” Kill says with a grin. “It’s entertaining.”

For him because he likes to see chaos unfold. I prefer to control it, choke it off and not allow it to breathe unless absolutely necessary.

My phone vibrates, and I pull it out as Kill simultaneously retrieves his.

It’s a text in the group chat.

Nikolai: Where the fuck is everyone? The house is empty.

Gareth: We actually have lives aside from entertaining you, Niko.

Nikolai: Oh, fuck off, you’re probably studying like a nerd.

Gareth: As I said. Life.

Killian snaps a picture of the scene, or more accurately, of Brandon, who’s ignoring the chaos unfolding around him, elbow on the table and his chin leaning on his hand. He’s checking his phone with a bored expression plastered all over his face.

A Cheshire cat grin lifts Killian’s lips as he sends the picture to the group chat.

Only a second pass before the reply comes.

Nikolai: Where the fuck are you, Satan’s heir?