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

Killian: Expanding my options?

Nikolai: Fuck you right the fuck off. Don’t get on my nerves or I’ll cut your dick off while you sleep.

Killian: I also told you not to get on my nerves, but you went ahead and had that drink with Glyndon.

Nikolai: That was weeks ago.

Killian: Still counts.

Nikolai: You know what is also counting? The number of your days.

Jeremy: Tone it down.

Nikolai: Jer! Have you seen the shit he’s spouting?

Jeremy: He has a point.

Nikolai: The fuck? How can you take his side over mine?

Jeremy: I want you to think very carefully about what you’ve done the last couple of weeks, Niko.

Nikolai: You can’t be fucking serious. I can’t even talk to Cecily now?

Jeremy: Not if you can help it.

I snap a picture of the table, Brandon included, and send it to the group chat.

Nikolai: I’m wounded, Jer. Why didn’t you take me with you?

Jeremy: I thought you were busy…with what again? Oh, sleeping to preserve your energy for violence.

Nikolai: I would’ve sacrificed that for you, Jer. What are bros for?

Jeremy: Uh-huh. You dodged a bullet anyway. The Brits are boring except for Cecily.

Killian: And Glyndon. @Nikolai Sokolov I asked you if you wanted me to take you on a stroll, but you said no.

Nikolai: I’m not your fucking dog, motherfucker. Also, I just found out where that place is. Prepare to meet your maker in fifteen.

Kill snickers. I turn off the screen of my phone. Cecily and I should leave before Nikolai shows up and starts drama that’s of a more significant scope than Remington’s, because, unlike him, my friend actually talks with his fists.

“Be right back,” Cecily whispers, then slips her hand from mine and heads toward the bathroom.

I keep watching her back, eyes narrowing the slightest bit. Even though I was distracted by Nikolai and his antics, I notice that she’s reading a text out of sight now.

I also don’t like the expression she had when she just left. There was a tinge of nervousness and, more importantly, guilt. What the fuck does she feel so guilty about?

The noise and movements around the table swirl, mix, and explode in tones of black and gray until I’m unable to see straight.

No matter what I do, how much progress I think I’ve made with Cecily, how deeply I think I’ve claimed her, it always feels like she’s gatekeeping a part of herself.

The one I can’t reach. The one I’m not allowed access to.

When I meet Annika’s gaze, I find that she’s watching me carefully. She must see the change in my expression and even the demons floating around my head like a halo.

Despite my calm demeanor, the façade is nothing more than a camouflage of the need for violence that ripples through me.

I stand up and, without a word, I follow Cecily’s steps. The asphyxiating feeling I’ve had ever since she left my side turns from bad to fucking disastrous when I don’t find her in the long line.

Judging by the time she left, she should be here somewhere, but she isn’t.

I stride down the hall to the back entrance. The air slaps my face the moment I’m outside, but it’s not as jarring as the feeling that slams against my chest when I catch a glimpse of a very familiar fucking car.

A damn flashy McLaren.

Cecily stands in front of it, talking to the car owner while rubbing her arms. Up and down.

Her expression is solemn, her face is caught in its ethereal calm, and her cheeks are flushed.

I try to imagine that it’s only because of the chilly night, that it’s not because she’s talking to that fucker Landon.

After leaving me inside.

It takes me a few moments to regulate my breathing. If I act right now, I’ll kill him and choke the fuck out of her.

Calm the fuck down.

Easier said than done when my muscles are tightening, demanding I pummel the fucker to the ground and claim her in his blood as I promised to.

I wait in the shadows for a beat. Two. Ten.

Then I stalk in their direction. I wouldn’t say I’m in complete control of my physical power, but I know exactly where my priorities are.

“Can’t you just stop?” Her words reach me first, soft, imploring, like whenever she’s trying to convince me of something.

The fact that she’s using it on that motherfucker Landon smashes all my attempts to remain calm.

“I’ll stop when I’m dead.” He grins and reaches a hand out to her.

I grab it before he can touch her, then twist it, and I’m about to break his wrist, but he follows my movements and slips away at the last second.

“Hi there, Jeremy. I see you’re a brute as always.” He flings his wrist in the air. “I need my beautiful hands to sculpt, you uncultured swine.”

“One more reason to break your fucking fingers.” I advance toward him, and he curls his hands that he was just bitching about into fists.

Landon is the only art student I know who’s into violence while knowing full well that he could lose his sculpting future in a freak incident at any time, like tonight.

“Jeremy, stop it.” Cecily comes to my side, her body shaking and her voice choked up, probably knowing exactly how much she fucked up.

“Shut up.” I glare at her over my shoulder. “I’ll deal with you in a bit.”

Gentle fingers grab my bicep and effortlessly try to pull me back. I whirl around, grab her by the shoulders, and shake her so hard that she gasps, her entire body going into shock.