God of Fury (Legacy of Gods #5) by Rina Kent

He looks at his surroundings as if he’s seeing it all for the first time.

Little by little, light blooms back behind his irises and he winces. “Bloody hell. Sorry.”

“Stop fucking apologizing.” I breathe harshly, watching him closely, trying to find a trace of the zombie version from a moment ago.

“Sorry…uh, I mean sorry. Jesus…” he trails off. “You should go. I’ll clean up.”

He starts to move, casting his gaze anywhere but at me.

My hold tightens on his nape and I clutch his jaw with my free hand so he’ll look at me. “What happened?”

An unnatural shine covers his eyes and it’s so similar to when he becomes panicked after I touch him in a semi-public space. “It was…an accident.”

“It doesn’t look like an accident.”

“I just dropped it. It’s nothing.”

He pulls away from me and grabs the palette then carefully places it on a few tissues on his sketching table.

For a few seconds, he remains there, hand gripping the edge of the table and his back crowding with tension as if he’s fighting his demons and shoving them back to where no one can see them.

When he turns around, he seems more like himself, and this time, he looks at me, like really looks at me, and instantly, his lips purse with disapproval. “Were you fighting again?”

I make an affirmative sound, not bothering to use my state as an excuse for him to touch me.

There’s something wrong with him, and the more he hides it, the clearer I see it. But if I ask him about it outright, he’ll just deflect and retreat behind his high walls. Or worse, he’ll revert back to his old habits and run away.

But I can’t take this anymore. I can’t watch him break in silence and do nothing.

Bran glides wet wipes over his hands, cleaning away the black paint, then walks to me, clutches me by the jaw, and rotates my head from left to right. “You seriously need to stop fighting. One day, you’ll really get hurt. You’re not immortal.”

He presses his finger against a bruise on my jaw and I wince.

“Does it hurt?” he asks with a note of concern that he obviously doesn’t have for himself.

“If I say yes, will you kiss it better?”

“I give up.” He releases me with a sigh. “I’ll go get the first aid kit.”

“I’ll do it myself. I need a bath anyway.” I walk to the entrance and glance back.

Bran watches me with a wretched expression, his body is angled my way like every time we’re in public, and then he opens his mouth, but just like all those times, he closes it again.

“You have something to tell me, baby?”

I expect something. Anything, but he shakes his head. “I will…clean up and fix dinner.”

I say nothing as I storm out and into the bathroom. I should be used to his methods at this point, but I don’t like it.

The whole fucking thing is making my skin crawl.

I sit in the Jacuzzi for what seems like forever, but it must be like half an hour. The bubbles echo around me, but there’s nothing relaxing about them, so I turn them off to think in silence.

My mind fills with thoughts about the reason behind Bran’s state from earlier, but no matter how much I think about it, I come up empty.

With a sigh, I lean back and grab my phone from the side of the tub and check my texts, mostly from the group chat with the guys.

Killian



Where are you, Niko?





Jeremy



He’s busy. Let him be.





Gareth



Niko busy? And you’re not there to keep him in check?





Jeremy



Let’s say he doesn’t need my services with his recent endeavors.





Killian



It’s the ED situation, isn’t it?





Gareth



Kill, the fuck? He’ll just flood the group chat with dick pics.





Me



Kolya says hi, motherfuckers.





I send one just to fuck with them.

The door opens and I look up to find Bran standing in the entrance. He’s changed into flannel pajama pants and a white T-shirt, looking like a Christmas present.

“I…wanted to make sure you weren’t meditating in the water.”

“I’m not.” I close my eyes and lean my head against the cushion.

No idea why, but I’m mad. It’s not the first time he’s hid himself from me, but I’ve never seen him in that state, either.

The fact that he refuses to let me in even though I’m a damn open book is messing with my fucking head.

I really, really hate fucking complicated.

Movement echoes around me and I remain still, vehement about trying to ignore him for once.

The splashing of water forces me to open my eyes just in time to see Bran climbing into the bath, entirely naked.

“What are you doing?”

“You always ask me to join you. Is it different this time?” he asks even as he sits down and stretches his legs out on either side of me.

“Do what you want.” I try to sound unaffected, which is hard when he looks so stunningly beautiful.

At this point, it’s safe to say I’ve learned every ridge of his muscles and where his moles are—upper left shoulder, above his right hip, behind his right knee, on his left knee, and just beneath his jaw.