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

That’s it. Break for me, baby.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I stride toward him, unable to resist his gravitational presence. “I came to see you since you didn’t bother to answer my texts or calls.”

“That was answer enough. I had no desire or intention of getting in contact with you. As I previously told you. We are done.”

“As I previously told you. In your fucking dreams.” My voice lowers as I stand toe-to-toe with him, caging him against the counter.

His heat penetrates my skin and melts away the ice that’s been enveloping me since he’s been out of my sight.

God damn.

I missed his comforting heat and that look in his eyes. Maybe the reason I’ve been on that high longer than usual is because I didn’t have him. He has a way of grounding me, pulling me down when I go up.

Since he came into my life, I haven’t gone on self-destructive sprees—except the last few weeks.

In the past, I couldn’t care less about whether or not I survived the violence and the mayhem. Now is different.

Now, the thought of being without him terrifies me. Death terrifies me because it would take me away from him.

I’m never leaving him again. Not even if I have to inhale pills and turn into the zombie I despise for it.

Bran crosses his arms over his chest, not giving an inch as his features freeze into cold indifference, but I don’t miss the clench in his jaw.

“Can’t take no for an answer? Pathetic.”

“Then I’m pathetic. Who fucking cares? Oh, wait. You do.”

He releases cruel laughter that’s so uncharacteristic of him. He’s an asshole, but never mocking. Condescending, but not evil. “If you think I ever cared about you, then you’re sorely mistaken. It was just physical, remember? Like how you fucked me against the tree and left without a look back, then proceeded to threaten my brother’s whole future because of your nonsensical pride.”

My molars grind together and I have to bite my tongue to keep from shouting that he’s mine and he needs to deal with it.

But how dare he?

How fucking dare he say it was just physical?

He and I were never just physical, not the first time I kissed him or the last time I fucked him or anytime in-between. And he knows that.

He better well fucking know that and just be trying to summon the asshole energy in himself.

“Your brother’s wrist is just fine,” I grit out.

Now, that gets him pissed. And I mean fucking shaking pissed. Red blotches cover his pale skin and his eyes turn a shade darker, nearly shooting laser beams at my face.

That’s it, baby. Show me the side no one else sees.

He uncrosses his arms and jams his index finger against my chest, and is it wrong that I’m loving his touch even if he’s nearly boiling over with rage?

“That’s not the fucking point!”

“Then what is?”

“The fact that you kidnapped him and beat him up in the first place.”

“He had it coming when he messed with my fucking sister.”

“You were messing with his fucking brother!”

“I never forced you.”

“And you think he forced her? If you weren’t so up your own arse, you would’ve seen the way she looks at him. She loves him, Nikolai. She’s in love with him. And you might not want to believe this, but he loves her, too, in his own fucked-up way.”

I bite my tongue again, this time due to the images I came back with from the States. A part of me refuses to subscribe to the very foundation of that idea, but he’s right. Annoyingly so.

“Okay.”

His finger falls from my chest as the anger melts at the edges, replaced by bemusement. “Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I was home and Landon was also there, trying to woo my parents.”

By the grimace on his face, he knows very well that the scenario I just described is a recipe for disaster. That’s the difference between Landon and Bran. The psycho just pushes through everything and hopes for the best. My lotus flower is much more calculated and gets off on control. He’d never make a decision before he mulls it over.

I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but I really wish he was a bit like his brother sometimes. Not his character—fucking revolting—but the way he lets himself loose.

“What did he do?” he asks carefully. “Did you get into a fight again?”

“No.”

“You mean to tell me you were in the same room with Lan and didn’t punch him?”

“I would’ve loved to.”

“Then why didn’t you? I’m pretty sure your punch-first-think-later mentality wasn’t the reason you restrained yourself.”

“No, it wasn’t. But I knew if I hurt him again, I’d lose you, and that’s not a fucking option.”

His lips part and I want to bite the bottom one beneath my teeth and feast on him, swallow him whole, and fuck this morbid tension out of the both of us.

But then he opens his stupid fucking mouth. “Too bad. You already lost me.”

I plant my palms on the counter on either side of him and lean into his face until he has no choice but to step back or let me kiss him.

He goes for the former, but that leaves him trapped between me and the counter.

“Want to test that, baby?” I invade his space until my lips are mere inches away from his.