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

I was naive to think I had time.

But I don’t.

I never did.

“You…you saw…you saw…” My voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater as my vision blurs with moisture.

“You saw…”

And now you can’t look at me anymore.

“Bran—” His words are cut off when I snatch the piece of glass from his hand and jam it against my neck.

Everything happens in a haze, but all of a sudden.

I don’t know how I end up on the floor, drowning in my own blood and the black ink.

There’s so much ink now, choking me, pulling me to its bottomless depths. My strangled breaths come in short, chopped bursts.

Then in the middle of it, strong hands wrap around me and my head is balanced on a solid surface as moisture drips on my face.

Pressure at my neck. Blood everywhere. In my mouth. On my clothes. On his hands.

I see him through hazy red, my lids nearly closing.

“Baby, please…please…” he begs in a broken voice, and I can see the tears in his beautiful eyes.

The eyes that I turned empty.

The eyes that I destroyed.

“Please don’t go, baby, please…don’t leave me…please…stay with me…stay with me…you have to stay with me…” His lips are all over my forehead, my nose, my cheeks, my mouth.

He yells something toward the door, but I don’t hear him over the ringing in my ears.

I reach a hand for him, wanting to touch his hair one final time.

I’m sorry.

The words are on the tip of my tongue, but no sound comes out.

My hand falls as the ink swallows me whole.

It’s finally over.





37





NIKOLAI





When I was young, I realized that my perception of the world differed from that of others my age.

Violence bubbled in my veins and blinded me to reality. I saw life through red lenses and liked it. No. I fucking loved it.

I took pride in being different, in jumping through hoops many people wouldn’t dare go near. I never felt repressed by my sexuality, my preferences, or my tendencies. In fact, I wore them like a badge and flaunted them for everyone to see.

Being bi is nothing to be ashamed of, as Mom told me a long time ago.

“It makes you different from the majority, but you were always special, son. Always,” Dad said.

I’ve always felt special, too, like I could go deep and deeper, high and higher, and nothing would stop me.

This is the first time I don’t feel special.

The first time I’ve watched my life shatter around me as I stood in the remains, surrounded by bright blood.

It was everywhere—on his neck, his shirt, his hands, the floor, me.

Every-fucking-where.

I’m in the middle of the hospital waiting area, but I can still see it dripping on the floor as I carried Bran in my arms. I can still see his pasty-white skin and hear the haunting sound that left his throat before he closed his eyes.

He’s been in surgery for seven hours. Seven fucking hours and the nurse has come through twice for blood. Twice.

Seven hours and I haven’t moved an inch from my position in front of the OR door. A nurse had to come out here to bandage my hand, because there was no way in fuck I was moving.

Seven hours of hearing Astrid crying. Glyn and Lan flew in from the island as soon as they heard the news and arrived a couple of hours ago.

Glyn has been hugging her mom and crying. Lan and Levi are now standing beside me after they finished pacing the corridor for the millionth time. Levi drove us to the hospital like a madman while I held Bran on my lap in the back seat, keeping pressure on his neck.

The bleeding never stopped. Not even temporarily. The more time passed, the closer I was to losing him.

I’ll never forget how his pulse diminished beneath my fingers, how I was begging and kissing his blue lips and asking, imploring, praying for a God I’ve never believed in to give him back to me.

I’ll do anything if you give him back.

If he asked for my life in return, I’d spill my guts on a platter.

I don’t want a life without him.

I can’t have a life without him.

“What did I say, Dad?” Landon’s eerily calm voice rips through the suffocating silence. He sounds collected, but I’ve never seen him agitated in my life. I’ve never seen the almighty Landon King tremble with rage like when I showed him that video.

I showed it to Astrid and Levi as soon as Bran was wheeled away for emergency surgery. They had to call in some hotshot surgeon who specializes in nerve repair.

My Bran kept that pain to himself for eight fucking years, to protect them—his fucking parents, siblings, and the whole world. I’m no fucking philanthropist. I shoved that video in their faces so they could see the pain that grew so big that he had to stab himself to end it.

I stood there watching him jam that piece of glass in his neck and felt the world tilt on its axis beneath my feet.

His body wasn’t the only thing that hit the ground. My sanity did, too, and it’s still there, floundering in the middle of his blood, choking and unable to come up for air.

Astrid fainted upon seeing that video. Levi looked like he was going to be sick, but he watched it to the very end, like me.

Landon vibrated with rage. His face was red, his fist was clenching and unclenching, and his upper lip lifted in a snarl like it is right now.