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

A weight crashes against my back and I stumble as both AirPods are plucked from my ears and Nikolai stands in front of me, breathing as hard as I am.

No, he’s panting, but the up and down of his chest doesn’t compare to the frantic thumping of my heart against my rib cage.

“What the hell is your problem?” I snap, then bite my tongue because I don’t snap.

Ever.

“I was calling your name, but you weren’t listening,” he supplies casually, as if he’s not witnessing my temporary loss of control in epic proportions.

I shove whatever demon took over me into the darkest corner of my mind and stretch out my palm so he’ll give back the AirPods.

Nikolai throws one of them in his other hand, then squeezes my palm in his, his lips curving in an unhinged grin. “Oh cool, you remember! Nice to officially meet you, Brandon. Or, hold on! I actually found you a perfect nickname. Lotus flower. You know, because you managed to bloom so beautifully while surrounded by the muddy swamp that is Landon. Isn’t that so fucking poetic?”

I’m momentarily paralyzed, my neatly tucked thoughts almost topple me over into the inky-black hole headfirst.

But that doesn’t happen.

Because I’m in control.

I attempt to pull my hand from his warmer one, but he squeezes, tight, as if he’s attempting to crush my bones.

His grin widens, kicking the creep factor up a notch. “Do you like it? Your new name? Do you?”

“Let go,” I mutter from between clenched teeth.

“But why?” He appears genuinely puzzled. “You’re the one who offered to shake hands. I forgive you for pretending not to remember my unforgettable presence.”

“You need to check your ego.”

He looks down at himself and then smirks. “Perfectly awesome, thanks for asking.”

I want to pinch the bridge of my nose, but I can’t, because the bastard is holding my hand hostage, tightening his grip incrementally. The worst part is that I don’t think he even notices what he’s doing.

It hurts, damn it, but I’d dig myself a hole and rot in it before I’d admit that out loud.

“My hand,” I say in a thoroughly unaffected tone.

He squeezes more. “What about it?”

“Let it go.”

“Do I have to? It’s kind of soft and nice.”

He tightens his hold again, mushing the fingers together, and I have to stifle a goddamn…groan? What in the bleeding livid gates of hell?

Pain. It’s only pain.

“I need my hand, so yes, you have to release it, Nikolai.”

“Fuck. I love the way you say my name. Though everything sounds amazing in that hot accent.” The gleam that I never quite managed to erase from my mind rushes back to the depths of his harsh eyes.

Turquoise blue. Brimming with sharp…curiosity? Violence?

It’s impossible to tell with the crazy twat.

He’s intensity on steroids.

An element I have no interest in whatsoever.

“I wonder how you’d say my name in other…more intimate situations.”

I pull my hand away so suddenly, he has no choice but to release me. “I told you to keep your gay flirtations away from me. I’m straight.”

”Hmm.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes watching me intently like a creep.

What does a whacko like him think about? Aside from violence, of course. The rumors about him beating people up for sport are all I heard about him prior to the initiation.

Maybe if I were more involved in the real world instead of pretending to be, I would’ve found out he likes men.

Though he obviously likes women as well. According to…uh, social media. I didn’t search for him. He somehow landed on one of Remi’s tagged pictures.

I have zero interest in where he dips his dick as long as he keeps it away from me.

“My AirPods,” I demand, not making the mistake of offering my hand this time.

“You like talking in monosyllables and giving orders, don’t you?”

“Give them back.”

“Bossy. Told you I love it.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself or so help me God…”

He jumps in my space so fast, I flinch, my whole body lurching back so he doesn’t touch me.

That manic look in his eyes rushes to the surface, all bright and destabilizing. Like a lethal storm.

“What? So help you God, what? What are you gonna do? Don’t leave me in suspense here.”

He pushes into me with every word until his naked chest heaves against mine. A dash of unknown emotions explodes and spreads through me.

It’s stifling and wrong.

Like nausea 2.0. Only, much worse.

You know what? He can keep the AirPods. I’m not wearing that pair again anyway.

I step back and he steps forward, his chest still glued to mine, his heart thumping in an irregular rhythm.

Or is that mine?

Not waiting to find out, I whip around and run.

I have no idea where I’m going or if I’m keeping with my usual route as I sprint between the trees.

I run fast.

As fast as I can.

Until my muscles protest and my lungs heave.

That black ink is rushing after me in long swirls and sharp strokes. Imaginary hands grab onto my shirt and pull.

My breathing is cracked and wrong.