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

A part of me was happy for that outcome. At least that meant justice took place without having to drag myself into court.

Though I never really wanted her to die, I’m not mourning her, either. I mourned myself. Which is why the next difficult part was finally getting help.

Therapy is good, but it’s hard. The most important part is that it’s working, but I’m not deluded enough to think I could’ve done this on my own.

I’m lucky to have the most loving and understanding parents, friends who lift me up, an adorably supportive sister, and even Lan. My twin brother is finally my twin again after eight years of playing hide-and-seek with each other.

He’ll never be mushy or emotional, but he’ll always be my brother. A part of him, as he often reminds me. We finally have each other as ‘Other Half’ on our contacts.

However, the process wouldn’t have been possible without the man standing in front of me. The way he held me through it all while dealing with his own issues made the entire thing worth it.

Nikolai lets me see him on his bad days. The days where he can’t stay still, where he paces and chain-smokes and is unable to sleep, but that’s not much different from when he’s on a violent spree. And the best part, he really, really wears me out during those days. Physically, not emotionally. He can’t keep his hands off me and pulls me into dark corners so we can do filthy things to each other.

Not that I’m complaining. I love it when he gets rough.

He says I calm his demons down, and that’s the best compliment he can give me, especially since he’s the main reason I’m able to battle my own demons.

Other times, when he thinks his mind gets too out of control, he takes the pills and they’re…well, I don’t like them. They kill the light in his eyes and turn him into a lethargic zombie who moves like a robot, talks with no intonation, and refuses to leave the house. He doesn’t smile, not even at me, and looks fucking depressed.

I immediately took his dad’s side on that and told him to ditch them. But Nikolai is seriously creeped out about the prospect of hurting me—which has never happened.

“Once is enough, baby,” he told me with that wretched expression. “I’d never be able live with myself if I even accidentally hurt you, touched you too hard, or pushed you too much. I’d rather slash my own soul in half than do that to you.”

The fear in his gaze back then broke my heart. Possibly because that was coming from Nikolai, who, according to his dad, refused the very notion of the pills early on.

But he embraced them for me.

We spoke to his doctor, and he said there’s a possibility of a new medicine that’s able to put the manic episodes under control without murdering his soul in the process. We’re in the testing stage and he’s only used them once, but I like them much better.

At least they enable him to look at me without looking through me. He’s just less playful, which is something I can live with once in a while. And really, in the last six months, he’s had episodes exactly four times. One was a fuck fest, the second and third were zombie-like due to the ludicrous pills, but the fourth was a mixture of both, and I’m good with that. He was also happy about it and came down from his high in the span of two days.

In the beginning, when he felt himself spiraling, he’d send me a text.

My mind is turning up in volume. I’m getting bad. Maybe you should visit your parents for a week or so. Just stay away from me, baby.





No way in hell was I doing that, but he still tried to convince me to stay away the second time. Again, didn’t happen. If anything, I quit everything just to be by his side like he’s always glued to mine. And I told him that. I told him a relationship is being there for each other through the bad and the good. I won’t take while he gives—that’s not how this works.

The third and fourth time, he learned his lesson and his texts changed in tone.

I’m getting bad. I need you, baby.





They were the most endearing texts he’s ever sent and I never felt happier than when he started to depend on me and be openly vulnerable with me. It’s only fair after he saw me at my lowest and picked me up. Literally and figuratively.

He sneakily slides his hand on my waist beneath my shirt. A map of goosebumps erupts where his fingers stroke the skin at a rhythmic pace.

It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been together or how often he touches me—which is a lot—whenever I’m with him, my body, heart, and soul hum with uncontainable energy.

The need to touch him is constant, vibrant, and gets more intense with time.

But right now is about the worst circumstance for that.

“Nikolai,” I warn.

“Yes, baby?”

“Stop acting like an impatient toddler and remove your hand.”

“But it’s not fair that you’re touching me and I’m not touching you.”

“Behave, or you won’t get your prize.”

“Fuck no. Kolya and I are thirsty for the prize.” He rolls his hips and tugs me against him with a pull on my drawstrings.

My cock bursts to life, standing to attention when it grazes against his. I have to lift the brush in the air so I don’t ruin what I’ve been working on for the past hour.

I slide my palette on his desk and sneak my fingers through his hair. It’s longer now, brushing against his shoulders in a glorious fashion. I’m positively and irrevocably obsessed with it, so I might have forbidden him from cutting it.