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

I have to tighten my grip on the glass to stop it from shaking. My gaze tracks his nonchalant movements as he stalks to the exit, lighting his cigarette and releasing a cloud of smoke in the air.

Instead of the ink retreating from around my feet, it swallows them up, then shoots up my shins and strangles my knees until that’s all I can see and feel.

Black ink.

Fucking doom.

My heart simmers down almost lethargically, and I swallow another drink to numb it.

“Phew, that was intense,” Annika says. “Seriously, Kill. Don’t bring him next time. He’s scary.”

“Are you sure it’s not because he could snitch to your brother?”

She laughs awkwardly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I have nothing to hide from Jer.”

“Uh-huh,” Killian replies.

I want to ask what she has to hide. Why is she calling him scary if they were together…?

Stop it.

“So who’s next?” I ask in an attempt to ignore all the chaos.

“Me!” Annika looks at Killian. “Never have I ever got my dick sucked.”

“That’s a low fucking blow,” Remi whines, but he downs a drink.

Killian and I do so as well.

“Wait a minute.” Remi looks at Creigh. “Why aren’t you drinking, Cray Cray? Have you missed the never have I ever for this round?” My cousin shakes his head and Remi throws his hand in the air. “Then drink—Jesus fucking Christ, spawn, please tell me you’ve had your dick sucked at least once?”

When Creigh doesn’t reply, Remi flops on his chair with more theatrics than needed. “I think I need some medical attention. My own spawn has been missing out and I didn’t know. I’m losing years of my life as we speak, I’m telling you.”

“What’s so special about having one’s dick sucked?” Creigh asks.

“Uh, what’s so special about the sun? The moon? The ecosystem? I can go on forever. Jesus, spawn, you’re making me look like a bad mentor.”

“You are, though.” Cecily makes a face at him and they all keep talking, bickering, and laughing.

Having fun.

I zone out.

I laugh when they do, but I have no clue what’s happening around me.

A fog surrounds me and seeps beneath my skin until I can’t breathe.

I drink two more shots, but I’m not entirely numb.

It’s not enough.

Nothing is enough.

I can’t breathe.

Please stop.

I shake my head, trying and failing to shake away the black ink swelling inside.

When Killian decides to take Glyn home, I wait a few minutes, then make up an excuse about feeling a bit under the weather.

More like I’m crushed by my own head.

I stumble out of the pub unsteadily, my head swimming and my vision blurring. I bump into a group of people and apologize—or I think I do—as I walk in a zigzag.

The lights shimmer and turn into tiny bokeh points, moving farther and farther away.

Like my fucking sanity.

I used to pride myself on being completely in control. About everything.

Anyone.

Until this motherfucker came into my life.

And now, I’m not sure how to get that control back.

I need that control or everything will be over.

Every fucking thing.

I stumble into someone and step back on swaying feet. “Sorry…”

“Watch where you’re going, you fucking cunt!” The guy grabs me by the collar of my shirt and shakes me a few times, and I see stars.

He sounds American. Fuck those guys. Why can’t they just stay in America and leave me alone?

“You better apologize or I’ll kill you,” he and his twin threaten.

Oh, wait. It’s triplets.

It’s the alcohol, isn’t it?

His friends try to disengage him from me, but he only tightens his hold until I can’t breathe.

I smile sweetly like the very good person I am and then mutter, “Fuck you.”

He lifts his fist and I close my eyes. Maybe I need this so I’ll either pass out or finally snap the fuck out of it.

I wait for the punch, but it never comes.

The fingers disappear from around my throat and I watch in complete horror as Nikolai drives his fist into the guy’s face, sending him flying.

Blood explodes all over his nose and mouth as he splutters on the ground. And then he lifts him up by his T-shirt and punches him again.

And again.

Then kicks him.

When the others try to interfere, he drives his fists in their faces in a long succession of punches.

He’s in a frenzy. A craze.

He is crazy.

And yet as I stand here, the only feeling that goes through me is resounding relief.

He didn’t leave.

He came back.





9





NIKOLAI





This is definitely not what it looks like.

I didn’t hang out around the area of the pub, chain-smoking and contemplating how to pick a fight and punch some motherfuckers.

Okay, I did.

But the next part is definitely not what it looks like.

I didn’t beat these people up because a cunt happened to grab Brandon by his shirt or attempt to punch him.

Hurt him.

Right in front of me.

Yeah, so I did drive my fist in Brandon’s face the last time I saw him, but only I get to do that.