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

All I have to do is pretend last night never happened.

I’m a master at pretending. Have done it my whole life and have always succeeded.

This isn’t any different.

My movements are mechanical as I wash my hand, biting my lip against the pain. Dark, forbidden images invade my brain. Teeth nibbling on my swollen lip, bruising, devouring—

Stop.

My hand shakes as I hit the tap shut and bandage my cuts.

I’m about to step into the bedroom when I catch a reflection of my distorted image and I have to look away before my face becomes black again.

Wait…

Please don’t tell me that’s what I think it is.

I get closer, tilting my head back, and, sure enough, there’s a dark-purple hickey near my jaw and another at my Adam's apple.

That fucking—

I expel a long breath and exit the bathroom, pulling on my hair and nearly toppling everything in my wake.

My movements are frantic as I put on my running shorts and T-shirt. My body is begging me to sit this one out and give myself time to recover from the hangover, but if I do that, I’ll just allow myself time to think.

I can’t think.

Not after the blood fest this morning.

I rush back into the bathroom and slap two plasters against the hickeys. If anyone asks, I’ll say I cut myself while shaving.

Deny.

Forget.

Pretend.

My holy mantra will work its magic this time as well. It always does.

I leave my room, pushing against the headache and the fog swimming in my mind. I just need a run and everything will get back to normal.

Yet as I go down the stairs of the mansion I share with my brother, cousins, and friend Remi, I’m hit with how I felt when I took these stairs up last night.

Or early this morning.

Fuck, it’s only been a couple of hours since Nikolai dropped me off near the house. On his motorbike.

I wish I didn’t remember much after the colossal lack of judgment on my part, but I do. Painfully so.

He removed his shirt, which I’m sure he didn’t want to be wearing in the first place, and used it to clean us up before he dragged me to where he’d parked his motorbike.

Me on a motorbike? Not in this lifetime.

But that logic apparently doesn’t apply to the smashed version of me, because I totally rode on that bike and had to stop myself from holding onto his shoulders for dear life.

Nikolai was grinning like an idiot when I hopped off on unsteady feet and swayed on my way to the mansion, muttering a thanks that I’m not sure he heard.

I certainly heard his “Sweet dreams, lotus flower.”

Sweet. Like fuck they were.

I rub the fine hairs on the back of my head as I exit through the gate. I didn’t warm up properly, but I couldn’t care less. I just need this energy gone.

Immediately.

I run down my learned path, relishing the feel of gravel crunching under my feet and the music blaring in my ears. My lungs expand with every breath, drawing in clean air.

This is my zone.

I’m fine.

Perfectly okay.

In control—

A large figure cuts in front of me and I try to stop, but it’s too late and I awkwardly crash into him.

My chest takes the shock, my AirPods fall from my ears, and my senses flood with the very distinctive smell of mint, clover, and hellish damnation.

Strong arms envelop my waist, and I can feel the rumble of his chest against mine as he chuckles. “Morning to you as well, lotus flower. I didn’t realize you missed me so much in such a short time.”

“I…did not.” I step away from him.

“Hey, you were the one who hugged me just now.”

“I fell.”

“Tomayto, tomahto.” He grins in the same way he did yesterday as he watched me tuck my tail between my legs and walk up to my place.

In a trance.

Lost.

But that’s not me today.

I cross my arms and glare at him. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He motions at his usual half-naked state—black shorts and Nike shoes. “I’ll be your running buddy.”

“I don’t want one.”

“You might not want one, but you need one…” he trails off and snatches my bandaged hand in both of his, flipping it left and right. “What happened?”

The wounds tingle, turning hotter with every passing second he touches me, and I tug my hand with more force than needed. “None of your business.”

He narrows his eyes. “Welcome back, Asshole Brandon. Can’t say I missed your grouchy presence.”

“Just go away.” I search my surroundings for the godforsaken AirPods. “Weren’t you perfectly fine with ignoring my presence for weeks?”

“That was before I made the acquaintance of your beautiful, huge dick.”

I freeze and slowly direct my widened eyes in his direction. He just stands there, watching me and grinning like a damn idiot.

“Why do you look so horrified?” He steps toward me, his size metaphorically growing. “Don’t tell me you forgot all about it?”

“I did. I was hammered and don’t remember anything that happened.”

He reaches a hand in my direction and I flinch back, putting distance between us. If he touches me again, it’ll crack my newly found control.