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

But then again, my paintings are taking a turn I dislike and I find myself hiding the canvases as if they’re a dirty little secret.

Maybe they are.

So perhaps this mindless gathering with my family members is exactly what I need.

I find solace in Creigh’s silent presence, who also didn’t give his approval about attending this sudden celebration.

He’s around Glyn’s age, but he has an old soul and he’s the one I seek out whenever I need calm.

He clinks his bottle of beer against mine and lifts his chin. “Congrats on getting rid of the loose screw.”

Jesus. Even he didn’t like her.

I take a sip of my beer. “I didn’t think you knew she existed.”

“She made sure everyone knew. Not for you, cousin. You deserve someone who doesn’t use you.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Even my Cray Cray thinks you dodged a bullet.” Eli ruffles his brother’s hair and headlocks him, at which they start to wrestle playfully.

Landon pushes them away and slides to my side, a calculative look I don’t like slipping into his features. “So what prompted the breakup? Did she cheat again?”

I swallow a long mouthful of beer to avoid his inquisitive gaze. Of course Lan wouldn’t let it go. He’s always acting like a dog, sniffing around, and trying to locate the bone. Bones. Plural.

He knows I kept her around for convenience reasons, and while he didn’t approve of her, he of all people is well aware of the image. The camouflage.

Now, he has no idea why I need that image, and he never will, but he couldn’t have missed its existence. It’s why he’s never liked the way I converted to painting landscapes. He knows I’m doing it as part of that façade.

It’s impossible to hide from him, no matter what I do. It’s like a curse.

I let out a breath, staring at the tinted bottle. “I was bored.”

“So she didn’t cheat. Interesting.” His intrusive eyes dig a hole in the side of my face and I pretend to be fascinated with Remi making a fool of himself.

Thankfully, Lan gets off my case with a simple “Well, I’m glad you finally got bored.”

Not sure why he cares so much about my relationship with Clara, or the lack thereof, but whatever.

I knock back the rest of the bottle and then reach for a second. Maybe it’s better to just get smashed tonight.

Maybe that will numb the illicit thoughts trying to tear through my brain.

Tonight, I broke up with my girlfriend of two years—though on and off—but my thoughts are infested with images of a savage ravaging me.

“Rems! Do those impressions.” Eli points his beer at his cousin, snapping my attention to the present.

“Whatever do you mean, my liege?” Remi says in a dramatic medieval accent. “I shall not be accused of treason when my blood has irrigated these lands for decades.”

I squirm and hide it with a sip of beer. Considering my complicated relationship with my own blood, I get a queasy feeling whenever it’s mentioned. Or worse, when I see it.

“Off with his head!” Lan shouts, seeming to enjoy the theatrical play a bit too much.

“My darling.” Remi reaches for Creigh and hides behind him, still speaking in the same tone. “Save me from these uncivilized barbarians.”

“No one will save you from the guillotine,” Eli says with an evil smirk.

“Hey, there’s no guillotine in Medieval England!”

“We’re in the French Revolution, mon ami.”

“Spawn!” Remi uses Creigh as a shield while Eli tries to bypass him. Lan laughs his head off, and I do, too.

I grew up with these guys and their antics, and I’m grateful for these mindless encounters and the cheeky banter.

They’re my family, simple as that, and I’m thankful in more ways than one.

Mostly because they offered me a place where I can pretend that I belong.

Half an hour later, I need to relieve myself. I leave the rowdy living room and head to the guest toilet.

After I’m done, I wash my hands and stare at my face in the mirror for a second. The sense of nausea rolls in my stomach and I cut eye contact before I smash this mirror to pieces as well.

After I dry my hands, I lift my shirt and stare at the dark-purple hickeys near my collarbone, shoulder, chest, but mostly surrounding my nipples.

A shiver goes through me and I run my fingers over them, hissing at the shadow of pain. I honestly never thought men could have sensitive nipples or, worse, in my case, that it would turn me on when Nikolai played with them.

He didn’t just leave hickeys. He brutalized my skin and created angry teeth marks on it.

Everywhere I touch, he’s there. Like a constant reminder of my fucked-up mental state.

Of how far I fell and how deeply I lost control.

My teammates didn’t see this because I made sure to shower after they left the changing room, pretending I had to do something first. They gave me grief about the hickey on my neck, saying that I had a wild one on my hands.

They meant Clara, of course, but she’s nowhere near wild.

The one who’s driving me fucking insane is none other than a man.

A rowdy, always shirtless, mountain of a man who looks at me like he wants to rip me apart.

I wonder how I look at him.

My gaze lands on my eyes in the mirror and I groan when I accidentally touch my nipple. It’s still sore and aching from his attention earlier, and no matter how much I try to erase that memory, it won’t go away.