God of Ruin (Legacy of Gods #4) by Rina Kent

Just eternal silence.

Landon’s pace grows in intensity and he joins me soon after. He pulls out and spreads his cum all over my ass so that my skin is a mess of erotic stickiness.

I can barely breathe, let alone think. My ears ring and my heart seems to be fighting to keep me alive.

However, everything quiets down when Landon leans over, pushes away my hair and ribbons from my face, and whispers, “Fucking mine.”

I am.

But then again, so is he.





33





LANDON





My fingers flow over my sketchbook in a sporadic, chaotic rhythm that I have little to no control over.

And I’m the type who thrives on control and having everything under my fucking thumb.

Yet I can’t put an end to the figures I’ve been sketching for hours. Don’t ask me how many, because I have no clue what I made during the time I’ve spent trapped in this endless loop.

It’s been so long that I’ve lost count, and I’ve also lost the ability to get past this stage.

It’s been long enough that my lips have become dry. Since there’s nothing to keep them company, it’s impossible to tune them out.

What’s more frustrating, however, is this rush of creativity that’s been possessing my head and limbs but refuses to materialize in real form.

Sketches upon sketches of possible masterpieces fill my pad, and yet none of them makes the cut. My brain is a picky twat with higher standards than the Greek gods.

But then again, if greatness were to come easily, everyone could be a genius.

A soft hand touches mine and I lift my head to meet the eyes of my own Greek goddess. The muse I didn’t know I needed until she stood in front of me in the darkness like a perfect imitation of a statue.

My hoodie swallows Mia’s tiny frame and reaches the middle of her thighs. Marks of my fingers form a map over the fair skin of her inner legs in a clear show of my absolute ownership.

My gaze slides to the dark blue mark that’s spread on her throat. A mark of my own making that bears no resemblance to what I did to that fucker Rory, who’s probably fucked off back to his unremarkable hometown in Cambridge as we speak.

After I got that brazen call, I went to the flat he shares with another member of the Elite. I didn’t have to wait for long, because he showed up soon after, wearing a smug grin.

That sense of victory was wiped off his ugly face by yours truly after I taught him some basic rules about who calls the shots. Spoiler alert, it’s not him.

Just before he passed out, he had the audacity to tell me that he left me a memento with Mia.

That got him the final punch in the face that could or could not send him on the first ambulance to the hospital.

My rage surged the highest after I saw that Mia intentionally hid the hickey he left. As if she was trying to protect the mark or something equally blasphemous.

I’ve never experienced that type of rage. Not when Bran was made a target. Not when Killian decided my sister was his target.

Not even when I figured out I’d never relate to my parents the way my siblings do.

The moment I saw another man’s mark on Mia’s skin, I had the urge to destroy Rory so irrevocably, nothing would be left for others to come and pick up.

Then came the need to cut into Mia so deep, my name would be the only one left inside her for any future lives.

But that black rage instantly faded as soon as she said—or, more accurately, signed—the words.

“I’m yours, Landon.”

Of course she fucking is.

I didn’t need to hear/see the words to know they were true and yet that’s exactly what managed to pull me right off a very bleak and dark edge.

She’s doing it again right now.

The feel of her soft hand against mine is enough to drag me out of the black hole I got myself trapped in after she fell asleep.

My demons retreat to the shadows, quietly hissing and making their discontent clear.

“Is everything okay?” she signs.

I slam my notebook shut, throw it on the table beside me, and grab her by the waist, then sit her on my lap. She feels small and fucking perfect in my arms—like this is exactly where she was always supposed to be. I bury my nose in her slightly damp hair and I breathe in the magnolia scent.

And yes, I have that shampoo and body wash here.

My lungs expand as I inhale her and I release a long hum. “It is now.”

Mia wiggles on my thigh until she’s sitting sideways with her back against the desk. Her eyes glitter in a watery blue, like the Mediterranean Sea under the scorching sun.

Was she always so fucking beautiful or am I falling harder onto that bottomless hole?

She studies me closely, which has been the norm since the rooftop date. As if she’s trying to get under my skin by using every method at her disposal.

“What were you thinking about just now?” she finally signs.

“Why are you asking?”

“You seemed so lost in thought and I want to know what someone like you thinks about when you’re trapped in your own head.”

“Nothing good, to be frank.” My fingers slide beneath the hoodie and I stroke her hip slowly, sensually.

She shudders but soon recovers. “Tell me.”

“It’s best to leave some skeletons in the closet.”

“But I want to know.”