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

“Killian,” he says with the same destructive energy. “For the record, I still don’t like you.”

“I don’t like you either.”

“The solution is simple. Leave my sister.”

“Only if you leave my cousin.”

“No.”

“We’ll agree on that, then.”

I meet Glyn’s gaze, which looks so done with their shit, and we both roll our eyes.

“My favorite psychos.” Eli grabs each of them by the shoulder, but they disengage. Lan grabs my hand and Killian does the same with Glyn.

“Rude,” Eli mutters under his breath.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Lan whispers in my ear.

“No. I’m not bailing on your parents. Besides, this is fun.”

“As long as it amuses you.” He seems unhappy, but he’s definitely faking it.

I get on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek, then murmur, “I love you, Lan.”

“Fuck.” He smiles a genuine heart-stopping smile. “You sure know how to calm the beast inside me, little muse.”

And I always will.

It doesn’t matter how the world sees Landon.

He might be crazy, but he’s my crazy.





EPILOGUE 2—LANDON





TWO YEARS LATER





Remember that thing I was working on for some time? Well, I might have gotten a bit sidetracked and the task took me longer than I planned.

Two years longer, to be specific.

But what’s a win without a few struggles along the way, am I right?

Actually, I’m not right. I know it’s rare, but it’s true at times. This meaningless fucking hurdle has been bothering me for a while.

But here I am. Finally. In the middle of my own exhibition.

Now, to be perfectly clear, I’ve had multiple offers from renowned domestic and international art galleries to host my first solo art show ever since I was at uni.

I refused each and every one of them because, as I mentioned during my earlier moaning about timing, I was simply not ready.

And while that might sound like a flimsy excuse, it actually is true.

The Landon from two years ago needed a bit of a shake and a kick in the arse so he’d get his shit together and finally produce the masterpiece he was put on this earth for.

While I didn’t agree to solo exhibitions, I did take part in multi-artist and charity-funded exhibitions. I grew my name and left the art community brimming with excitement for when I’d finally show them what I’ve been secretly working on.

Safe to say, my masterpieces don’t compare to the decent but not-so-special statues I made before.

Things that were called ‘marvelously stunning,’ ‘achingly beautiful,’ and ‘brutally captivating’ pale in comparison to my new creations.

So, I might have gone a bit overboard and instead of producing one masterpiece, I have a few.

Or more like thirty of them.

The subject and the exhibition’s name? The Mystery of a Muse.

Statues of Mia fill out the gallery. For the first time, the subject of my obsession and addiction is revealed to the general public or anyone who’s not a staff member.

I stand in the corner, watching everyone falling head over heels for my genius and the reason behind my genius.

The muse whose existence I didn’t believe in until I was trapped by her forever.

The muse who filled up the emptiness so thoroughly, it’s become impossible to picture a world whose center she doesn’t occupy.

Mum was the first one who told me that my art finally has a soul, and I can see exactly why. Before Mia, I didn’t have a soul, and while some might argue that I still don’t, the truth is, I could only find my drive after Mia came into my life.

I needed a way to translate those feelings and unleash them onto the world so they could see how much she means to me. It might also have to do with the fact that I wanted to announce irrevocable ownership so everyone sees that she’s fucking mine and no one gets any funny ideas.

The statues filling the gallery are of Mia in different situations. The day I first met her after I brutalized her cousin’s car. The day I cornered her in the bathroom and she bathed me with blood. The day she kicked me in the nuts because of her adorable jealousy. With a flower in hand. In front of a field of her named arseholes that she sometimes gives more time than me. On the day of her graduation. The day she screamed my name for the first time—secretly my favorite moment.

However, my favorite statue is the one I chose as the main theme of this event. The piece I spent two years perfecting.

The piece everyone gawks at like it’s their custom-made god.

A giant statue of Mia stands in the middle of the gallery. She’s wearing her gothic dress and boots. Ribbons interlace her hair and her eyes stare at nothing. Her lips are sewed shut with stitches. The stone dips under each one, looking painful and deep and impossible to undo.

Two large wings blossom from her back, leaving gashes in the stone. One of them stands proud, but the other is crooked, broken, and half fallen. Red is splashed on the edges—her virginal blood that I got on a canvas two years back.

She holds out both her middle fingers. Like she did that day she let me chase her and showed me the side of her that spoke my language fluently.

The world is caught in a chokehold by my favorite—and possibly my only—masterpiece.