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

Granted, I might not have stopped at just touching if she hadn’t run away.

I grab the last miniature and throw it against the raw stone opposite me. My details were the sharpest in the first ones, but they dwindled as I made more.

The last ones are absolute rubbish and a staggering disgrace.

The first stab of inspiration that hit me has faded, and my mind is now the usual barren black.

Black used to be the standard for me. It was with black that I sculpted and with black that I continued to thrive.

But for the first time ever, this type of black isn’t as satisfying.

I want the dash of colors.

The strike of lightning.

The sound of thunder.

None of them come.

“Lan!”

I stare up from my distasteful miniatures to find my brother standing in the middle of my kingdom. Brandon is a striking identical picture of me, who can’t resemble my sublime character to save his life.

“How did you manage to get in?” I sound groggy to my own ears, so I pull out another cigarette and jam it between my lips.

My brother doesn’t like the smell of cigarettes, but then again, he shouldn’t be in my space.

“I helped.” My cousin Eli flashes me a vicious grin as he appears from behind Bran like a horror cliché.

He’s my second cousin, if we’re being specific, since his dad and mine are cousins. Being a couple years older than me, he takes that as a pass to brag about the King firstborn privileges.

Oh, and he happens to be antagonistic for the fun of it. Yes, I’m the same, but I don’t like competition in my own game. One of these days, he’ll take it too far and they’ll find his body mysteriously floating in the Thames.

“With what?” I deadpan. “Giving yourself a personality?”

“The only one in this building in need of a personality transplant is you.”

“He found the master key so we could open the door,” Bran says in his usual attempt at peacemaking. It’s so disturbing to see him being Mother Teresa and spouting nonsense with my face.

I blow smoke in his direction. “And you trespassed in my space because…”

He closes his eyes for a beat, but, like a boring nun, he doesn’t display any form of anger or even displeasure. “You weren’t answering your phone or the door when I knocked for the past fifteen minutes.”

And the hole of fucking strange keeps widening.

I’m usually more aware of my surroundings than a predator in a dark African jungle.

“I told you he’s fine,” Eli supplies like an arsehole. “As unfortunate as it might sound, nothing can hurt the twat.”

“You, however, could accidentally end up on an MIA list.” I match his grin with my wolfish one. “Don’t worry, I’ll console Uncle Aiden and Aunt Elsa after they receive the news.”

“Not if you magically disappear first.”

“Catch me if you can.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“I don’t know. Is it?”

“Can you both stop?” Bran shakes his head like a headmistress who’s sick and tired of her most troublemaking students. “We’re family.”

Eli and I snort and then we burst into laughter at the same time.

Did I mention that my brother can be the sappiest plain Jane who ever walked the planet?

Eli pats his shoulder. “Family is what makes this more fun, dear cousin.”

Bran doesn’t appear the least bit amused, though his shoulders relax now that he’s figured out Eli and I like to rile each other for sport.

He still wants to kill me for my plan that included his brother, but I’m sure he won’t do it.

At least, not if he still wants to belong to the King family.

As in, the one that owns the UK and half of the world. My grandfather, Jonathan King, is a ruthless monarch with an iron fist and a sharp sense of business. He built the fortune his brother and father nearly eradicated.

My father, Levi King, and my uncle, Aiden King, have been transforming the business and making it more lucrative than oil princes’ fortunes.

The future of the King empire falls on Eli, me, and probably Creighton. Bran and Glyn were never interested in business and prefer to be artists like Mum.

My art career is just a temporary ruse before I take over the world. Might need to study some business first, but who gives a fuck. I’m sure I’ll excel at that like everything I’ve done thus far.

Nothing is permanent, and the world is a mere vessel to make my desires come true.

My every whim and want has been catered to, which tends to be boring, for lack of a better term. Someone give me a challenge, for fuck’s sake.

“Is everything okay? You’ve been locked in here for over twelve hours…” my brother trails off when he sees the miniatures lying on the floor, and his eyes grow in size. “Wow.”

Yes, wow. I’ve never made so many useless miniatures in one session.

“Wow for the murdered Smurfs he’s been making?” Eli asks with a note of depleted sarcasm.

I side-eye him. “You’re an uncultured swine with not an artistic bone in your miserable body. Don’t pollute my studio with your lack of taste.”

“I do have taste. It just doesn’t include your ugly art.”

“It’s far from ugly,” Bran says without looking at Eli, then lowers himself to his knees to inspect them closely. “These are some of your finest work. They’re stunning.”