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

“All of my work is stunning.”

Bran stares at me. “You haven’t sculpted a thing in months, Lan.”

“These aren’t sculptures.”

“You haven’t done any model miniatures either.”

“They’re doodles. They mean nothing.”

“You’re such an arrogant fool. If others… No, if I could make something like this while doodling, I wouldn’t ask for anything else.”

“You need to stop painting happy-go-lucky nature scenes and you’ll be able to do better than this. You’re welcome for the free advice from a genius.”

“I told you not to meddle with my artistic choices.”

“Cry me a river.” I kill my half-finished cigarette and crack my neck. “What time is it?”

“Past your beauty bedtime,” Eli says. “Dark circles look hideous on you.”

“And that striped jacket gives you a fantastic grandpa vibe. Have better fashion sense before patronizing me about my looks.” I point at the door. “Now, out of my space, and I’m going to need that master key so no one trespasses again.”

Eli leans forward and whispers, “No,” before he buggers off to make the world a worse place than it was an hour ago.

“You need some sort of an escorting service?” I ask when Bran lingers behind, still staring at the miniatures.

He reaches a hand to one of them but thinks better of it and retracts it. Good. That hand might have been accidentally broken if he’d put it on my possessions.

Though I might not be as murderous if he asks for permission. He’s always wanted to touch my sculptures after I’ve given him the green light. Now, he doesn’t even ask if he can.

My brother stands to his full height and faces me with a furrowed brow. “Are you going to sculpt any of them?”

“No. They’re not worth it.”

“Have you positively lost your mind? These are your…”

“Finest work. Stunning. A stroke of a genius,” I finish for him. “We obviously have a different definition of excellence. What you see as extraordinary is mediocre at best to me.”

“Well, excuse me for not understanding the genius genes.”

“Nonsense. You have them as well, but as I’ve mentioned a million times, you’re shackling them to the best of your abilities.” I prop an elbow on his shoulder and grin. “Want my help to bring out the side you buried so deep, you almost forgot it existed?”

“If by help, you mean to drown me in your blood-flavored activities, then no thanks.”

“One day, you’ll take me up on my offer.”

“Not even if you’re reincarnated as a saint.”

“Bloody hell, Bran. Don’t go manifesting pure torture over a small disagreement.” I pat his cheek with the back of my hand.

It’s a gesture he used to like when we were growing up. Now, however, he drops his shoulder, making me lose my balance, and steps out of the way.

“No disagreement with you has ever been small, Lan.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Is this one of those times when you turn sappy on me as if I’m your imaginary therapist? If that’s going to be the case, I get paid by the hour and in advance, thank you.”

He releases a long breath and shakes his head with the surrender of an old man in the last stages of cancer.

“Just call Mum when you get the chance. She asked about you when I talked to her earlier.”

Saint Bran.

The peacemaker who thinks he’s holding our family together by a thread Bran.

Sometimes I wonder if the fact that he of all people happens to be my twin is some form of a calamity.

After one last lingering look at the miniatures, he leaves the studio as if his arse is on fire.

It’s no secret that Bran doesn’t like me. Might have to do with the number of treacherous, elicit activities I’ve been conducting over the years.

As Mum likes to say, we’re like night and day, and while she means that as a compliment, the truth remains, it’s impossible for us to meet halfway.

But Bran and his righteous shenanigans can wait another day.

I’ve already missed half a day in my attempts to retain the vision from last night. I don’t have enough time or inspiration to resurrect it.

One thing’s for sure. My next course of action starts with a certain little muse who’s gotten herself into the deepest clusterfuck of her life.





To say I’m entering unfriendly territory would be an understatement.

Let’s say The King’s U college and I share the same level of disagreement of right- and left-wing politics.

In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Heathens have put a bounty on my head and a wanted poster at the entrance of every class.

My track record with Killian, Nikolai, and even Jeremy doesn’t help. The only member I haven’t harmed, at least not directly, is Gareth, but I doubt he’d be interested in having a cheeky drink and smuggling me onto their grounds.

Which is why I came in partial disguise.

The saving grace of being among the unpolished, rowdy Americans is that there are so many of them. Definitely more than the students at REU. Therefore, wearing sunglasses and a hoodie is enough to conceal me from the unholy masses.

According to my extensive research on the Heathens and, after the blood episode, on Mia Sokolov herself, I know she’s studying business.