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

The inside isn’t any better than the outside. Upon entry, I’m hit by the musty smell of the decaying building. The wind howling through the trees outside sounds ten times louder inside.

Grim, somber medieval stairs greet us in the middle of the foyer. There’s a sofa and a few chairs that have lost their color, appearing pale pink instead of what I assume was once bright orange.

The wooden flooring is chipped everywhere, and the few intact pieces look older than the British monarchy. It creaks every time we take a step. While I’m careful, Landon walks with a sense of pride that’s completely uncalled for.

My gaze strays to the open door to the left—probably a kitchen or a dining room. No matter how much I search for signs of life, this place seems more dead than my voice.

Whatever angle you look at it from, it’s too shabby, messy, and underwhelming to fit someone as elegant and well-kept as Landon.

As much as I hate the asshole, he is illegally good-looking and has the charisma of a model in anything he wears. Even earlier in a hoodie and sunglasses, many stared at him, whispering to each other as if he were a celebrity.

Of course, the bastard basked in every second of the attention he got, despite trying not to get on my brother's and cousins’ radar.

Landon is not only a psychopath but also a raging narcissist.

Psychopaths are born not made. I wonder what type of gene pool resulted in his existence and why he turned out like this when Bran is one of the best people I’ve met?

Wait…why am I curious about the asshole? I don’t give two hecks about him and his warped psychology.

“It is said that the lady of the house fell down these very stairs and broke her neck.” His sudden hot words in my ear make me shudder.

I jump away. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Whispering in my ear from behind like a creep.”

“How else will I have you tremble against me? I love your innocent reactions that are in clear contradiction with your bad-girl image. Heads-up, I will provoke it whenever I get the chance. Unless…” he trails off and tilts his head. “You’re down for getting on your knees and closing those lips around my cock?”

“No.”

“Worth a try.” He kills the distance between us and places a hand at the small of my back close to my ass, probably trying to intimidate me with his physical presence.

“Can’t you tell me to walk without touching me?”

“But you feel so perfect in my hand. It’s a waste not to touch you.”

I shake my head and choose to drop it. If I go down that road, it’ll only get worse, and it’s just not a battle worth pursuing.

He promenades me around the war-like foyer as if he’s showing his most prized possessions. He stops by the pale pink sofa. “This is where the ghost sits. It’s probably watching us as we speak and putting a curse on you.”

“Why wouldn’t it put it on you instead?”

“Maybe it already did and I’m a product of its curse that’s tasked with devouring you alive and sucking you dry.”

“Save it.” I side-eye him. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“Real monsters are scarier and a lot more common than invisible paranormal creatures.”

“Interesting. Is one of those monsters the reason why you don’t talk?”

I freeze and throw him a questioning look.

“What? You thought I planned your demise without looking into your past?”

I purse my lips. What does the bastard know? He couldn’t have possibly dug up much since my parents are powerful enough to seal that part of my life.

He’s bluffing. He has to be.

Landon seems completely oblivious to my reaction as he leads me down a long corridor. What must’ve once looked like flowery wallpaper is nothing more than a faded beige vinyl now.

“It’s not that you’re a mute, it’s that you choose not to speak. I believe selective mute is the correct term. If you can speak, let me hear your voice.”

I elbow his side, forcing him to loosen his grip on my back, then sign, “What do you know about my life? What makes you think I can speak or that I even want to? And just so you know, if I do happen to talk—which isn’t possible by any stretch of the imagination, by the way—I’ll never let you hear it, asshole.”

“Never say never, little muse.”

“I’m not little. I happen to be only five years younger than you.”

“Aaaand your obsession with me continues.” He smiles, but there’s no amusement this time. Just the stark shadow of his calculation. “Tell me, what was the incident that took your voice away at eight years old? Your parents seem to have put a lot of effort into erasing it from everyone’s memories.”

I internally release a breath. So even Landon and his conniving ways haven’t managed to get any information. For the first time, I’m thankful to be a mafia princess and in possession of the Bratva’s and, most importantly, my parents’ protection.

“Ever wondered if it’s hidden because it’s none of your business?” I smile with enough sweetness to give diabetes a run for its money.

“I can get that information anyway, even if it takes a bit longer than I’d like it to. So how about you tell me yourself now and save us both the time and effort?”