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

Jesus. The man is a lost cause.

And yet I can’t help but look at his expression, the euphoria in his mystic eyes, as if he could breathe a soul into the cold stone.

Which is ironic since he obviously lacks a soul.

He has pictures with what appear to be world-renowned artists, professors, mentors, business people, and half of the British aristocracy.

It’s like he has a hundred hours in a day.

The devil works fast, but Landon King works faster.

I scroll to the top of his profile and read the caption.

Landon King. The Prince Charming your nana told you fairy tales about.

More like the monster.

I wonder if he’s always been in control of the image he projects onto the world and what gave him the incentive to invent this image.

If he was born this way, like my cousin was, then there must be some form of a process that led him to where he is.

Not that I’m interested in his story. I am not.

I’m about to click the link to his website, but I accidentally follow him back.

Shit.

Jumping up into a sitting position, I unfollow him, hoping he doesn’t notice. Then again, an account like his must receive thousands of notifications, so he probably won’t pay attention.

With a sigh, I fall back against the bed and exit Instagram altogether. My phone lights up with a text and my breath catches.

Devil Lord: Playing hard to get?

What the hell is he doing up this late? But monsters don’t really sleep. What’s worse is that he actually noticed.

My cheeks heat and I curse internally. There goes my attempt to escape this shameful situation.

My phone lights up again.

Devil Lord: You make a cute stalker.

I lose my grip on the phone and it falls on my face. Pain throbs in my forehead and nose and I groan.

I can’t believe I’m being chastised by none other than Landon.

When I look at my phone again, there’s already another text from him.

Devil Lord: Stalker is a better and more decadent description than a coward.

Mia: Who are you calling a coward?

Devil Lord: Why, hello there. Here I thought my texts were for some reason being written with invisible ink.

Devil Lord: But I digress. Good to know you’re still awake. I planned a little something.

Mia: I’m not going anywhere with you.

Devil Lord: There’s no need.

I narrow my eyes. He’s surprisingly not threatening me with my sister or offering ultimatums, and while that should be good news, it actually isn’t.

From my unfortunate interactions with him, I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s the type who’ll go the extra mile to make sure he gets what he wants, come hell or high water.

So the fact that he gave up so easily is suspicious at best.

I continue staring at the screen, expecting him to bombard me with another series of texts, but none come.

Maybe his body finally gave out on his evil brain and he fell asleep or—

The lights go out.

My heartbeat skyrockets and I grab my phone in a tight grip as I study my surroundings.

All I find is black and more black.

Pitch-black darkness spreads around me, smothering my skin with a coat of the monster’s sticky scale-like skin.

No.

No…

This can’t be happening. Why would the lights go off?

Don’t tell me the monster has finally come for me…?

I will my leg to move. My best option is to run to Maya’s room, but I can’t even stand up.

Terror comes in different shades. Mine has always manifested in turning completely frozen.

Maybe I don’t want to leave the room, because I’d go to Maya first. A part of me vehemently refuses to get my sister involved in this.

What if he targets her this time and scars her for life like he did me?

No. I’d kill him before he touches her, or I’d die trying.

Still, I can’t move.

So I screw my eyes shut. If I pretend not to see anything, maybe this will pass. Like the thousands of nightmares I’ve survived over the past decade.

His breath reverberates in the corners of the room and wraps an invisible noose around my neck.

My fingers tighten on the phone. I can’t call the police, because this isn’t real. And I can’t call Mom, Dad, or Niko, because I’ll look like the unhinged, paranoid version of myself and they’ll be the ones to lock me in an asylum.

I let the phone fall to the side of the bed so I’m not tempted to do that and pull my knees to my chest, then hide my face in my crossed arms.

This isn’t real. It’s only my mind playing tricks on me.

I chant even as tears sting the corners of my eyes and sweat covers my brow and upper lip.

My entire body trembles under the sheer pressure of my own thoughts. My mind chooses this moment to tune in on memories I’ve tried to erase, to no avail.

I’m trapped in a small dark and humid place. Blood drips through the cracks like a haunting song, and empty eyes stare at me the whole time.

A distorted voice whispers in my ear, “This isn’t over.”

I can still feel his rancid breath against my nape, shoulder, and ears. Like a deadly lullaby, he keeps whispering those words again and again.

And again…

“I clearly warned you to keep your windows closed, no?”

The overpowering emotions of terror slowly wither into colorful bursts of…confusion? Excitement?