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

That’s also when I realized people, including your own family, don’t really like you for what or who you are. It’s all about how you make them feel.

Ever since I started wearing the mask of societal standards, the few wrinkles I added to my parents’ faces have eased a little, and I’m, in a way, their favorite—when Bran isn’t channeling the saint he thinks lurks inside him.

My siblings, however, didn’t get the merciful version of my otherworldly transformation. I don’t like them making fools out of themselves, and I might have taken drastic measures to make sure they’re not acting like idiots.

What? It reflects badly on my pristine image.

I leave the art studio, and even though I’m running on more sleep deprivation than a seasoned hooker, I greet my colleagues, comment on their atrocious edgy clothes, and make small talk with my current and previous professors, who would worship me if I started a cult.

All the social interactions are a strain, painfully empty, and hold the importance of a used napkin. And yet I’m an excellent conversationalist and the holy messiah of charming others.

It all comes down to wearing the appropriate mask in the right situation and with the right people.

It still bores me to tears, though.

People as a concept have only one merit—the ability to be used. Other than that, they’re a brainless, rotten species that I like to pretend I don’t belong to.

Finally, I leave the charade of pretending I give a fuck about their fangirling and fanboying.

I grab a coffee from the nearest coffee shop, making sure I tell the owner she looks like Princess Diana on her wedding day. Complete nonsense that she gobbles up without a hint of doubt.

Then I consume my three-shot espresso in one go and dunk the cup in the bin.

My brain restarts in quick overdrive, ready for whatever I dish his way. Yes, I know too much caffeine isn’t healthy, but I’m not beneath using crutches when I need an extra boost.

Whether it’s cigarettes, coffee, or sex.

I slide into my McLaren and check my phone. After I left last night, I sent Mia a very sweet good night text.

Landon: My cock is pleased to make the acquaintance of your wet little mouth and he can’t wait to meet your cunt after my fingers made a compelling recommendation.

Landon: Oh, and good night. Have an erotic dream of me plowing into your tight little hole.

Unsurprisingly, she didn’t reply at the time.

Now, however, I find a text from her. She sent it about fifteen minutes ago, during the time I was playing my Prince Charming role to perfection.

Mia: Oh, I did dream of you all right. You were hanging from a tree by the balls and I snipped your dick off *scissors emoji* I’d be careful if I were you. My dreams usually come true.

I throw my head back in genuine laughter. This girl is, by all accounts, the most entertaining thing since playing chess with Eli or Uncle Aiden.

Maybe even more so.

Landon: Point is, you still dreamt of me. You like me that much, huh?

Her reply is immediate. Something rare.

I’m breaking that wall, brick by each brick. Once I’m done, my muse will be fully mine.

Mine to own.

Mine to use.

Mine to destroy.

Mia: The delusional police called. You’re under arrest for spreading fake news. In case that wasn’t clear, you’re the last person on earth I’d like.

Landon: And yet you choked on my cock like a good girl.

The dots appear and disappear, but her reply doesn’t come.

Landon: Lost for words?

Mia: More like I’m deciding which voodoo doll of you should I bake in the microwave.

Landon: You’re even making voodoo dolls of me. The obsession is cute. Speaking of cute, are you up to sucking my cock again? I loved your little licks and amateurish attempt at blowing me. The innocence show was such a turn-on.

Mia: No.

Landon: Does that mean you prefer I stick my cock in one of your other holes? Perhaps both?

Mia: Seriously, you need to chill for one fucking second.

Landon: Is that a no?

Mia: Of course it’s a no.

Landon: Pity. You’re missing out on my porn-worthy sex drive. Will try again tomorrow when you’re in a better mood. In the meantime, want to come over?

Mia: To your funeral? Sure. I’ll wear my worst black dress and throw a dead rat in your grave when no one is looking.

I laugh again. I can almost imagine her doing exactly that with a sly grin on her face.

She’s definitely a menace, and I’m loving every second of it.

Landon: That’s tempting, but I meant to come over to the haunted house and model for me.

Mia: No, thanks.

Landon: Your resistance is amusing to a degree, but don’t overdo it, because I could and would crush you once the right circumstances arise. Don’t make the mistake of provoking me again. We both know how it ended up the last few times.

Mia: *Middle finger emoji*

Landon: Very well.

Looks like we’re doing it my way, after all.

I’m about to throw my phone away when she sends another text.

Mia: Just what the hell do you want from me, Landon? Leave me alone.

Landon: No can do. And as for what I want, the answer is simple. I want your soul, little muse.





14





MIA





I tiptoe to where a familiar figure is standing by the corner of the kitchen, the only sound is the swishing of my boot chains.