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

He appears genuinely pensive and I wish I could take a trip inside his brain and see how he processes information. This is the first time he seems so open and not attempting any form of manipulation.

Landon finishes his glass of wine and pours himself another one. When he offers some to me, I nod. The first step of establishing a bond is to build common ground around something. I’m ready to sacrifice my disregard for alcohol to get him to open up more.

He raises a brow, but he pours me a glass anyway, then takes a sip of his. “Tell me more about how these so-called interpersonal relationships happen.”

“Well, first you have to be interested in getting to know the other person.”

“I’m clearly interested in you. Next.”

I nearly choke on the tentative sip of wine I’ve taken. The heat from earlier rises to my ears again, but I choose to believe it’s because of the alcohol.

“Then you’d want to learn as much as possible about them. Like their interests, favorite color, favorite movie, hobbies, and so on.”

“Despite wearing black all the time, your favorite color is, in fact, blue. I suppose you don’t wear it as much because you hold it in high regard and don’t want to waste it on everyday activities. Your favorite movie is a tie between Mad Max and Fight Club because, unlike your prim and proper anti-chaos talk, you do enjoy watching violence and anarchy, which is why you often complain about Maya’s romantic comedy movie nights. Your favorite food is Italian, mostly pasta, specifically carbonara. Your interests include chess, meditation, working out, and, of course, growing plants and then talking to them as if they possess a soul and feelings. Oh, and you definitely have deviant sexual tastes that fit mine like a glove.”

My lips part and I have to catch myself before I start drooling or something a lot worse.

Landon is perceptive to a fault, but I never thought he’d pick up pieces and stitch them together this efficiently.

“Did I miss something?” he asks when I don’t reply.

I clear my throat and sign, “Yeah, one thing. I’m not as deviant as you.”

“Highly debatable. Care for a bet?”

“I’m done betting with you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. The temptation will arise sooner or later.”

I narrow my eyes but soon relax. “I see what you’re doing.”

“What I’m doing?”

“Trying to rile me up so we’ll slip back into your territory, and you’d have complete control over the outcome of the situation. I’m telling you it won’t work, so you might want to give up.”

A slight smirk lifts his gorgeous lips. “My territory is more fun. Just saying.”

“It’s also more destructive and causes strain to anyone who’s not you.”

“If by strain you mean coming a few times a night, then sure, it’s a massive strain.”

I glare. He stares back, still smirking.

Then again, it’s impossible to make him abandon all bad habits in one go. The fact that he’s willing to listen without imposing his threats and ultimatums is progress as it is.

Small steps, right?

“Moving on,” I sign. “Another method is to tell the other person something no one else knows.”

“I will only do that if you reciprocate.”

I narrow my eyes. There he is back to the choices. But this one seems fair enough, so I nod.

“I’ve never considered any of my statues a masterpiece.”

I straighten in my chair. “Are you joking?”

“When have I ever?”

I stare at his face, but there’s no hint of a lie. He means it. He actually thinks all his absolutely gorgeous, though often disturbing, pieces are not all that.

“But you always say you’re an untouchable genius and God’s gift to the art community and humanity.”

“That I am. I just still haven’t produced the piece I’ve been wanting to since I was two years old.”

“What defines a masterpiece for you?”

“It’s just a feeling. I’ll know it when I experience it.” He points his glass at me. “Your turn.”

I bite the corner of my lip and then release it. He really did tell me something special, so I can’t just hide from this.

Maybe it’s because of my inexplicable need to build up the bond between us, but I go for it. “I never told anyone about my kidnapper, because they said if I mention anything, they’ll know and will kill that person in front of my eyes.”

My limbs tremble as I sign the words. The words due to which my entire world has been flipped upside down leave me like a whoosh of icy air.

“Is that why you stopped speaking?” Landon asks in an eerily calm tone.

I nod. “My family thinks it’s because of the trauma and I let them believe that.”

Why am I telling him all of this? Why am I digging my fingers into the old, infested wound even though it hurts?

It’s alcohol. Must be the alcohol.

Landon stands up and I’m too slow to follow his movements. Before I know it, he’s beside me. He removes his jacket and places it around my shoulders, then presses down gently.

It's then I realize that not only my hands are shaking, but my whole body is.

Landon lowers himself so his face is level with mine. The scent of his cologne sends a strange calming effect through me and I inhale him, breathing in as much as my lungs can take.