God of Pain (Legacy of Gods #2)(2)

I jump back, slapping a hand to my chest.

If I hadn’t seen the slick movement through my balcony sliding door, I would’ve thought this person—a man, judging by his build—was cut from the night.

He’s in all black. Sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt, shoes, gloves, and a half-smiling, half-crying mask.

A shiver snakes beneath my flesh as I stare at the details of the mask. The crying half is black and the smiling part is white. The mixture of both is creepily haunting.

All of him is.

The bleak color of his clothes doesn’t conceal the bulging of his muscles beneath the shirt or reduce the sheer power of his quiet presence. He’s someone who works out, his chest filled with planes of muscles and a defined abdomen, but he’s not bulky.

Just muscular enough to exude power by merely standing there.

He’s also tall. So tall that I have to crane my head to take in the entirety of him.

Well, I’m a bit on the short, petite side. But still. I don’t usually have to go to such an extent to look at people.

We stare at each other for a beat, like two animals before they go at each other’s throats.

The two holes in the creepy mask serve as his eyes, which are dark, but not black or brown, more like the darkness of the ocean.

And I latch onto that color, to that disruption of the black aura. It’s also my toxic trait to see the good in people, to not let the world harden me until I can no longer empathize with anyone.

It’s a promise I made to myself when I figured out what type of world I was born into.

My limbs continue trembling, the rhythm matching my skyrocketing heartbeat.

Still, I force my super cheerful, super casual tone. “You might want to leave before the guards find you—”

The words die in my throat when he advances toward me.

One imposing step at a time.

So, remember the fact that his presence has power? I’m witnessing the effects of it firsthand.

I was wrong.

It’s not only power; it’s intimidation in its purest form.

An ocean that’s groaning and roaring to release its wildness.

I don’t even notice I’ve stepped back until he advances again. This time, I stand my ground and stare up at him. “As I was saying, you should probably go—”

His chest nearly collides with mine as he swiftly kills the distance between us. Warmth mixes with something spicy and the smell of soot. Was he near a fire or something?

He steps forward again and I automatically step back. Either that or I let him crash into me and sweep me over like a tornado.

“Seriously, do you know whose house this is?” My voice is no longer cheerful and has long since matched the shaking of my limbs. “Do you have a death wish—”

I’m not ready for what happens next.

In a flash of movement, he slams his gloved hand against my mouth and shoves me back.

My spine hits the wall with a jerk and I yelp, but it’s muffled. The sound echoes in the air with the spookiness of a haunted lullaby.

The mask rests a few inches from my face like an episode from my deepest, darkest nightmares.

It’s accentuated by the proximity of his body against mine and the strong leather smell.

It’s all I can breathe.

And he’s all I can see. His eyes are indeed blue, but they’re black-rimmed.

Like a mythical creature.

I’ve seen these eyes somewhere. But where?

Is it wrong that I want to see what’s beneath the mask? To just pluck it off and find out if he’s the crying or the smiling half? Maybe both?

The longer I watch him, the more my breath hitches and his warmth seeps into my bones.

No. It can’t be.

It’s simply not who I’m thinking about.

Just to make sure, I lift a hand to his mask, fully expecting him to swat it away.

To my surprise, he doesn’t make a move. My fingers slide over the edge of the frozen smile. But I don’t see it as petrifying anymore—it’s just a cover for someone.

A monstrous edge.

A conundrum of feelings.

Is it you? I ask with my eyes, and his slightly narrow in return.

So I try to peel off the mask, but before I can do so, he shoves my hand away. It falls limp by my side, but I’m almost sure my hunch is correct.

I don’t know about anything else, but I would recognize these eyes anywhere, including in an alternative universe.

A bang comes from outside.

We both go still.

It comes again, and I realize it’s on the door of my room.

“Miss, are you awake?”

A guard.

The Russian-accented voice comes again, coupled with another bang. “There has been a breach in security. Are you okay?”

I meet the masked stranger’s eyes.

No, not a stranger.

He’s way more than a stranger.

I’m still shaking, but it’s for a completely different reason.

“Mmm,” I let out a small, muffled sound.

He tightens his hold on my mouth, sweeping into my space with the sureness of a hurricane. My breasts brush against the hardness of his chest with every inhale.

“Miss? I’m coming in.”

I grab hold of the intruder’s arm and implore him with my eyes. He narrows his to slits but slowly slides his hand from my mouth. He keeps it hovering, ghosting close, probably to shut me up again if I scream for help.