God of Pain (Legacy of Gods #2)(9)

“Hypothetically speaking, and only hypothetically, because this isn’t a real situation, why do you not want to date me?”

He reaches a hand to my face again and I freeze as he lifts my chin with two fingers. A charge of electricity rushes through me like a slowly brewing storm.

Tension rises, clings to my skin, and rips through my bones. I shiver, but I still can’t tear my gaze away from those ocean eyes.

They’re dark again, a manifestation of their owner’s changing mood.

I don’t know if the change is due to me or the fact that he’s touched me more in the span of twelve hours than he has in all the weeks I’ve known him.

But I’m caught in his web.

Unable to move.

Absolutely trapped under the calloused touch of his lean fingers that dig into my sensitive skin with the lethality of a whip.

When he speaks, the low, deep words nearly paralyze me.

“Hypothetically speaking, I have deviant tastes and violent tendencies for the opposite sex. You’re so fucking breakable, I’d crush you in no time.”





“How are you, baby angel?”

I internally shake my head to focus on my mother’s radiating features.

We’re FaceTiming like the coolest mother-daughter pair because that’s a thing.

If Jeremy counts as Papa’s clone, I’m Mom’s successful attempt at a 2.0. I’d like to point out that I would never be able to pull off her elegance, but we share the same petite features, the brown hair—though mine is longer—and the round eye shape. Though mine have a lot of gray—like Papa’s.

Hers are more haunting, as if they’re harboring a tragic story. And I know they are. A long time ago, before I was born, Mom wasn’t as happy as she’s been during my life.

Another thing Mom will always beat me at is ballet. Lia Volkov was one of New York City Ballet’s most renowned prima ballerinas. I spent my childhood watching her performances—secretly, because she wouldn’t have liked it—and being spellbound. I wanted to be like her at any price, to fly into the sky and know exactly where to fall.

Am I at that point? Not really. I’m at that crossroad where I have no clue whether I should focus on college or aim to be a professional ballerina instead. I fell in love with ballet at first sight at four years old, but I still find myself gravitating more toward academics. Since ballerinas have a short professional life, I don’t want to be caught with nothing to do later on.

That is, if my future isn’t already decided.

“Oh, you know. Same old, same old.” I throw a hand in the general direction of my room in the Heathens’ mansion. “Playing Jer’s prisoner for shits and giggles. Ivory tower and gilded cage are taking their turns with me.”

She does a horrible job of suppressing her smile.

“This isn’t funny.”

“I know, I know. You just look so adorable when you lash out all that sarcasm.”

“Thanks, but I prefer beautiful instead of adorable. Considering my college status and my attempts to act older. And seriously, Mom, can’t you talk to Jer so he’ll give me some freedom? At this rate, I’ll die young and my ghost will start posting inspirational videos on TikTok.”

Laugh lines still linger on her face. “I did and his response was that he’s just looking out for you.”

“That’s just an excuse to lock me up.”

“One that your father wholeheartedly agrees with. You know he didn’t want you out of his sight.”

“Because I’m a girl?”

Her eyes soften to the lightest blue. “Because he has too many enemies and he’s worried about your security.”

My lip pushes forward, exaggeratingly pouty. “So I’m his weakness?”

“The three of us are, but we’re his strength, too, Anni. You know that, right?”

“I do. But this still sucks.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault, and I get it. This is how it’s supposed to be. I’m just being grouchy. Enough about me. How are things at home? Are you guys okay? Do you miss me?”

“Like crazy. I’m currently convincing your father to find us a home on Brighton Island so we can live right beside you.”

“Please don’t. Papa will just bring an entire army along.”

“You think?”

“Duh. Remember the last time we went to Russia for Christmas? I get chills thinking about all that security. And when I asked him, don’t you think it’s too much? He was like absolutely not.” I mimic Papa’s deadpan voice and Mom bursts out laughing. Even her laughter is as regal as she is.

“You’re such a naughty hellion.”

“You still love me.”

“Oh, I do.” She sighs, then I sigh, too.

The thought that’s been plaguing my every waking and sleeping moment pushes to the forefront and I pause, measuring my words.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Yes, baby angel?”

“Is Papa looking into possible suitors for me?”

A delicate frown appears between her brows. “What makes you think that?”

“Isn’t that my destiny?”

“You’re still young. Your father won’t marry you off when you’re just seventeen.”