God of Malice (Legacy of Gods #1)(67)

Something tastes off about it.

After attending my first class, I take a mock test that my colleagues basically flip their shit about. With their dark circles and tiresome dramatics, one would think they’re not fit to be the elite of the elite.

If these bitches can’t calm themselves over some test, how are they supposed not to break down in the middle of the ER or a surgery?

So what if I didn’t study for the test myself? My genius neurons took care of half of it and the professor helped me with the other half when I went all charming on her.

Smarter not stronger. Or, God forbid, emotional.

What’s so great about emotions anyway? All my life, I’ve only seen them cause more harm than good. If people toned down on that poison a little, they wouldn’t need the drugs to battle it.

Once first period ends, I check my phone and ignore the countless meaningless notifications except for one.

Mom: Morning, baby boy! I hope you’re having a great day. Mom loves you to Neptune and back.

I snicker. I think Mom just refuses to believe we’ve grown up anymore.

When we were little, people told their kids they loved them to the moon and back, but Mom picked the most distant planet in the solar system and told us that’s how much she loves us.

I scribble a few things on my draft sheet that I usually don’t use, but pretend I do for Mom’s sake. At least that way, she’ll think her son is normal and struggles with shit.

It’s not one hundred percent effective, but it definitely helps in diluting her interest.

Then I take a picture and send it over.

Killian: Had a test this morning. Think I’ll do well?

Mom: I know you will. Even if the world stops believing in you, I won’t.

I tilt my head to the side, reading and re-reading her message. I guess she’s obliged by nature to love me unconditionally, even if a part of her will always be scared of me.

At least she tries, and I respect that about her.

I also respect Dad’s needs to establish clear boundaries. I would’ve probably done the same if I were him.

The only difference is, I don’t want to be in the same room with him.

Not after that day.

“We should’ve only had Gareth.” I heard him tell Mom when I punched one of my classmates because he was bullying my cousin.

Mom cried her eyes out. “Ash! If you love me, don’t ever say anything like that again. Killian is our son, too.”

“A defective one.”

That’s what I was. The defective one.

I didn’t hear what Mom said after that, because Dad’s words made sense. I’m the defective one compared to Gareth, and even Nikolai.

Still the most superior, just saying.

I check my other notifications but find no answer from the bothersome fucking little rabbit.

Switching to her tags, I find a picture Annika posted first thing this morning, probably after Jeremy escorted her back to REU.

It’s a selfie taken in their apartment. Ava is leaning on a huge cello that nearly swallows her, making peace signs and slightly closing her eyes while grinning.

Annika practically mirrors her. And a girl with silver hair is half hiding behind Ava and letting her hair camouflage the other side. Only her body and the books she’s hugging to her chest are visible from this angle.

My attention slides to Glyndon, who was caught while swinging her backpack over her shoulder and smiling awkwardly. She’s the most non-spontaneous, terribly unsociable person I know.

But she’s so real, it fucking pisses me off.

She’s obviously alive and voluntarily chose to ignore my text.

annika-volkov: Different majors. One heart. Love these girls to pieces xxx I pause when I find another tag for Glyndon that was posted fifteen minutes ago. This time, she’s completely oblivious to the picture being taken since Remington is showing half of his pouting face while she and Creighton are in the background with books on their laps.

Her brow is furrowed in concentration as if her surroundings don’t exist.

lord-remington-astor: In my defense, when I said maybe we should study, I was half-conscious and totally didn’t mean it. Now, I’m stuck with these nerds. Send help.

I tap my finger against the back of my phone once, then ditch second period altogether and drive to the other campus.

It takes me some time to reach the art school since REU practically threw it all the way to the back.

When I arrive, Creighton and Remington are nowhere to be found. Instead, a boy with blond hair and shiny brown eyes sits with Glyndon on the edge of the fountain.

He even has his hair styled as if he’s at some formal event. Oh, and he’s wearing a cardigan sweater and khaki pants.

Fucking gag.

Though that plan is put to an abrupt halt when I catch glimpse of her laughing. Not smiling, not pretending to be nice as the King she was brought up to be, but flat out laughing.

What are the chances of drowning that boy in the fountain without anyone noticing? Probably zero since it takes someone a long time to die by drowning. The gurgling, struggling, and slow fucking death may be worth being locked up for, though.

Choices. Choices.

The sight of her being all radiant while wearing her usual top, shorts, and denim jacket triggers an uneasy feeling.

Could be the need for destruction—preferably of his face—or a queasiness I’m not used to.