God of Malice: A Dark College Romance (Legacy of Gods Book 1)

I never knew life could be this hectic, absolutely foreign, and downright…surreal.

It’s been a week since Killian fucked me against the bathroom counter—or more like punished me.

He’s been punishing me ever since.

Yes, he lets me come, even goes as far as making me beg for an orgasm, and while he takes pleasure in satisfying me, he also likes proving his domination and the fact that he holds all the cards.

He picks me up and throws me down, with his fingers on my throat and his cock wreaking havoc inside me. He bites and slaps and leaves all sorts of hickeys and bruises, especially where everyone can see.

He makes it his mission to be touching me somehow in public, whether with his arm around my waist or shoulder, or my hand tucked in his. Anything that will let the world knows that I belong to him.

That no one dares to ‘look at what’s his,’ as he so eloquently told me.

Unlike what I predicted, however, he hasn’t tried to force my friends to accept him. Instead, he’s used a manipulative approach like the way he got Bran to his side.

He’s barged into our circle, without so much as asking for permission, and sits with us for lunch—that he makes for me every day now. He indulges in everyone’s interests and has made them slowly come out of their shells and accept him.

Never once has he used violence or threatened them—that’s obviously just reserved for me.

As for their reactions, they differ. Ava is all for me getting laid, Cecily still doesn’t trust him, Annika seems like she feels sorry for me more than anything, Remi kind of found out about it last and became adorably dramatic, and Creighton just doesn’t care.

When I told Killian that Remi is like the funniest ever, he didn’t appear amused.

If I thought Killian was overbearing before, I’ve come to learn that he’s nothing short of a dictator. Not only does he want all his orders met, but he also has zero tolerance for opposition.

The more I say no, the more ruthless he becomes. The harder I fight, the more severe my ‘punishment’ is. And that can happen anytime, anywhere. Whether it’s in his car—that he got fixed in record time—his room, my room—after he sneaks in from the balcony—or at the firefly lake, that’s sort of become our meeting spot.

Bottom line is, I’m getting trapped deeper into the web he’s been customizing for me and I’m not sure of the way out.

Do I even want a way out?

Killian is not totally a devil and can actually be nice. He prepares all my meals, and makes sure I eat my food and drink my water—he totally sounded like a doctor when he ordered that.

The other day, I caught him watching Inception and he said he wanted to see it again and imagine me watching it for the first time. Totally didn’t like it when I said Leonardo DiCaprio is my celebrity crush, though.

Anyway, he shows interest in my interests, has subscribed to a shit ton of art magazines and bought me a premium palette just because he felt like it.

Then he told me to paint him fucking me with it, the bastard.

As if that’s not enough, he always makes me talk about my art, my friends, and my family. He even chooses to do it when my guard is down, after sex, because he knows I become more open then.

Slowly but surely, he’s getting under my skin to the point I don’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing.

This week has been bubbling with a sense of…freedom. Yes, it’s the scary type—the type where I have to be held down and made helpless to be able to come, but it’s freedom all the same.

It’s the first time I’ve felt like I could let go and not overthink it, have panic attacks about it, or look at myself in the mirror and be disgusted.

The last part is highly due to the fact that Killian often fucks me in front of a mirror and makes me see my pleasure-filled face. He makes me call his name, too. Over and over, until it becomes a hoarse chant.

But he still can’t make me admit that I’m his, something that enrages him every time, and then he shows me exactly how much it angers him.

But screw him.

I’m keeping that last piece of myself even if I die trying. It might be a useless pride thing, but I know, I just know that if I give up that part, I have to be fully ready to accept being completely controlled by him.

That one day, I’ll wake up and not recognize myself, because I’d be molded into his little fucktoy.

And that’s just not me.

So my fight isn’t a useless manifestation of my ego. It’s my only survival mode.

Walking to class, I check the texts I got this morning.

Gareth: The footage I sent last time was the only one we have of Devlin. The last one who saw him alive aside from you was the red mask, and I’m sure you know who that is.

My fingers shake as I read and re-read the text.

Over the past couple of days, Gareth has kept his part of the bargain and sent me surveillance footage clips of Devlin going into their mansion exactly one night before his death. And the footage Gareth was talking about just now is a video where Devlin was ushered into the basement by one of the creepy bunnies. The one who was waiting for him there was the red mask.

Killian.

Then the video ended.

During the initiation, I heard the participants mention that the last one was about mind games. And there’s no one better at those than Killian.

But why did Devlin decide to drive his car off the cliff right afterward?

The only one who can answer that question is probably Killian, but whenever I want something from him lately, he’ll be all like, “Say you’re mine first.”

When I refuse, he shrugs and leaves me hanging.

This will be no different. In fact, he’ll probably be a dick just because he can.

I tuck my phone and thoughts away as I step into Professor Skies’s class. I’m ready for him to roast me for being fifteen seconds late, but he merely gives me a look and says nothing.

Wait. He’s letting it go?

My movements are slow and awkward at best as I take a seat at the back of the class, thankful to be hidden by my canvas.

That’s when I realize the painting I did last time is missing, and in its place, there’s a blank one.

And then, something completely out of left field happens. Professor Skies pulls out a painting, and not just any painting—my painting—and showcases it to the whole class.

My ears heat, ready for the onslaught of his words, this time to embarrass me in front of the whole class.

But I can’t look away from the black and red shadows intertwining, clashing, and slamming into each other like forces of nature. I’m proud of that painting, of my state of mind when I put it together, but now, the professor will downright humiliate me again.

Maybe I should run before the roasting starts.

No. I’m a big girl. I can take it.

“The blend of cold, gloomy, dark, flat, and absolutely exaggerated impressionist style can manifest in different ways.” He motions at the painting. “This is one of them. Definitely not the best, or the first, but it has a unique style that’s worth studying for emotive value. Well done, Miss King.”

The whole class’s attention slides to me, but the best I can do is stare incredulously as if I’m having a stroke.

Maybe I am having a stroke.

If this is a dream, it’s too cruel. Wake me up, please.

I pinch my thigh and it sure as hell hurts.

“Moving on,” the professor announces and talks about today’s lesson while keeping the painting there.

My painting.

I’m still dazed long after the class ends. I honestly expect him to call me up front and tell me it was all a distasteful joke, but he just leaves.

And so does everyone else.

Only Stuart stays behind and smiles at me, a bit awkwardly. He’s been taking Killian’s threats seriously and keeps enough distance between us to fit three other people.

“Congrats, Glyn. It’s long overdue.”

“Thanks…I guess…I’m still unable to believe it. You know how much he hates me and thinks my art is rubbish and a poor imitation of my mum’s. He even said I’m not worth being her daughter and Landon’s sister.”

Stuart rubs the blond strands at his nape. “He can be a snob.”

“Can be?”

“Well, he is, but hey, look at the bright side. He finally sees your worth.” He grins. “If it means anything, I think your art is more provocative than your mum’s and even Landon’s. I like it.”

“Thanks.” I can’t help the smile that breaks on my lips.

It’s the first time someone has told me that, aside from my mum. She tried to dull my insecurities early on, but she’s my mother. She’s inclined to treat her children the same, but I think, deep down, she loves Bran the most and she definitely thinks Landon is an artistic genius that even surpasses her.

Something she’s proud of.

Stuart and I head to the cafeteria to pour caffeine into our systems, but we’re stopped in the hall by a very familiar, very blonde, very colorful, à la Harley Quinn style, girl.

Cherry pops bubble gum in my face, watching me like I’m nothing more than the dirt on her shoe.

She’s been roaming around the restaurants and parks I go to lately, probably keeping an eye on me or something.

This is the first time she’s gotten close, and to say I’m not comfortable in her presence would be an understatement.

“Do you need something?” I ask in my neutral tone.

I’ve been in a good mood all morning and she ruined it in a fraction of a second.

“Shoo, nerd,” she dismisses Stuart. “The grown-ups need to talk.”

“Maybe you’re the one who needs to shoo until you grow some manners,” I tell her.

“It’s okay… I’ll be in the cafeteria.” Stuart basically flees the scene, leaving me alone with Cherry.

As in, the girl Killian fucked for a long time and who obviously liked it enough to come back for more.

No. I’m simply not going to think about that detail.

“Ugh, the more I look at you, the surer I am that you’re more boring than your country’s weather, you lack personality, and you’re probably as prude as a nun. What the fuck does Killer see in you?”

“Obviously what he doesn’t see in you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than indulge in petty boy drama. This is not secondary school, last I checked.”

“Listen here, you little snobbish bitch.” She gets in my face, her voice hardening. “You think you’re special? Think you’re the only one Killer has made feel like a queen before he tossed them aside like a used condom? Been there, done that, have the fucking marks to prove it. So gloat while you can, because he’ll be done with you soon, and when that happens, he’ll come back to my bed, because he knows that’s where he belongs. With someone like me, not a stupid fucking neurotypical bitch like you.”

I can feel the blood rushing to my face, but I force myself to remain calm, because I know that’s what will get on her nerves the most. “Are you done?”

“No,” she snarls. “If you don’t stay away from him, you’ll get yourself killed. Consider that the first and only warning I’ll ever give you.”

“Let me guess, you’ll kill me?”

“No, he will. Did you know that Killer has been repressing his bloodlust and murder instinct since he was in his early teens? Of course you didn’t, because you’re fucking normal. You don’t relate to his true self, so in order to placate your stupid-ass little morals, he’ll keep on repressing and repressing, and fucking repressing. And do you know who the first victims of serial killers usually are? Their lovers, wives, and mothers, as in, the people who made them repress in the first place. Last I checked, that’s you.”

Her words drill a hole in my chest and it takes me more effort than needed to breathe properly and even more to talk. “Last I checked, I don’t believe your words.”

“Go ahead and ask him then.” Her voice turns sinister. “Why do you think his favorite color is red? It’s the color of blood.”

I swallow and she laughs like a maniac. “What a scaredy-cat. You have the chance to walk away. Take it.”

“He won’t let me,” I say without meaning to.

“Hurt him by choosing someone else and he won’t touch you again.” She taps my temple. “Use your head and admit that you’re a good girl who’s not fit for him. He needs someone bad to the core to match his energy.”

Her words keep playing in my head on a loop long after she’s gone. I mull them over during classes, during lunch—that Killian sent me with Annika because he has classes—in the afternoon while I’m trying to concentrate in the studio.

Even when I FaceTime Grandpa and my parents. I totally had to cut those short, because they’d definitely know there’s something wrong with me.

Once I finish, I go on a drive and somehow end up in front of his house.

I let my head fall on the steering wheel as I breathe harshly. What the hell am I doing?

We were supposed to meet later for dinner, but I came two hours early.

I’m never early. In fact, I make sure to come late, just to get on his nerves. It’s my rebellion against the dictator.

Though I don’t come so late that he decides to be the one to pick me up, because that definitely means he’ll fuck me in the car first.

I consider leaving for now, but the gate opens. Apparently, I have automatic access to the mansion now along with the four founding members and the fifth one I’ve never met.

Once I reach the inside, I hear a commotion coming from the pool.

I head that way, and sure enough, Nikolai attempts to push Gareth into the pool and Jeremy is trying to mediate so he doesn’t drown him.

“Fucker thinks he can stay all prim and proper after waking me up from my fucking slumber. Get ready to have your corpse sent back home by international fast shipping.”

Nikolai kicks his cousin and Gareth grabs him at the last minute. A water bomb erupts and splashes water all over the edges, soaking a fully-clothed Jeremy.

“You fuckers tired of living?” He glares at them and Nikolai merely splashes him.

“Stop being boring. Even Satan’s heir is here instead of chasing after skirt.”

Killian is lying on a lounge chair wearing black shorts and an open shirt that reveals hints of his taut chest, muscular stomach, and some of his crow tattoos. He pays the scene no attention, looking straight through them.

His gaze is lost in the distance, half-thoughtful, half…gone.

I wonder what he’s thinking about at moments like these. What goes on in his abnormal mind?

His head tilts in my direction as if he knew I was there all along. And just like that, a smirk breaks his lips.

Killian’s smirks are different from his smiles. The latter are usually fake. His lazy smirks, however, are playful, mischievous, and a sight to behold.

It makes butterflies slash my stomach with the sole purpose of bleeding me out.

“Glyndon!” Nikolai shouts from the pool. “Tell me you brought your swimsuit.”

I walk to Killian. “I actually didn’t.”

“That’s okay. We can all go nude.” He waggles his brows.

“Not if you want it to be your last nude show,” Killian tells him with a dark tone.

“He’s become more boring than hookers, I swear.” Nikolai is about to splash him, but Gareth jumps him, drowning him underwater, then nods in my direction.

I’ve become used to these guys, though I really stay away when Nikolai is in his murder-spree mood or when Jeremy’s voice changes.

But no matter how much I’m used to them, they’re still Heathens and could and would turn lethal.

A strong hand wraps around my wrist and brings me down on a hard surface. I release a surprised sound when I drop on Killian’s lap. He releases my wrist and wraps a possessive hand around my waist.

Chill-inducing warmth covers my skin. It’s weird how someone so cold can give this feeling of…peace.

“Is it just me or are you here early?”

“I was around, so I figured I would come.” I stare back at the guys. “Didn’t know I would be in for a pool show.”

His fingers tilt my chin and make me face him. “Eyes on me if you don’t want to be in for a bloodbath instead.”

I swallow, Cherry’s earlier words stabbing me all at once.

“I’m assuming that’s not an empty threat and you’re actually contemplating murder.”

“You assume correctly.”

A ball the size of my fist gathers in my throat. “Do you really want to kill?”

He raises a brow. “Do you really want to know or will you ghost me again if I tell you what you don’t want to hear?”

“You said you don’t want to lie to me, so don’t. I can handle your true nature.”

He narrows his eyes. “Who are you and what you have done to my morally-shy little rabbit?”

“Shh, she’s currently sleeping. Don’t wake her up.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling against my side.

I gather my courage and continue in a more somber tone, “I still prefer the truth, no matter how much it hurts.”

“Last time you said that, I was ghosted.”

“Won’t happen this time.”

“Sure as fuck won’t or I’ll punish you twice as hard.”

My core clenches at the mention of that word and I resist the urge to clear my throat. “So? Do you want to kill?”

“More than anything. Taking someone’s life, feeling as their last breaths turn to nothingness, then cutting them up to see inside them, is the only thing I’ve desired since I was about seven.”

His quietly spoken words shock me to the core and it must show on my face, because his eyes darken.

“See? You’re disgusted.”

“No,” I blurt.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Glyndon.” His voice lowers to a frightening range. “You look like you’re on the verge of a panic attack.”

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t give the reaction you wanted. I don’t get told something like this every day.” I inhale deeply, then exhale, forcing myself to relax.

“Then run, rabbit.” He starts to release me, sounding blank, bored, but I know it’s nothing more than the camouflage for his rage. “Don’t let me catch you this time, because I swear to fuck, a punishment is an understatement of what I’ll do to you.”

“I won’t.”

He pauses. “What did you just say?”

“I said I won’t run.” I grab his hand and put it back around my middle, slowly regulating my breathing. “You were saying?”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Listening to you. I want to know more about why you feel the need to kill.”

“It’s in my nature. There’s nothing to explain about it.” He strokes the skin between my top and shorts, sending shivers down my spine as he appears a little stunned.

I love having this effect on him.

“Why haven’t you then? You must’ve had countless chances, especially with mafia friends.”

“The bloodlust muddies my head, and I’d have little impulse control. I refuse to be a slave to my urges, to be ruled by them, and to develop a bad habit of satisfying them. Eventually, I’ll lose control and get locked up for it, and that’s just not going to happen. So I repress as much as I can.”

“Isn’t that…painful?”

“Hmm. Interesting choice of words. I would’ve sworn you’d be relieved to hear that I repress my urges.”

“Not if you’re in pain.”

He grins. “Look at my little rabbit developing feelings for me.”

“Shut up, I’m just empathizing. Something you don’t know the meaning of.”

“Tomayto, tomahto.” He’s still grinning. “As for the pain, it’s much better than the pain of losing control. That one is irrevocable, this one is manageable.”

“How often do you think about killing?”

“Per day, twenty-four times. Sometimes more in certain irritating situations. Lately, it’s less.”

I don’t dwell on being shocked by the high number, because there’s something more important.

They can lessen.

“How did the number decrease?”

“With your presence.”

“W-what?”

He slides the other hand around my throat and pulls me over so his forehead rests against mine and I can see the contours of his lips and the sharp lines of his jaw.

Killian breathes me in, slowly. “You make the demons go away, even temporarily.”

“How?”

“Beats me. Whatever it is you’re doing, keep doing it. I like how quiet it is up here.” He taps the side of his head.

I’m so incredulous and touched that I feel moisture gathering in my eyes. “Don’t I make you repress more because I’m different than you are?”

“On the contrary, you bring silence. Long fucking silence.”

“Does that mean I’m one of a kind?” I joke.

“You think I’d spend this much time and effort on an infuriating little rabbit like you if that weren’t the case?”

“Wow. Charming.”

“I know, thanks.”

I roll my eyes but don’t resist the urge to smile.

“I told you to stop doing that.”

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He grunts. “You and that fucking no word. I swear I’m going to fuck it out of your system one of these days.”

“You can try.” I pause then clear my throat. “So, I have a hypothetical question.”

“Don’t ask it.”

“Come on. I’m curious.”

“Shoot.”

“If one day, I choose someone else over you, will you let me go?”

“I’d slice their throat, make you watch then claim you in their blood.”

A shiver runs through me. “What happened to repressing?”

“Not in that hypothetical situation.” His voice darkens. “Were you contemplating turning it to reality, baby? Hmm? Think that will get me off your case?”

“No, I mean, Cherry said if I choose someone else you’ll never touch me again.”

“That applies to everyone else but you. Listen carefully, baby. I’ll never let you go.”

A shudder goes through me, but instead of fear, the feeling that invades me is so similar to relief.

A splash of water soaks us and I gasp, pushing away from Killian.

“I say, you two either get a fucking room or get in here!” Nikolai, the culprit, shouts.

“Be right back, baby. Give me five minutes to kill the fucker.” Killian removes his wet shirt and jumps into the pool, and I laugh as he wrestles with his cousin in the water, with Jeremy and Gareth trying to break up the fight.

My phone vibrates and I think it’s Cecily since I promised to go shopping with her.

Instead, I find a text.

Unknown Number: Careful who you fraternize with, bitch.