God of Fury: Chapter 17

I knew something was fucking wrong when I woke up in bed.

Me? In a fucking ?

I blink a few times and the room, that’s definitely not some edgy hellhole, comes into view.

The penthouse…?

I sit up with a sudden jerk, all sleep disappearing from my eyes.

Nah, fuck no. I was clearly sitting outside the bathroom waiting for Bran to finish his shower and then…what? I don’t remember going to bed.

I go to bed or cover myself, not even if I were drunk. That’s just blasphemy.

My face breaks into a grin. Does this mean Bran carried me to the bed? I inspect the clean sheets that I certainly didn’t change and yup, definitely him. He’s organized to the point of being a bit neurotic. Or a lot, depending on your definition of the word.

Now, I want to kick myself in the ass for not feeling him carry me, wrap his arms around me, and cover me. Fuck. I’m getting hard at the thought.

My Prince Charming is actually stronger than he looks. Even Jeremy and my cousins don’t carry or move me when I fall asleep in unusual places or situations.

The images of him touching and placing me up here are muddied by the other lingering thought. I stand up and don’t bother putting any clothes on as I stride to the living room. “Lotus flower?”

I know he’s not there before I search. There’s no trace of his clothes, his presence, or anything remotely similar. If it weren’t for the itch he left beneath my skin last night, I wouldn’t think he’d been here. He even washed the sheets that carried his scent, as if he wanted to erase what happened from memory.

Not fucking possible.

Last night was the best sex of my life, and it’s not about the sex per se, though that was fucking hot. It’s about him.

The way he cried out my name and held on to me and kissed me. The way he let me in. Even it.

Why the fuck did I think he’d choose to stay this time?

He doesn’t. It’s not what he does.

It’s not what I usually want, either. I don’t like sharing space with my fuck buddies outside of sex. They’re welcome to stay the night in the Heathens’ mansion, but only if they’re not in my immediate vicinity.

So why the fuck do I feel any other way about Bran?

Yeah, so I did that. He’s always paranoid about people and their meaningless fucking opinions, so I thought he’d feel more comfortable in a place that’s only for us. I mean, for him to meet me here.

There is no .

Apparently, he didn’t feel safe enough to stay.

I stroke my necklace and catch a glimpse of the clock. Ten a.m.

I missed the morning run for the second morning in a row.

It’s true that I haven’t been sleeping much the past couple of nights, but I shouldn’t have overslept and missed the highlight of my day.

My movements are lethargic as I search for my phone. I scan the texts at the top, but ignore them when I don’t find his name.

Then I open IG and find his usual story at five thirty sharp.

. The man is a fucking running machine.

The first story ends and the second shows a canvas with a few haphazard red lines. Not sure what those mean, but red is good. Right? Well, it’s good to me because it represents blood and violence. Not sure golden-boy Bran feels the same.

I pull out the text exchange I have with him and type, But then delete it.

That sounded desperate and clingy even to my own ears. Fuck me.

Though that’s fucking impossible now that I’ve claimed Bran. It was supposed to be just a fuck. I’ve always fucked. Fucking ended at the moment of release.

Not with .

Last night, I came here with the sole intention of fucking him all up, taking what I wanted, then discarding him like he usually does me.

I intended to fuck him and then make him disappear from my life like Dad told me to.

But that was before he kissed me and asked me to fuck him.

That was before he looked at me with those soft eyes.

He pulled my anger apart with every touch, every kiss, and every groan and grunt. I couldn’t hold on to that rage when he put his hands on me.

The battered cells in my hyper brain didn’t mellow out, but his presence provided them with tunnel vision. A target for my monstrous energy.

Others fuel that energy.

My lotus flower tamed it.

I feel more like myself than I did during the past twenty-four hours.

So instead of blaming him for leaving again, I send a different text.

He reads it immediately and I think he’ll ignore it, if not permanently then at least for a few minutes. If push and pull were a game, my lotus flower would be the undefeated champion.

So imagine my fucking surprise when he replies immediately.

Jesus. He’s fucking adorable. An asshole but adorable all the same. I can imagine him turning all serious when he typed that.

My lips pull in what must look like the most stupid grin ever. I knew my efforts would come to fruition. Now, I need to work harder to make myself indispensable in his life. My mind might have quieted down today, but that dark thought about never giving him a way out stays the same.

This time, he definitely leaves me on Read. So I send another one.

It hits me then. I don’t. Not necessarily, I mean. Most of them are experienced and I don’t like the hassle of baby bisexuals unless they’ve prepped themselves beforehand.

I wrap my fingers around my thickening length and take a few selfies, then send them over.

I smile, imagining his flustered expression, then decide I’ve tortured myself enough for a while and stop texting. It wasn’t a lie. I’m really hard now.

I grin.

He me. I just know he does.

Okay, he doesn’t, but he cares, and that’s a good start.

Turns out, everyone was worried about the way I disappeared last night.

I kid you not, Jeremy put out feelers with the police and shit because he took what I said about killing innocent girls seriously.

He can be dramatic.

Okay, so maybe when I was in that mood, I could’ve accidentally hurt someone if Bran did actually use them as a crutch.

Don’t blame me. It’s not my fault I only think in black and white.

Kill and Gareth were checking all the places I would usually go to—clubs, another fighting ring. The Serpents. No shit—they actually knocked on the Serpents’ door and were like, “Hi, I know we hate each other, but have you seen this massive idiot motherfucker who’s covered in tattoos?”

I didn’t make that up. Gaz relayed it back word for word.

My sisters were going crazy, calling me all night. Maya left a dozen VMs, screaming and then begging and crying.

Jesus Christ.

“Where were you really?” she asks as we sit in her favorite coffee shop downtown.

“Spill, Niko,” her twin, Mia, signs with more attitude than need be.

“Yeah, spill, cousin. What made you disappear all night long?” Killian, who’s sporting a black eye, asks, lounging back in his chair.

“Busy,” I say while sipping some disgustingly not-sweet-enough coffee, then add one more sugar cube. Make that three.

Maya gasps in outrage and flips her long hair over her bare shoulder while Mia stares at me with a concerned frown.

My sisters couldn’t be more different. Where Maya is a self-proclaimed diva with expensive taste and a thirst for attention, Mia is a little daredevil who couldn’t care less about people’s opinions and doesn’t shy away from flipping her favorite middle finger.

Even now as they sit on either side of me, they look nothing alike despite being identical twins. Maya wears a strapless top, a tight skirt, and high-heel stilettos. Mia is in a goth Barbie black dress, complete with lace and shit, a choker around her neck, blue ribbons in her hair, and gigantic chainy boots covering her feet.

Sometimes I forget they’re actually identical, because they have vastly different personalities. Guess that’s also the reason why I can’t fucking stand Landon but would fuck his brother to eternity all day, every day.

My dick twitches to life and I curse internally.

“What made you too busy to reply to our texts?” Maya asks. “I had a mini breakdown.”

Judging by her begging for me to come back through sniffs and tears, I’d say it was a breakdown, but I don’t tell her that.

I sip my now sickeningly sweet coffee and contemplate an answer that’s not “I was busy having the best fuck of my life.”

Not only is that insensitive when they really had a scare, but also, there’s that annoying tidbit where Bran said no one could know.

Still, I don’t have to identify him…

No. Nope.

It’s better I reveal nothing since I’m shit with secrets. If I reveal something, I’ll end up blurting out everything and that could seriously end things between us before they even start.

“I went somewhere to cool down,” I say and it’s not a lie. Although cooling down wasn’t the first item on my list.

“Sure thing, Niko. Kick my face in, then go cool down as if nothing happened.”

“Hey, you wanted that fight. Don’t go blaming me, Satan’s heir.”

“I told you not to hurt my face, you little fuck.”

“Yeah, Niko.” Maya grins mischievously. “That’s the only thing his girlfriend likes.”

He grins back. “At least she likes something. You, however, seem to be out of luck with the person like.”

I narrow my eyes. “Who do you like, Maya?”

“No one,” she says, her voice a bit high-pitched. “You know how Kill likes to talk shit.”

He searches his surroundings. “

?”

Mia inches to my side, ignoring their bickering, and watches me closely as she signs, “Are you really okay?”

I ruffle her hair. “Never been better, baby sis.”

Her expression eases and she hugs me. I know not to take her affection for granted. I’m close to both my sisters—Maya because I let her practice her makeup skills on me when we were growing up. But Mia…Mia is special. We both deal with our demons in our own ways and know we’ll slaughter each other’s enemies if given the chance.

She’s badass like that, my sister.

“Incoming boy toy,” Killian says with apparent disdain.

For a second, I’m confused as to why Bran would be here and why Kill knows about him. Only to remember my lotus flower isn’t a boy toy and there’s no way in hell my cousin figured out things.

Sure enough, Maya is pulled away from my side and a slender, pretty guy sits on my lap, batting his lashes. “Missed you, Daddy.”

“Eww. You’re so cringe,” Kill says.

“Can’t believe I’m agreeing with Kill, but you so are.” Maya jams her finger in her mouth and makes a vomiting sound.

Simon holds out a palm without looking at them. “Talk to the hand, bitches.”

“Get off. And don’t call my sister a bitch or I’ll choke the fuck out of you.”

“Love it when you choke me, Daddy.”

Jesus. I’m getting flashbacks. Do I sound this desperate when I talk to Bran?

“You’re, like, a year younger than him,” Maya says. “In what world is he your daddy?”

“Daddy is a state of mind, ignorant.”

“Simon, stand up before I knock you off,” I say.

“But I missed you. You haven’t been replying to my texts. I’m so lonely without you.” He leans in to whisper in my ear, “I can’t wait to have your monster cock rail me all the way to heaven, Daddy.”

I swear this used to do something for me.

Now, he’s just annoying and clingy.

I start to push him away but pause when I sense eyes digging holes into my skull.

Who has the audacity to glare at me—

I lift my head and my gaze clashes with none other than Bran’s.

He stands at the cashier with his cousin Creighton and friend Remington. The latter is talking animatedly. Creighton doesn’t seem to be listening, but Bran…

Bran’s entire attention is on me.

Fuck me.

He’s watching me, openly, his body turned in my direction as he narrows his eyes on me. And for a second, I think he’ll come over here and remove Simon or something.

I think he’ll stake a public claim on me.

Instead, his walls build around him one by one. That stupid fucking fake smile curves his lips as he turns to his friends, grabs his drink, and walks out of the coffee shop as if nothing happened.

As if he didn’t even see me.

That fucking—

Rage swirls inside me and I knock Simon over, needing to peel his fingers from my clothes before he finally lets go.

I’m thankful to Maya and Mia, who stop him from following me, because I can’t be responsible for his safety if he gets in the middle of the hurricane coiling inside me.

By the time I get outside, there’s no trace of Bran.

Motherfucking fucker.

I pull out my phone to send him a text and then stop. What the fuck will I say? Offer excuses?

Why the fuck would I when he obviously doesn’t give a fuck?

Jesus fucking Christ.

I feel myself spiraling down that black hole.

Fuck this.

I need to find Jeremy and go on a goddamn hunt. Either that or I will actually hunt my Prince Not-Fucking-Charming down.

And I’m not desperate.