God of War: An Enemies to Lovers Marriage Romance (Legacy of Gods Book 6)

Along time ago, when I was younger and dumber, I used to look at this man like he was a god.

The only touchable god. One I could see up close and personal. One I could worship without fearing any form of reward and punishment system.

I had the dedication of a religious fanatic and a lunatic fundamentalist until the grandiosity shattered right before my eyes.

The god was never a god, after all. He’s more akin to a devil. Sinful, seductive, and destructive.

Now, I understand why people who leave their religion have the most contempt for it. I completely get why they sabotage, sully, and write hateful words in obscure online forums.

When you give an undeserving god your dedication and he ruins you through it, you’re bound to loathe him so that you don’t hate that stupid version of yourself who once worshipped him.

When I followed that god like a lovesick puppy and he looked at me once in a blue moon, I nearly gave myself a heart attack due to the excitement. I was lucky to have any form of recognition from a man who had girls falling at his feet, but I was the only one who got close.

Now, I see it for what it is. Indifference.

I meet Eli’s frosty gaze with my nonchalant one. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you just insinuate that I care about your opinion concerning anything I do?”

He steps closer silently, smoothly, almost creepily. I’m forced to tip my head back to stare at him.

I hate how tall he is, and I’m not short by any means.

It’s just that Eli was made to look down his straight nose at most people, and he does it so well, with a pinch of arrogance and an unhealthy dose of utter disregard.

He has a way of making others feel like they’re not worth a speck of dust beneath his shoe.

It’s the handsome face, I realize. He was born with superior genes, thanks to his parents and due to no contribution on his part. A face that makes people stop and stare at the ridiculously sharp jaw, perfectly proportional high cheekbones, and stunningly full lips.

But Eli’s most notable feature has always been those mysterious eyes.

People say eyes are the windows to the soul, but it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking, no matter how long you stare at them. They run deep—so deep that I was pulled into their midst once upon a time. I fought and floundered and yearned to be the only one who understood them.

Good thing I’m out of that haze now and couldn’t care less about whatever demonic plans he entertains.

He stops a few steps away, but it’s enough to flood my senses with his scent, something subtle and masculine and definitely made specifically for him, because I’ve never smelled this anywhere else.

“You clearly don’t care about my opinion.”

“Clearly.” I cross my arms to stop my hands from giving away my mental state. If there’s something I’ve learned about Eli, it’s that he’s a master manipulator and a predator who wouldn’t hesitate to use people’s weaknesses against them. Ruin them through those potential loss-of-control moments. Absolutely decimate them until there’s nothing left.

“But you do care enough to put on amateurish shows in front of me.” The slight tilt in his deep voice catches me off guard.

“You might believe you’re the sun and that the world revolves around you, and I’d hate to burst your bubble, but no, no show I do is for you.”

“Even when you were looking at me the entire time you were acting like a prostitute?”

I force a smile, refusing to fall for the provocation. “You know me. I love giving attention to admirers.”

A curve touches the corner of his lips. “So I’m one of the admirers now?”

“Clearly. Or you wouldn’t be following me around like a simp. Sorry, you’re not my type.”

“Is this the part where I get on my knees and beg?”

“I’m afraid that won’t cut it.”

“How about if I send flowers and a box of chocolates?”

“Unoriginal. Try harder.”

“If I cry into my pillow?”

“Only if I get to witness it personally.”

“So I have a shot. Fantastic.”

I release an exasperated sigh, putting an end to the stupid back and forth. I hate his blatant amusement whenever he riles me up for sport. But what I despise more is how I still fall for it every time.

“What do you want, Eli?”

“From you? Nothing.”

“And yet you’re haunting me like a vengeful ghost.”

“More like one of those mischievous ones that scare the loving fuck out of you just for laughs.”

“Haha. There, I laughed. We done?”

“You’re supposed to be scared.”

“Oh, hold on.” I throw my hands up and shield my face, mimicking watching a horror film. “I’m so terrified. So scared. Get me out of this B movie scene. Is that enough for you tonight?”

“Your strap has fallen.” He motions at my chest.

I slap a hand on it instinctively before I look down and see that the strap is perfectly in place.

A nick of annoyance mounts on top of the previous copious levels of annoyance and I narrow my eyes at him.

“It didn’t? My bad.” He doesn’t sound apologetic in the least. “But then again, you wouldn’t have had to worry about it if you weren’t dressed like a stripper.”

“I’ll call when I have any fucks to give about your opinion of me.”

“You’re funny.”

“And pretty and popular. Your point?”

“Delusional, too. Apparently.”

“Nah. I leave that to you.” I hike a hand on my hip. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better people to spend my time with.”

I walk past him, head held high and ready to tuck this unfortunate encounter away with all the previous ones.

“I heard you made a fool out of yourself today. Again.”

My heels click on the floor as I come to an abrupt halt and turn around to face him. All of a sudden, I’m thirsty. For alcohol.

Or anything that’s able to soothe the dull ache at the back of my throat.

Crossing my arms, I adopt my most mocking voice. “Whoa there, soldier. Slow down on the stalkerish tendencies, would you?”

“Don’t even try to sass me, Ava. What was it this time? Your pills malfunction?”

“Screw you,” I snarl.

“I’m not interested in contracting the nest of STIs from the losers you fraternize with.”

“They’re no worse than your fuck buddies.”

“My fuck buddies are always tested, unlike the drug addicts you mingle with. And don’t try to change the subject. Why did you flee this time? What did you see? Or not see?”

My lips part and I stare at him like he’s an alien. What does he know? How does he know?

It doesn’t make sense.

Sure, since our families are close and his mum is my godmother, he’s aware of my condition. But like everyone else, he must think it’s depression, anxiety, and some mild case of psychosis. He could deduce the meds, and considering his stalkerish habits, he could figure out the alcohol and the occasional drugs.

But that’s it.

There’s no way in hell he’s privy to what’s eating me from the inside.

I lift my chin. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

He narrows his eyes. Gray. Stormy. Calculative.

I can see him concocting a plan to coax me to talk, but even if that doesn’t work, I’m sure he’ll force it out of me. Even if I kick and scream.

Especially if I kick and scream.

“Speak, Ava. Don’t make me resort to unpleasant methods we both know you’re unable to handle.”

A lick of heat sneaks its way beneath my dress, and the room’s temperature takes a sudden hike. My throat dries and it’s exceptionally difficult to swallow.

“I didn’t know you were this concerned about me.” I flash him my sweetest smile. “I’m touched.”

“Concerned? More like embarrassed.”

“You’d have to care to be embarrassed by my actions and we both know that emotion doesn’t exist in your arsenal.”

“It exists in my mother’s. She called me to ask about your, and I quote, ‘worrisome state of mind.’”

The thing I hate most about Eli is that his mother is Elsa King. Aka my godmother and second mother figure after Mama.

Sometimes I can’t believe a considerate, absolute green flag of a woman actually gave birth to this devil. I’m surprised he didn’t eat her while he was in the womb like some parasite.

“I’ll talk to Aunt Elsa myself. You stay out of it.”

“Only if you stop being such a disgrace. You’re becoming an embarrassment to your family. I’m certain your ex-prime minister grandfather will disapprove of your scandalous lifestyle if it’s printed in gossip magazines.”

I grit my teeth so hard, my jaw hurts. “Thanks for the touching concern. You might want to stop being so obsessed with my life. Desperate doesn’t look good on you.”

“Because it looks better on you?” His lips tilt in that infuriating way again, and it takes everything in me not to slap it away.

“If you’re done…” I start to walk to the exit, but he steps in front of me, blocking the light, the door, and my oxygen.

Eli first and last touched me four years ago, when I was seventeen, and ended my birthday, turning it into the most shameful disaster.

Since then, he never does. Not even accidentally. But that doesn’t stop his heat from engulfing me and his smell from invading my every sense.

He’s too warm for a cold bastard.

“Go home, Ava.”

“Since when do you get to tell me what to do?”

“Since you’re clearly unable to think. Don’t take anyone home. Don’t drive. Take a black cab and leave.”

“Aw, you’re not going to offer to drive me yourself?”

He raises a perfect brow. “Would you take said offer?”

“No.”

“So what’s the point of making it?”

“Indulging me, perhaps?”

“You’re far too indulged by others. I don’t plan on making the list.”

“You won’t make any list, for that matter.”

“Debatable.” He steps closer, his body heat enveloping me like a dark, threatening cloud as his rough voice deepens. “Now, leave.”

“The answer is no.”

“Out of spite?”

“You’re not my keeper.”

“Let’s go with that if it makes you sleep better at night.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Go home,” he says again and then turns to leave. When he reaches the door, he throws me a dark look over his shoulder. “Alone.”

I resist the urge to flip him the middle finger as I stand there fuming, my body warm and my heart thumping so loudly, I’m surprised it doesn’t spill on the ugly carpet in the room.

My state is so extremely disoriented that I have to take some time to pull myself together again.

Ten minutes later, I find my way back to the dance floor. Screw Eli and his orders that definitely won’t be met.

I let myself be absorbed by a swirling vortex of ecstasy, a concoction of substances, and emotions that transport me to a realm of hedonistic bliss. Amidst the lost souls and hollow shells, I find solace and acceptance, a sense of belonging that makes everything else fade into the background.

So I drink another shot, dance until I nearly drop, then I agree to join Ollie and some others at an after-party.

Fuck Eli.

Fuck the cello.

Fuck my fucking head.

By the time we spill outside, it’s somewhere after one in the morning.

I shouldn’t be driving, but our friend Raj’s house is, like, ten minutes away, and the roads are empty at this time, so I should be fine.

Besides, I hold my liquor pretty well, so I’m not even that drunk. Just drunk enough to see the world through pink goggles, like my favorite color.

I stumble into my car and tell the others to go ahead. Ollie offers to drive me, but I decline with a smile.

Before I pull out of the parking lot, I text Cecily that I’m home, like a world-class liar. But it’s because she won’t be able to sleep if she knows I’m still out.

What Cecy and my parents don’t know is that I refuse the notion of spending any unnecessary time alone.

Jesus. I can’t believe I’m graduating in a couple of weeks. What am I going to do without the buffer uni’s offered me?

Make other cliques of friends outside? Join a thousand and one clubs?

I desperately need to stay out of my parents’ orbit before they figure out everything.

With a sigh, I shove all those thoughts back to the back of my mental closet as I refresh my makeup.

My phone vibrates and I freeze when I see it’s a text from Eli.

TIN MAN

Are you going home?

ME

New phone. Who’s this?

Your location better be on the way home.

Guess where I am for a hundred quid.

I snap a selfie while doing a kissy face and send it over, then silence my phone, and pull out of the car park. I nearly drive into a wall, but my car’s camera saves me in time.

Oops.

I follow the GPS and voice command the car to play music. Bach’s Cello Suite No. 2 in D minor fills the car and I release an annoyed noise as I punch the radio button and listen to some pop music instead.

Classical music and I are officially divorcing.

That’s what I said after my last failed attempt at winning yet another competition last year. Or more like, participating.

And yet I went back this year. Only to make a bigger fool of myself.

What did you see? Or not see?

Eli’s words from earlier send a shiver down my spine.

He couldn’t have known, right?

No one does⁠—Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

I stare at my rearview mirror when I notice a car without headlights following me.

How long has that been there?

I look ahead but the road is clear.

Shit.

Okay.

I shake my head to come back into focus and speed up, just a tiny bit over the speed limit.

The car matches my speed and my heart starts to gallop in a scary rhythm. I voice command my phone to call the police.

You can never be too careful in these situations. Even if I’m overthinking it.

I come to a junction and hit the brakes when a car flashes past. Jesus. A BMW. No surprises there.

The suspicious car comes to a halt behind me as someone picks up.

“The Metropolitan Police Emergency Department, how might I help?”

“There’s a weird car without headlights following me,” I say as I hit the accelerator again, pushing the car forward with sudden speed. My body flings backward as the tires screech.

“I need you to remain calm, miss. May I have your name?”

“Ava…Ava Nash.”

“Can I call you Ava?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you tell me where you are, Ava?”

“I don’t know exactly. Near the M25, hold on—” I steal a look at the GPS, and the next thing I hear is the loud, unbearable blaring of a lorry’s horn before its bright lights blind me.

I turn the steering wheel as hard as I can while hitting the brakes. My car swerves as I spin round and round and then a sickening crash resounds in my ears.

The last thing I see are the eyes that follow me everywhere.

Dark. Cold. Destructive.