God of Ruin (Legacy of Gods, #4)(104)

Was she always so fucking beautiful or am I falling harder onto that bottomless hole?

She studies me closely, which has been the norm since the rooftop date. As if she’s trying to get under my skin by using every method at her disposal.

“What were you thinking about just now?” she finally signs.

“Why are you asking?”

“You seemed so lost in thought and I want to know what someone like you thinks about when you’re trapped in your own head.”

“Nothing good, to be frank.” My fingers slide beneath the hoodie and I stroke her hip slowly, sensually.

She shudders but soon recovers. “Tell me.”

“It’s best to leave some skeletons in the closet.”

“But I want to know.”

“The skeletons? My, muse. Is this a new kink?”

She teasingly swats my shoulder. “Don’t even think about changing the subject.”

My smile flattens. “My mind is wired to see the bad before the good. In fact, everything sunshine and rainbows is often an afterthought, never a main idea. My instinct is pro-manipulation, corruption, and anarchy, which means it revolts against the very notion of neurotypical people’s socially acceptable behavior. I have a beast that’s in constant need of stimulation and if I don’t satiate those demands, I’ll spiral down a worse path.”

As soon as the words are out, I curse myself internally for disclosing that information so easily. In fact, I can’t even fathom that I just talked about it to someone other than Uncle Aiden and sometimes Dad.

I’ve been a proud member of the Antisocial Club to the point where I could be elected as its president. That’s why I’ve always prided myself on being private and secretive. I’ve never been an open book, not even when I was younger or with therapists. They tried, but as soon as I perfected the game of social emulation and learned emotion, I played them as skillfully as a chess board.

Mia, however, is different. I tried to play her, but I never quite succeeded.

She looks at me with a sense of understanding instead of clinical judgment. Only three people have ever given me that look. Mum, Dad—after he realized it was pointless to put me on a leash—and Uncle Aiden.

And now, her.

Mia.

She watches me for a few beats as if she could skin me alive and insert herself between my ribs. After careful thought, she signs, “Is that why you’ve been finding it hard to stay still ever since you announced the truce with the Heathens?”

Perceptive little minx.

“Partially.”

“What’s the other part?”

“You playing an infuriating push-and-pull game.”

“Well, I couldn’t trust you before.”

“Does that mean you do now?”

“I’m starting to.” She clears her throat. “Do you feel better?”

I tighten my grip on her waist, my fingers digging into the soft skin. “Now that you’re here, yes.”

“That’s enough?”

“To make the urges dull down, yes.”

“Is that why you said I’m the only one who can quench the rage?”

I nod. “You’re a good sport.”

“But what if I stop being a good sport? Will you dispose of me if I get in your way?”

“You’re not a good sport most of the time and you’re always in my way. You don’t see me pushing you away.”

“What if I never change and continue being difficult and too much myself.”

“That’s what I’m counting on. Don’t ever change. You’re perfect the way you are.”

A shudder rushes through her and she smiles a little. “Did Bran teach you to say that?”

“Fuck no. In fact, I should teach him a few things.”

“Because he’s an empath?”

“That’s a problem as well, but my biggest concern is that he’s a bit of a prude and has little to no experience.”

“Ever thought that’s because girls have used him to get to you?”

I narrow my eyes. “How do you know that?”

“He told me.”

“Getting a bit too cozy with Bran, aren’t you?”

“He’s a very good friend.”

“Hmm.”

“Stop it.” She smiles. “I can’t believe you’re jealous of your own twin brother.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m territorial. Besides, there’s a reason I’m more popular than him.”

“The fact you’re a dick?”

“There’s that. He’s also extremely emotionally stunted sometimes. Don’t let the image he wears so well fool you. There’s another side to him that he keeps under lock and key.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

She observes me with a slight frown, but, thankfully, she chooses to let it go and points at my pad. “Were you sketching?”

“Yeah. Not much luck, I’m afraid.”

“You didn’t sleep?”

“Don’t have time for it.”

“But you never sleep.”

“Sleep is overrated.” I stop there, not wanting to disclose that I do sleep, just not when she’s around.