God of Malice: A Dark College Romance

29. Glyndon

Ipace the length of Killian’s room with rigid steps, trying and failing to calm the shaking of my fingers. “Maybe we should get the doctor again so he can make sure he’s really okay.”

“He is.” Gareth leans against the wall, arms and legs crossed. “It’d take more than waterboarding to hurt him.”

“I apologize again on behalf of my brother.” Brandon, who helped me carry and drive Killian to the Heathens’ mansion, runs a hand through his hair. “He’s just…protective.”

“Stop trying to find excuses for him, Bran.” The words sound guttural coming from my lips.

“I know you’re mad at him, and I’m not trying to defend his wrong actions, but he’s still our brother, Glyn. Yes, he’s overprotective and shows it in all the destructive ways, but it’s because he doesn’t want us to be weak or taken advantage of.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to dictate our lives. Don’t even try to stop me when I finally remove his mask in front of Mum and Dad.”

Bran grabs at the hairs on the back of his head, with enough force to make me worry that he’s hurting himself.

It reminds me of something Grandpa said about Bran and how much he’s like his first wife, Uncle Aiden’s mum.

Bran hates conflict so much that he lets his emotions devour him from the inside out. And that part of him makes me sick with worry because Uncle Aiden’s mum had a horrible ending.

It’s just unfair that Lan doesn’t feel and Bran feels too much.

My brother releases his grip on his hair, his voice coming out gentle. “We’ll talk about this when you’re more cooled down. You’ve been on a high of emotions this entire night.”

It’s then I realize that I’ve been rubbing my palm against the side of my shorts back and forth until it’s turned red.

My breathing is deeper, raw, and abnormal. I inhale deeply and let the fight leave my system. I slowly make my way to Killian’s side and flop to a sitting position on the bed where he lies.

When I reached the dorm, Bran called and told me there was an accident near campus caused by multiple cars and that he was sure Landon was behind it.

Sometime later, he screenshotted a text that included a location.

Eli: By the decree of his majesty the king (that’s your brother tonight), join us in defending Glyn’s honor, Middle Ages style.

I was skeptical at first, until Bran mentioned that Lan gave Killian seven days to leave me and today happened to be the deadline.

We didn’t have to waste time finding the location Eli sent because Bran was already familiar with the place.

I don’t even want to think about why he knows of Lan’s torture chamber—or worse, if something happened to him there before.

In the midst of the chaos, I contemplated calling Killian’s friends, but Gareth wouldn’t have cared and Jeremy, and especially Nikolai, would have undoubtedly killed my brother, and that just wasn’t how I wanted this dealt with.

As much as I’m not a fan of Lan sometimes, Bran is right. He’s our brother. Family.

Killian appears peaceful when asleep, his eternally beautiful face caught in a serene expression that I want to sketch and breathe life back into.

When we brought him in earlier, I called Gareth on the way and he was waiting for us at the front gate. He helped Bran carry him upstairs. Then he changed his brother’s clothes to dry ones and called the family doctor.

The latter said he has a fever, prescribed him some meds, and left.

I stroke the half-damp strands off his forehead and a sudden chill rips down my spine.

When I saw him on the ground earlier, all wet, half-conscious, and completely out of it, fear like I’ve never experienced before made me lose control.

It wasn’t courage, it wasn’t anger, it was pure fear that made me give Landon a piece of my mind. It was my feelings of horror that allowed me to finally confront him after years of avoiding, placating, and living by his rules.

I was that much of a coward before. I’m not now and it’s all because of the freaking bastard lying unconscious.

Since when has he become such a vital part of my life that I feel on the edge just at the thought of him being hurt?

He coerced, threatened, and gave me no choice but to submit to him. He’s as much of a villain in this story as my brother is.

Actually, he’s way worse.

But I can admit to myself that I’m attracted to him, I’m attracted to how he confiscates my control and leaves me no choice but to let go.

I can also admit that he’s the reason I’m out of my shell. That I’m no longer the conflict-avoiding, pacifying, no-say-in-anything Glyn.

It wasn’t until I saw him in danger that I realized he brings out the best and worst in me and I’m addicted to the feeling.

I’m addicted to how he puts me above everything else, how he goes out of his way to make sure I eat—even bugs Anni about it. I’m addicted to the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not looking and how he didn’t listen to my brother’s demands and, instead, chose to stay with me.

I’m addicted to him.

The door swings open without as much as a knock and I startle as Nikolai peeks inside. “Heard Kill nearly got killed. See what I did there? Also, whose head do I have to cut from their body, rip the flesh from, and hang on a stick—

He interrupts himself and fully stalks inside with a rare shine in his eyes. He’s half-naked—I swear the guy is allergic to clothes—and all his tattoos are on full display like a map of destruction. Those, coupled with his massive build, make him intimidating as hell.

At least Killian is easygoing sometimes unless provoked. Nikolai never appears nonchalant—his cutthroat exterior is his true self.

And he’s watching my brother closely, with chilling calculation. “Now, what do we fucking have here? Did a lotus get lost?”

Bran remains still, but his fingers have found their way to his hair again and they’re tugging stronger than earlier.

“Was it this one who hurt our Kill, Gaz?” Nikolai asks slowly, menacingly, and the bulging of his muscles matches the hostile energy.

He’s honing himself for a fight, a quarrel.

Or any form of violence.

My heart beats in an irregular rhythm. Shit. What if Gareth tells him and Nikolai chooses to hurt Bran just to get back at Lan?

Before I can step in to try to smooth out the situation, Gareth says, “No. Brandon and Glyndon drove him here. They found him near their campus. For more details about the culprit, we have to wait for Killian to wake up.”

If I could hug Gareth, I would. And I’m not even a hugger. He got us out of this situation with enough ease to baffle me.

“Is that so?” Nikolai speaks to Bran. “You carried the motherfucker Kill all on your own? I thought you were a dainty lotus, but maybe you’re stronger than you look.”

“I’m going back,” Bran says in a low voice. “Want to come, Glyn?”

“No, I’m staying the night.” If I’d done so from the beginning instead of fighting for useless independence, then maybe none of this would’ve happened.

Or maybe I’m just placating myself.

Bran frowns, but then he nods, tells me to call him if I need anything, then leaves. Nikolai silently follows him and I have a feeling it’s not because he just wants to show him the way out.

Maybe I should’ve gone with Bran, after all.

“You can go if you want. I’ll take care of his meds,” Gareth tells me from his unmoving position on the wall.

“I want to do it.” My voice softens. “And thank you for covering up for Lan just now.”

“I was only leaving the ball in Kill’s court so he can personally deal with the situation when he wakes up. Besides, Niko is the kill first, ask questions later type, so he shouldn’t be privy to any details until a plan is in place.”

“Fair enough.”

Silence prevails for a beat before he says in a quiet tone, “You’re seriously worried about him?”

“You aren’t?”

The air vibrates with the length of his sigh. “No. He made sure to kill that part of me a decade ago when he used my concern to put the blame on me for things he’d done. Spoiler alert, though not really, that’s exactly what he’ll do to you eventually. Any noble feelings you have for him will be twisted, vilified, falsified until they become as dark as his.”

“That won’t be happening.”

“I said that, too, once upon a time.”

“You said, but you didn’t take action, Gareth. I’m not going to pretend that I understand what it’s like growing up with him, but I have a brother who’s similar to him. He tried to destroy everything beautiful in my and Bran’s lives so that we only depended on him and were at his beck and call, but do you see us being like him? Do you see us manipulating, hurting, absolutely discarding our morals just to adapt to him?”

He raises a brow. “Is that supposed to be a jab at me?”

“It’s concern.” My voice softens. “Killian, Landon, and my cousin, Eli, were born different. They don’t have the luxury of feeling emotions like we do, and yes, they’re prone to hurt others without batting an eye because of that, but it’s who they are. It’s not who you are, Gareth. You’re choosing to be like them, and if you see nothing wrong with that, then I feel sorry for you.”

“So you’re saying I should take Killian’s manipulations, blows, and pure fucking hatred and do nothing about it, is that it?”

“No. But you could talk about it. He has beef with you because he feels lesser than you.”

He laughs with a deranged edge. “Are you maybe talking about a different Killer than the one sleeping on that bed?”

“He heard your dad tell your mum that they should’ve only had you. That would automatically make him hold a grudge against you.”

A line appears between Gareth’s brows. “He could be lying to get your sympathy.”

“He’s always been honest to me. The brutal kind.”

“Or maybe that’s what he wants you to believe.” He pushes off the wall and heads to the door.

“Gareth,” I call after him.

“Yeah?”

“Our deal is off. I’m not going to stab him in the back so you can hurt him. Deep down, I know you don’t want that either.”

“I saw this coming a mile away. This is a piece of genuine advice, Glyndon. Be careful. You might think you care for him now, but there will be times where you’ll want to kill him, and you won’t think about his nature or that he’s different. You’ll only think that he’s a motherfucking asshole who shouldn’t exist. And when you want to leave? He’ll break your legs so you never consider the option. And if you heal and attempt it again? He’ll cut them off.” He smiles, but it’s fake as he steps out and lets the door close behind him.

My focus slides back to Killian and I narrow my eyes on him. “Bastard. When did you get me on your defense team?”

I blame the sense of peace I feel in his company. Even when he’s choking me, throwing me down, and fucking me like a madman.

I blame it more on when he pulls me to sleep on top of him after, or when he takes me to watch fireflies because he knows how much they bring me joy.

Unable to ignore the onslaught of feelings running rampant in my chest, I borrow his notebook and a charcoal pencil—that Killian started to keep around—then I place the chair opposite the bed. I don’t look at the paper. My whole attention is on him while my fingers stroke line after line until I’m transported into a different zone.

It’s like my physical body ceases to exist and I’m a burst of emotions, swishes, and a manifestation of an extremely unpredictable muse.

I think it only takes me ten minutes from start to finish, but when I look at the time, it’s already two in the morning.

Thank God it’s a weekend and I can sleep in tomorrow.

Yawning, I strip down to my underwear. Then I borrow one of Killian’s T-shirts that basically serves as a nightgown.

It’s crazy how normal and familiar this feels, especially when I compare it to how I was ready to stab him to death only a few weeks ago.

I slip under the covers and pause when I feel his hot skin. The doctor said the fever would go down in a while, but how long is a while?

Shouldn’t it be now?

I lay my head on his shoulder and yelp when he turns completely in my direction and wraps both arms around me, then places me on top of him. Even while his eyes are closed.

Pleasure pools in my knickers and I clench my thighs.

I think the bastard has orgasm-trained me or something. Being on top of him only happens after he fucks my brains out. When sex isn’t the main focus, he sits me between his legs or on his lap. So now that the fucking hasn’t happened and I’m on top, my body is acting up because of it.

I rub myself against his semi-hard erection, then stop.

What the hell am I doing? He’s sleeping and feverish and I should go to hell for this.

Forcing myself to calm down, I close my eyes and let sleep whisk me away.

* * *

A moan slipsfrom my throat.

Another one follows.

And another.

Oh, God.

His hands slide up my stomach to my nipple and then down again, but that’s not all.

My core clenches due to being rubbed on and on by his very hard cock.

I’m such a pervert for dreaming about this when he’s sick, but I guess I underestimated my sexually frustrated state when I went to sleep.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby. Sometimes I want to cage you so no one but me can look at you.” Even his voice is slightly slurred but so deliciously deep and dark, like when he’s touching me for real.

The dream gets ten out of ten for details.

“I want to shoot everyone who dares to look in your direction or cause you pain. I want to bathe in their fucking blood and throw their insides at your feet. I want to fuck you there, too, in their blood, to stake a claim. You’d probably bolt if I said this to you directly, so I won’t. I’ll just keep owning you over and over, until you can no longer think about leaving me. I’ll be your shadow so no one dares to hurt you.”

He accentuates his words with a rub against my pussy, a pinch to my nipple, a bite to my stomach. He’s everywhere, and I wish that was the only reason I was turned on.

His words have the strangest effect on me, they make me delirious and greedy for more.

Maybe I’m sick, too, for being this aroused by his threats of murder for me.

His fingers leave my nipples and slide to my throat. The moment they squeeze, my air vanishes.

Killian throws my leg up against his chest and he pounds inside in one delicious go.

This isn’t a dream.

My eyes fly open, and sure enough, I’m completely naked. My legs are flung over his shoulders as he holds them hostage with one hand while the other is currently on the verge of suffocating me.

Wasn’t this crazy bastard feverish not too long ago? Actually, he still is, judging by his hot touch.

Or maybe that’s me.

Just how can he have this intense power, even worse than usual, when he’s sick?

Apparently, my body doesn’t understand that logic, considering the sluicing sound of his cock going in and out of me.

The fact that he didn’t give a fuck that I was asleep and took what he wanted anyway makes me a mess.

A wanton mess.

I dig my fingers in his wrist, fruitlessly trying to ease his hold on my neck even as I soak his dick and the sheets with my arousal.

“That’s it. Fight, baby.” His expression is manic, absolutely terrifying. “The more you do, the harder I fuck you.”

I go berserk, scratching and clawing and trying to hurt him anywhere I can reach.

And as he promised, he fucks me harder and faster, with a power that knocks the living breath out of me.

“That’s my fucking girl,” he grunts, his eyes half closed, probably with both dark lust and the fever’s pain. “You’re the most beautiful I’ve ever seen when you’re taking my cock like a dirty little whore.” He releases my legs. “Keep them there. If they fall, we’ll start all over again.” Then he reaches between us and glides my arousal to my back hole, making me shudder, then thrusts a finger inside. “Your ass is feeling lonely. Look at it clenching around my finger wanting to take part in the fun. You’ll let me fuck you raw until you’re screaming my name, won’t you?”

I’m choking on my breaths and unable to think, just feel.

So I fall into that sensation of being completely ravaged by him. His hand, his cock, and his finger in my arse are all moving at the same time, creating the maddest chaos.

“Maybe I should fuck it right now so you know what a huge cock actually feels like.”

My eyes widen, and I come, just like that. I think there’s something wrong with me, because this is definitely one of the strongest orgasms I’ve had yet.

My moans mix with chopped-off screams and it goes on and on, until I think I’ll pass out.

“Such an innocent face for a dirty little slut. Your mouth likes to sing the ‘no’ tune, but you’re choking my cock at the promise of me taking your ass like an animal.” His lips pull in a snarl. “And yet, that motherfucking brother of yours dares to say he’ll give you to someone else. He has the audacity to think I’d let anyone but me see you like this.”

It’s that rage again, it’s bleeding off him in waves, and he stretches my back hole with his finger as his rhythm goes out of control.

“The only reason he’s not buried six feet under is because of you, Glyndon.”

I believe him. Wholeheartedly.

Shit.

If it wasn’t for whatever fixation he has on me and the knowledge that I would rather die than have him hurt my brother, he’d totally take it personally.

He is taking it personally.

But I still feel a tiny bit of relief at the knowledge that the thought of me, not my actions, have the power to stop him.

He eases his hold on my throat. “Say you’re mine.”

“Stop it, Killian.” I pant, downright shivering with the remnants of my orgasm. “You’re feverish.”

“I can still stuff you with my cum while you orgasm again. Now, say the fucking words, Glyndon.”

I shake my head, even as tears of pleasure gather in my eyes.

“If this is playing hard to get, then you’ve taken it too fucking far. Say it.”

“I can’t,” I force out.

“Then you might as well not speak again.” His hand that was around my throat slams on my mouth.

Killian opens my legs far apart so he can fit between them as he leans close. The new position gives him more depth and he fucks me like a madman and thrusts another finger in my arse, stretching me to the brim.

I can’t scream or moan, and any sound I release comes out haunted, muffled, and absolutely terrifying.

He’s probably thinking about killing me, but I’m coming again.

Just being handled roughly by him, not being allowed to even scream, is enough to have me shatter to pieces.

No matter how much I try to deny it, I love this part of him.

This part of us.

“I knew you were custom-made for me, baby.” He still sounds angry, but he’s aroused. “I’m going to fill you up with my cum so you know exactly who you fucking belong to.”

I shudder as warmth spreads over my insides. I expect him to pull out, but he stays there, semi-hard and slowly rocks his hips as if making sure that not one drop leaves.

Killian watches me, half focused, his eyes almost closed, but he continues the erotic movements.

“Maybe I should fill you up with my baby,” he murmurs, so low I can barely hear him. “That way you can’t escape me.”

Then he releases my mouth, collapses on top of me, absolutely burning, and completely crushes me with his weight.

I push at his shoulders, but he’s as unmoving as a buffalo.

“Killian,” I strain.

He grunts and effortlessly flips us over so he’s carrying my weight, but he’s still deep inside me.

“I can sleep on the bed,” I whisper.

“My body is a better bed,” he slurs back without opening his eyes.

“Take medication, you’re burning up.”

“Mmm.”

“Killian…”

His arms wrap around my middle, keeping me in place as he inhales me. “You chose me.”

“What?”

“Back there, you chose me in front of your brother. Brothers, plural. And that fucker Eli.”

Shit. He was conscious during that?

Killian kisses the top of my head and before I can backpedal, he says the words that go straight to my heart. “I’ll make sure you always choose me as much as I choose you.”