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

The foul mixture of liquor, the latest drug on the market, and a sense of euphoria flows through me as I sway to the loud music.

Here, I’m okay.

As I blend into the middle of lost kindred spirits and empty shells, I don’t feel alien.

No pressure. No lost potential.

No disturbing images.

Nothing.

Just the way I like it.

I lift the double shot of tequila to my mouth and slurp half of it. The bitter taste sits on my tongue, leaving a lingering aftertaste that coats my mouth. But it also brings a sense of excitement and reckless abandon. The burn rushes down my throat and settles uncomfortably on top of the inauspicious dose of tranquilizers I’ve pumped my stomach with.

My solution? Find more alcohol, drugs, and whatever I can get my grubby hands on.

Something. Anything to relieve the pressure of the latest images that have been crowding my head.

Blurry faces with blurry voices in blurry clubs.

The last thing I need is a reminder of my state of mind or the recent pickle I’ve gotten myself into.

So I choose to sweep it under the rug and pretend everything is fantastic.

Normal.

My friends chose this up-and-coming club in North London for the occasion. The grunge, brick walls shine in a beautiful mixture of different shades of blue.

Violet laser beams glow on the crowd of people filling the massive downstairs hall. We have a VIP room upstairs, but it’s always fun to get down and dirty.

The dirtier the better.

I’ve just lifted the half-full shot of tequila to my lips when a slim hand with milky-peach nails snatches the glass and puts it out of reach. I’m about to spout some profanity when my eyes meet her calm green ones. I’m instantly hit with a smidge of judgment and a copious amount of unconditional love.

“Cecy!” I shout over the music, my voice sounding surprisingly sober. “What are you doing here?”

She’s wearing a beautiful pastel-orange spaghetti-strap dress. Her silver hair is pulled up in a dainty ponytail and her face glows more than ever.

I don’t miss the fact that she’s comfortable wearing dresses now when she’s always been a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl.

Or the fact that she’s put on a subtle hint of makeup. She wants to look beautiful. She loves herself more.

And to my shame, it’s not because of anything I’ve done or even contributed to. It took me so long to figure out something was wrong. I could blame my condition, but that’s no excuse. Not when she’s been there for me our entire lives.

“You’ve had enough to drink, Ava.”

“What are you talking about? I haven’t even started.” I reach for the glass, but she holds it behind her back.

“Don’t even think about it.” She grabs my elbow and starts pulling me from the middle of the crowd I’ve been happily nestled in. They all break out in a meltdown of questions.

Ava, are you coming back?

You joining us for that Ibiza trip, Ava?

I have the latest gossip for you, Ava.

Ava, Ava, Ava…

I love the attention, the hungry gazes, the irresistible need to satisfy my every whim, every need, every demand.

I blow them kisses and wink at a few of the guys, whose names I can barely remember.

It’s all part of my defense mechanism. My charm, my looks, my popularity.

I’m whatever they want me to be. A flirt. A social butterfly. A useless prodigy.

Anything. Everything.

As long as I confiscate their attention. I don’t mind.

Attention keeps the emptiness at bay.

More importantly, the boisterous compliments and not-so-innocent touches ward off dark thoughts.

Even temporarily.

My best friend, Cecily, abandons the shot of tequila on a table and continues pushing her way through the crowd with me in tow.

I tug on her hand, pull her to a stop, and wrap my arms around her neck, swaying to the loud club music. “Come on, let’s dance!”

“This isn’t my scene, Ava.”

“Please, Cecy. For me?” I bat my lashes and twirl her around.

She sighs and moves slowly, in no way matching my energy. I wiggle my hips, and the shimmering pink of my dress catches the strobing lights. My skirt is so short, people behind me must catch a front-row view of my arse.

Some guys hoot and I blow them kisses, throwing my head back with laughter, falling into the intoxication. The madness.

The nothingness.

Some guys surround us and Cecily tenses, her hands coming protectively around my waist.

I used to take this subtle change lightly before, but not anymore. This time, I’m the one who pushes the swarming bees out of the way, then drag my friend through a hall that leads to the toilets.

The dark walls are decorated with grunge neon signs of London, the red lighting casting a warm glow on the otherwise dim space.

The chaos filters behind us, the music lowers a notch, and Cecily releases a breath as she leans against the wall.

“Ready to go home?” she asks slowly, almost hopefully.

“You know the exact answer to that.” I pinch her cheek. “You go. I know you don’t like these scenes.”

“There’s no way in hell I’m leaving you here alone when you’re half drunk, Ava. This club is in the middle of nowhere and gives off sketchy vibes. No clue why you came all the way here.”

“Something different from the usual Soho places. I’m all for adventures.”

“Are you sure this isn’t about your latest participation in the international cello competition?”

Phantom pain squeezes my chest, but I put on my best smile. “Nope. Maybe I wasn’t made for classical music and should switch to DJing. It’s much more fun anyway.”

“Ava…” She’s interrupted by a group of drunk girls giggling and swaying their way between us to the toilet queue.

Cecily takes my hand in hers. “Want to buy some junk food and rewatch Bridget Jones’s Diary?”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend you need to, I don’t know, fly to New York with?”

So maybe I’m being salty, but I know I have no right to be. I always thought Cecily was my soul twin. My person. My sister. The one person who was always in my corner.

But that was before I realized how dependent I was on her. How inconveniencing I was to her. She took care of all my dumb drunk adventures. Kept me safe, sane, wiped my forehead after I got sick, then held me to sleep. She listened to my nonsense and let me invade her space with no complaints.

After she found the love of her life and he pointed out that I was taking all her goodwill and giving nothing in return, I hated him.

I thought it was logical to despise him, too. He’s taking my bestie, and no one deserves my bestie. But no, the real reason I couldn’t stand Jeremy was because he told me the truth I’d refused to see all along.

He was right. I’ve been too reliant on Cecily. Too clingy. Too childish. A mess of epic proportions, if you will. But it’s not Cecily’s responsibility to keep me together.

Which is why I kept my mouth shut when she said she was moving with said boyfriend to the States, even if it’s been killing me inside.

Just now was a slip. I blame the alcohol.

I trap my bottom lip beneath my teeth and bite down so harshly, I’m surprised no blood gushes out.

“So you’re not okay with it, after all?” She watches me carefully. “I knew it. I was surprised you didn’t throw a tantrum.”

“I’m just kidding,” I lie through my teeth. “You go live your life, Cecy.”

“I can stay a few more weeks.”

“No. Don’t stop your life because of me.”

“You’re not a burden.” She clasps my shoulders. “I’m worried about you. Like, really, really worried. You’ve been drinking so much, it’s almost an addiction at this point. You haven’t been taking your meds regularly and you keep spiraling into these destructive patterns more often than not.”

“It’s called having fun.”

“Taking weird pills from strangers is not fun. It’s suicidal.”

“They’re not strangers. They’re friends.”

“Not good ones.” She sighs. “I’m not the only one who’s worried, Ava. Your mum and dad are, too. Is it true that you haven’t spoken to them since you left the competition hall?”

“I texted.” My voice gets caught and I swallow, then exhale deeply to release the tension.

“And you believe that’s enough?”

“For now.” I can’t trust myself to speak to Papa and Mama and not break down. I’ve had three panic attacks in three days. I know I’m spiraling and a huge episode is growing in the distance, but no one needs to know about that.

Least of all Cecy, who’s finally found her well-deserved happiness. If she figures out what’s wrong, she won’t go to the States, and I can’t be in her way anymore.

“I’ll take the meds on time and cut down on drinking. I promise.” I lean my head on her shoulder so she doesn’t see the blatant lies in my eyes. “But only if you FaceTime me every day for at least three hours.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” I push away reluctantly and jut my chin in the direction opposite us. “Now go to your man and do your magic before he kills the guys who surrounded us on the dance floor.”

Her eyes light up, and then her entire body angles toward a tall, broad guy with full sleeves of tattoos. A personality that’s completely contrary to hers. And, wait for it, he’s an actual Russian mafia prince in New York.

Jeremy has been keeping his distance, but he’s been following us around from the get-go. Like, everywhere. I’m sure the only reason he didn’t glue himself to Cecily is because she asked him for some alone time with me.

Although he’s standing across the room, his entire attention is on her. His dark eyes meet hers, and in that fraction of a second, I don’t see a scary motherfucker with a reputation that sends people running. I see a man who loves my friend as furiously as she loves him. A man who’d level the world to the ground just to protect her.

“Want us to give you a lift?” she asks, ripping her gaze from him with obvious effort.

“I drove.”

“But you’re drunk.”

“I only had half a shot and you snatched it away before I could finish it. I’m perfectly sober.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’ll call an Uber.”

“That’s not exactly safe.”

“I’ll ask Papa’s chauffeur to pick me up. Is that safe enough?”

“I guess. I’d rather we take you home.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Just go before Jeremy hates me some more for daring to occupy your time.”

“Since when do you care what he thinks of you?”

“I don’t. I care about you, and you love the twat, so I have to put up with him.”

She gives me a quick hug. “Love you. Let’s watch Bridget Jones’s Diary tomorrow, deal?”

“Deal.”

“Text me when you get home.”

“Yes, Mum.” I salute.

She gives a subtle shake of her head before she moves in Jeremy’s direction. Cecily chances one last look at me, her brows drawing together, and I can see her contemplating either staying or forcing me to go home early like a granny.

I fake my best smile and send her kisses. Before she can change her mind, Jeremy appears in front of her like a mountain. His hand slips to her lower back with subtle possessiveness and he drops a quick but passionate kiss on her mouth that makes her forget about me.

Only momentarily, though, because she keeps looking at me as he hauls her out of the club, warding off any unwanted attention.

She deserves all of that and more. If there’s anyone in the world who’s owed happiness and a man who only brightens up when she’s around, it’s Cecily.

I’m slightly envious of what she has, but then again, to get something like that, someone needs to be as selfless and as pure-hearted as she is.

Innocent, maybe.

Less mentally sick.

More…normal.

So it’s pointless for me to even hope for what she has—what all my friends have.

I snatch a glass from a passing man’s hand, down it, and nearly cough.

Whiskey. Yikes.

Still, I have manners. So I kiss my finger and place it to his mouth in the form of a thanks as I stroll back to the dance floor.

One more hour.

I’m not ready to face the emptiness that comes afterward.

If I’m drunk enough, I might forget a little.

Escape a little.

Live a little.

In no time, I’m surrounded by a group of people. Some are friends or classmates from the art school. Others are new faces.

The more the merrier, if you ask me.

We’re on holiday from uni and it’s our last year. Cecy already graduated, and it’s no fun without her at Royal Elite University. If I weren’t positively terrified about living in my parents’ house again and letting them see me in raw, painful detail, I would’ve transferred to a London university.

But oh well.

Thankfully for me, I didn’t come here to think.

I slide my fingers into my long blonde hair, lifting the strands to reveal my bare back as I sway sensually to the music.

Warm hands drop to the exposed skin on my sides and I playfully shove them away.

“You can look, but you can’t touch, Ollie,” I coo over the music.

Not sure if he heard and I don’t think he cares, to be honest, because he continues staring at my hint of cleavage, blatantly eye-fucking my long legs, bare shoulders, and anywhere his greedy eyes can reach.

Perfect dress, in my humble opinion.

The string tied around my neck keeps it in place along with the tiny micro-miniskirt. Snake-like straps spring up from my stilettos and hug my legs in stunning glittery pink.

“You owe me for earlier, love,” Oliver says as he dances in beat with me, mirroring my every move, every bat of my lashes.

“Oh?” I play coy. “How much?”

“I’m expensive.”

“Not more expensive than my trust fund, Ollie.” I stroke my fingers beneath his chin, tracing his skin with my chrome-pink nails as his nostrils flare. “Besides, we both know you’re not thinking about money as a currency.”

“Did I think right?”

“Possibly?”

Oliver is classically handsome—square face, light-hazel eyes, and sandy-blond hair. Pretty sure I dry humped him a couple of nights ago when he dropped me off.

He wasn’t happy with how I left him unsatisfied, but he keeps coming back for more, so maybe if I’m in the mood, I’ll go further.

Ollie groans as I move my hips. “You’re killing me, Ava.”

“I know.” I laugh, the sound eaten by the loud music before it dies on a hitch.

A stare.

No. A glare.

Cold, calculative, and entirely destructive eyes hold me hostage.

Like a million times before.

And like all of those times, my apprehension hasn’t reduced one bit. If anything, my awareness has gotten a lot more daring. Suffocating.

It’s impossible to figure out where he’s watching me from if he doesn’t make himself entirely visible. However, whether I see him or not, I’m extremely conscious of his presence.

Like a parasite. Or, more accurately, a high-tech security camera where I’m the sole focus.

Sweat trickles down my back and my skin heats in several orders of magnitude.

Instinctively, my hand drops from Ollie’s face, and my movements slow as I search the corners of the club. That’s where he always lurks, like a shadow, the darkness’s lord and master.

A fucking ghost.

I see him. And I wish I didn’t.

Eli King stands by the bar, nonchalantly leaning back, one hand nestling a drink and the other tucked in his pressed black trousers. He always wears something black. Like a gothic duke in a faraway castle. A step above Dracula and Satan’s favorite tutor. It fits with the sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and vile character.

His crisp white shirt highlights his broad shoulders and lean, muscled frame. The cuffs are slightly rolled, revealing a Patek Philippe watch that’s so expensive, it could buy everyone in this club. I know because I bought that watch. Got into shit with my dad about spending so much money as well. Seven years ago, I begged Nana to take me to Switzerland, we met a retired watch master, and I had to plead for weeks before he agreed to make that special edition.

Though Eli doesn’t know that tidbit. I made Aunt Elsa give it to him and swear to never tell him it was from me. So he thinks it was a gift from his mum for his twentieth birthday, which is probably why he always wears it.

Despite the shadows, the chaos, the noise, and the endless people separating us, I see him clearly. Too clearly. As if the world is transparent and he’s the only tangible being in its midst.

Eli King has been my damnation ever since I figured out what that word meant.

My nemesis.

The only man who’s immune to my charms.

If anything, he disregards them with cold indifference. Like right now.

His eyes exude a bottomless darkness, and their stormy gray color never rages or revolts. Never deviates from the coldness I faced the day he shattered my heart to pieces and stomped all over it.

“Turn around and remove your distasteful presence from my sight, and I’ll pretend I didn’t hear your embarrassing confessions.”

His words still sting despite the years that have passed. Whoever said time heals everything has obviously never met Eli King.

He’s worse than an infected wound that’s refusing to heal and more brutal than a war without an end.

On the other hand, that terrible lapse in judgment on my part flipped my feelings for him upside down. I used to be blind, but now, I just loathe him.

I want to annoy him.

Tug any feelings out of him just to disrupt his day and destroy his carefully put-together life.

He watches me and I stare back, unwavering, even if I’m burned by that icy gaze, if I’m pulled apart and shattered to pieces, I’ll never back down in front of the prick.

Feeling particularly suicidal tonight, thanks to my spectacular failures and, possibly, the cocktail of drinks, I grab Ollie’s hands and place them on my bare sides again.

My skin doesn’t catch fire. I don’t break out in a sweat or experience the shattering sensation of mysterious eroticism.

But it’s good enough.

My arms wrap around Ollie’s neck and I dance slower than the rhythm, provocatively, swaying my hips, jutting my breasts. The music pulses through my body, the bass reverberating in my chest and making my heart race in a symphony of chaos and rebellion.

The feel of Eli’s eyes is a toxic elixir, swirling and bubbling within me, a concoction that promises a temporary escape from reality and a false sense of bliss.

Ollie matches my movements, touching, caressing, and falling completely into it, but my attention is not on him. I never break eye contact with the dilemma who’s leaning against the bar, eyes still detached and completely unaffected by my show.

So I snake my fingers into my hair, pulling it up, biting my lower lip while I stare into his black soul.

“Fuck you,” I mouth.

Then, and only then, does he show a reaction. The corner of his lip quirks up in the most amused, sadistic smile before he takes a generous sip from his drink.

Scotch. Malt. Straight.

I hate that I know all these details about him. I wish I could be hit with amnesia so I can just forget him, his favorite drink, his wardrobe choices, and his entire malicious personality.

Ollie gets closer until he’s almost flush against me. His smell, oud and musk, nearly suffocates me, but I put up with it and trace my forefinger over his stubbled cheek, forcing my entire attention to stay on him.

Giving Eli the show he signed up for.

I have no idea why he doesn’t leave me alone when he clearly has no interest in me whatsoever, but I’ll be damned if I don’t play his game.

At least today.

Most of the time, I just avoid him like the plague. What? I’m not always drunk, and when it comes to Eli, my courage—or impulsive foolishness—largely depends on the level of alcohol and drugs pumping in my veins.

I lift my head, but my movements slow when I find his spot at the bar empty. A strange, crushing disappointment crinkles in my chest and I hate it with everything in me.

Worse than I hate that man.

My phone vibrates in my bra and I jolt, then disentangle myself from Ollie to check it out.

ARIELLA

Call me. It’s an EMERGENCY!

My heart trips over itself as I storm off the dance floor, ignoring Ollie’s and the others’ objections as I fly up the stairs to the VIP room I rented tonight. I close the door behind me and pace the length of the tacky space with red faux-leather sofas and black walls.

My younger sister answers in a matter of seconds. “Ava!”

“What…” I swallow. “What’s wrong? Are Mama and Papa okay?”

“They’re fine.”

“Nana and Grandpa?”

“Living their best life on their latest cruise in the Mediterranean Sea.”

“Okay…then what’s the emergency?”

“Figured it was the best way to get you to call me.”

I release a long, tortured breath and lean against the side of the sofa. “Ari, you little shit, you scared the hell out of me.”

“Oh, please. No more than you scared the hell out of us during that competition earlier, then proceeded to ghost us.”

“I didn’t ghost you. Besides, it was…nothing.”

“Only if nothing means literally freezing mid-note for, like, five minutes and then storming off the stage.”

“I had…a block.” Of senses. Of existence.

I literally ceased to be me at that moment.

“And you couldn’t, like, talk to us about it?”NôvelDrama.Org holds text © rights.

“So you’d pity me?”

“So we’d support you, idiot. Mama and Papa are worried about you. I’m worried about you.”

I bite the corner of my lip. Why the hell do I manage to be like this and concern every single person I love about my mental state?

“We’ll talk tomorrow after I’m past the hangover. Can you tell Mama and Papa that I’m doing okay right now and keeping busy practicing for the next competition?”

“Sure. How much do I get paid for lying?”

“Bitch, please. You love lying.”

“I love getting paid more.” I can imagine her smiling like a little psycho. “How about you tell me Remi’s schedule for the week and we call it even?”

“Ari…you’re my baby sister and I love you, but you need to take a hint when a man isn’t interested in you and move on.”

“Didn’t stop you when you were falling into a puddle at Eli’s uninterested feet.”

I touch my hair and clear my throat. “And I got over him and then some. In fact, I hate He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.”

“As you should, sis.”

“Maybe you can do the same?”

“Nah. Eli is unfeeling and has no trace of any human emotions in him. My Remi is different. He’s lovable, a gentleman, and every woman’s dream man. He just needs a little push to see the love of his life. Aka me.”

I smile despite myself. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

“Only after my ring is on his finger.”

“Jesus. You’re thinking of marriage at eighteen?”

“I’ve loved him since I was eleven. That’s seven years too late, if you ask me.”

“Oh Lord.”

“Back to the topic at hand, are you going to get me that schedule, Ava?”

“Nope.”

“Is this really worth losing my support when Mama and Papa grill you for actual answers? Think very carefully, sis.”

“Ugh, you’re a little bitch.”

“I take after my beautiful bitch of a sister. Muah ha ha.”

I’m about to call her a few colorful names when I hear the door clicking open behind me. “Give me a sec, Ollie…”

My words trail off when I face the door and get instantly trapped in the depths of those eyes.

Cold. Indifferent. Stormy.

I swallow hard, not caring if my sister hears it. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Only if you have that schedule for me. Byee.”

She hangs up and the sudden click nearly makes me jump in my skin. Though it has nothing to do with Ari and everything to do with the man whose height and broadness block the entire exit.

I straighten, forcing my shoulders back, but it’s categorically impossible to make them relax.

“To what do I owe this displeasure?”

I’m proud of how bored my voice sounds. It took a lot of practice to sound as cold and indifferent as he is.

Eli shoves himself off the door, and even though he no longer blocks my exit, his presence overwhelms my senses in a fraction of a second.

Imposing. Intimidating. Suffocating.

I can’t take my gaze off him, because I know it will take only one misstep and it’ll be game over for me.

One stupid move and I’ll strip away another chunk of my barely put-together soul.

“The real question is.” His smooth, deep voice touches my warm skin like a whip. “What have you done to owe me the displeasure, Ava?”