Goddess of Pain - Katie May Page 0,17

his ear. “Make it hurt.”

My love for Arsin—or Sin—is completely irrational, defying all logic and understanding. I shouldn’t love a man like him, a monster like him, but those emotions sweep over me like a tidal wave, arriving when I’m least expecting them. One second, I’m planning his execution, and the next, I’m desperately and hopelessly in love with him.

His shaggy blond hair hangs in clumps around his sunken face as he kneels before my throne. Still, there’s something in his eyes that isn’t quite…right. I don’t have any other words for it. There’s something broken in this man, something shattered. When he tilts his head up and smiles at me—a twisted sort of smile that does funny things to my insides—I raise a hand to stop Helio before he can deliver the killing blow.

My gentle giant stares at me with acute understanding, his muscles bunching as he drops the axe.

“What are you waiting for?” Tate scoffs, his tone acerbic, almost bitter. He glares down at Sin as if he can physically cut him with his eyes.

But a tiny voice in my head warns me not to kill this man, this killer. He’s certifiably insane, but I can’t lose him. Staring into his mossy eyes only reinforces that idea. It’s like a hole cut in a sweater—it slowly starts to unravel until it can never keep you warm again.

And Arsin, as the God of Flames, is pure fire.

“Are you going to kill me, my love?” Sin cackles, throwing his head back in mocking mirth. When he faces me once more, pure insanity reflects back at me. There’s no love in his eyes, no warmth, just…coldness.

“No,” I say, before I can think better of it.

“No?” Sin quirks a blond brow, white teeth gleaming as he continues to offer me that cold, cold smile. Maybe cold is the wrong word for it. No words can encapsulate the malicious twist of his lips and the cunningness in his eyes.

“No.” I shake my head once and rise from where I sit on the throne. Desmond and Avery rise with me while Tate—fucking Tate—continues to lounge indolently in the seat beside me, eyes narrowed into penetrating slits. “I’m not killing you today, God of Flames. Leave if you must.”

As I exit the throne room, Desmond and Avery on either side of me and Helio at my back, I can hear Sin’s crazed laughter echoing around me. The noise sends pinpricks up and down my arms, but it also causes heat to blossom in my core.

This man…

He’s going to set the world on fire one day, killing everyone in it, and I’m going to willingly burn for him.

I gasp, those memories rushing towards me like a freight train.

Desmond. Helio. Avery. Tate. Sin.

My five lovers. My five mates.

My eyes desperately open as I survey the room I’ve found myself in. I half expect to be in my throne room, surrounded by my men. Instead, I find myself in a…living room?

It appears cozy, with a fire burning in a hearth in front of the couch. Numerous animal heads are propped on the wall, almost as if this house belongs to a hunter of some sort. Intricately woven rugs line the wooden floors, and I spot the cliché bearskin rug you would see in a romantic comedy in front of the fireplace. There is no television that I can see and no landline.

How…?

Where…?

The last thing I remember is walking home from my shift at the bar. And then someone attacked me.

Was I rendered unconscious? Has something happened?

Everything is fuzzy. I have memories of my home here—my brothers and father, my friends, my schooling, my job—but I’ve also seen brief glimpses of another life. Did I hit my head? Am I going insane?

But something in my gut tells me that I’m not who I always thought I was. I’m not just Emily Lopez, friendly college student. I’m…

I’m the Goddess of Pain.

That revelation sits in my stomach like a heavy ball of lead. It doesn’t move around or anything like that; it just sits there, mildly uncomfortable like an itch you know you shouldn’t scratch. My heart hammers an unfamiliar song in my ribcage as those familiar tendrils of panic cascade through me.

I’m the fucking Goddess of Pain.

A part of me wonders if I should be worried. I mean, how many women do you know suddenly have the realization that they’re some supernatural entity intent on creating pain? I’ll give you a hint—not a fucking lot.

At the same time, the rightness