Goddess of Pain - Katie May Page 0,57
in a million years would I compare myself to an innocent gazelle, but there’s no denying that’s what I am. From the first moment she injected me with her venom, I became hers. Completely and undeniably hers.
“Don’t be such a fucking pussy!” Arnold bellows as he levels another punch at my face. I sidestep his fist, dancing around his scrawny body until I’m directly behind him. Then, I wrap my arm around his throat and tighten.
The rest of the soldiers holler and whoop as Arnold’s face turns a hideous shade of blue. Still, I don’t release my vise-like grip until he’s unconscious on the ground.
Pumping my fists in the air at my victory, I catch stock of my reflection in one of the windows of the barracks. I’ve held this illusion for over two months now, pretending to be Tate Lief, nothing but a lowly and humble servant. Instead of dark brown hair grazing my forehead, I see vibrant orange locks. Numerous freckles dot my cheeks and nose, somehow making me appear boyish.
But no one who’s seen me fight could ever mistake me for a young lad.
My bare chest is shirtless and covered in a myriad of bruises and scratches. I won’t lie—Arnold was able to deliver a few painful blows before I rendered him unconscious.
Now, I need to go into town and find a girl to fuck the rest of my aggression out on. You would think a power like mine—the power of deception—would make me relatively calm, but you couldn’t be more wrong. The need to deceive people, to lie and steal and hurt, is like an itch under my skin that I know I shouldn’t scratch.
I’m not a good guy. I never said I was, and I won’t start lying to you now. There’s a darkness inside of me, an anger and rage, that demands an outlet. Usually, I’m able to unleash the monster inside of me either on the battlefield or in the bed of a cheap fuck. It appeases the constant craving I have.
The soldiers immediately quiet down, and the two men helping Arnold stand, dropping him unceremoniously. All eyes are fixed on the entrance of the palace nestled snugly between a forest and a clearing.
I don’t know why I chose the Goddess of Pain’s kingdom for this particular deception. I would almost describe it as a feeling. A tightening around my heart like steel clamps. A tug in the pit of my stomach.
But that sounds fucking insane.
I’ve never set eyes upon this woman before, but I heard from the other soldiers that her beauty is unparalleled. More than one soldier—including the unconscious Arnold—dreamed of fucking her.
“Don’t stop on my account,” a singsong voice declares as the throng of soldiers part. “I’m just here to watch the festivities.”
“A fight, my love,” Avery corrects. The God of Death I have seen, and I’ll be the first to admit that he scares the shit out of me. There’s something unsettling about his boyish, happy smile, like he’s a shark circling the ocean for the first scent of blood. Silent, but capable of ending you with one clamp of his serrated teeth.
It’s only then that I see her for the first time. Her dark hair hangs in luminous, shimmery curls down her back, stopping just above her plump ass. In the crimson gown she wears, I’m able to see the swell of her breasts and the outline of her perky nipples.
Jealousy flares to life within me at the thought that all of these soldiers are seeing something that doesn’t belong to them.
Not that it belongs to me either, but try telling that to my suddenly idiotic brain and cock.
As one, the soldiers bow before her, ducking their heads reverently. I scowl, remaining upright with my arms crossed over my chest. This body isn’t nearly as toned as my real one, but there’s no denying the muscles displayed on my arms and stomach.
And for the first time in my life, I feel a pang in my chest that she won’t be able to see the real me. The true me. I dismiss that voice with an annoyed grunt.
When did I turn into such a fucking pussy?
“Are you not going to bow to your goddess?” Avery demands, a manic gleam appearing in his eyes. He takes a threatening step closer, dark mist curling around him, but Emily merely places a calming hand on his chest.
“No, my love,” she soothes in that musical voice I fucking hate. And I only hate