Imprisoned Gods - G. Bailey Page 0,69

top and black shorts. I pull them on, tucking the shirt on one side into the shorts before pulling my shoes on and running a brush through my hair, which does little to control its crazy ass. I pick up my jar of peanut butter and my tea bags before leaving my room and going down the stairs.

I turn into the kitchen, pausing at the sight of a topless Killian cooking breakfast. I nearly drop my precious peanut butter as I mentally drool over his firm, muscular back that swoops down into a tight waist. It only gets worse as he turns around, showing me his large chest that is toned, and he has a tattoo over his heart which is a circle made of knots, yet there is nothing inside it. I gulp as I look down at his crazy perfect six pack and the v-line that disappears into his low hanging joggers.

"Your jaw is on the floor, Karma," Killian says.

"It isn't, you are seeing things. This is nothing," I say, nodding at his chest as I walk to his side, placing the peanut butter on the side and the tea bags next to it.

"The way you just looked at me could never be described as nothing. I won't forget it, that's for sure," Killian responds.

"Are you always this charming and romantic?" I ask him.

"Are you always this good at avoiding everything?" he counters, but he doesn't wait for an answer as he picks one of the tea bags up. "Yorkshire tea, the best kind. I'm a big tea fan."

"I don't mind a cup of tea, but I'm more a peanut butter fan. You can have the tea if you want," I offer, and he looks down at me with a surprised smile.

"You don't have to give me them," he tells me.

"I want to, honestly. Though that French toast looks awesome and would be a great thank you trade," I tell him, accidently sweeping my hand across his muscular arm. Yep, that was a total accident alright.

"Alright, but I was making the house breakfast anyway," he tells me, grinning as he offers me a plate to hold and slides the toast off the pan onto it. I find a knife and cover my toast in peanut butter before going to sit at the table.

"You're up early anyway. I didn't have you down as a morning person," he says as he carries on cooking.

"I'm not, are you?" I ask, avoiding the reason I'm up early.

"I like mornings, call me weird. There is something about watching the sunrise and loving the pure silence...but then I realised this morning, you can't see the sunrise in here. There is something deeply fucked up about that," he mutters, leaving me a little lost for what to say to him. "At least it is quiet though."

"So how long have you been a god of justice? Are the rumours true that you are immortal while in service?" I ask him, because why not? I've heard a million rumours about the famous gods of justice, and I'm curious what is true.

"Since our father was killed by the higher gods about fifty years ago...and yes, we became immortal from the moment we inherited his powers," he explains to me.

"What do you mean he was killed?" I ask.

"Have you not heard the rumour about the curse of justice?" he asks as he continues cooking, and I try to rack my brain about why that sounds familiar, but nothing comes to mind. When I don't answer, he looks back to see my blank face, and he sighs. "The powers of justice are a strong thing to control, and they are similar to the higher gods’ powers. So, one of my ancestors grew too powerful, too old and lost all control. He attacked the higher gods, and they had no choice but to kill him and then pass a law called the curse of justice."

"Why would he attack them? What is the curse of justice?" I ask, captivated by his story, though he doesn't look at me much as he talks.

"The curse of justice is a law that states when a god of justice turns a hundred years old, they must be killed, and their child will take on the powers for the next hundred years," he explains to me.

"That's insane. I'm so sorry they killed your father," I whisper. “They gave you a death sentence because of your powers.”

"He wasn't a good father to us, so don't worry," Killian replies.

"What