Gods and Monsters, Books 1-3: A Dark Gods Bully Romance (Gods and Monsters Box Set)

by Klarissa King

  It wasn’t until now that I realised how exhausting it’d been: Someone died? Fake sorrow, force tears. Someone’s angry? Don’t tear out their throats. A child falls down the rocky path? Don’t laugh, help them.

  Now, I could let that constant grip on pretence flutter away from me, and admit that I didn’t care about the worshipper I killed, or the one I was about to flood with whatever power was pulsing in the golden flute.

  Smirk still stuck to my lips, I used my inner reach to fish out the bitter honey from the flute. Having a handle on my curse didn’t stop the honey-essence from fighting me the whole way through my body, but my grip on it was strong, unyielding, and I felt pulses of pure power move through me.

  Thick, honey essence slapped into the hand of the anxious and stiff vilas at my side. The flute’s power didn’t feel all that terrible, other than the sharp granules of saltiness that tainted it. So I didn’t expect much to happen once it all piled into the shivering vilas.

  Oops.

  I was wrong.

  Horror struck my face and I was frozen.

  Jasper had wits enough to duck under the table just as it happened. I wasn’t so lucky.

  The slave exploded.

  At least I shut my mouth before the bloody mass charged at me. I was covered. Head to toe, drenched in blood.

  Slowly, I reached for my freshly washed hair and picked out a piece of a weird spongey pink blob from one of my braids. I made a face and dropped it to the pool of blood at my feet.

  “Was that meant to happen?” I asked, and flicked my hands to rinse off as much blood and goo as I could.

  Jasper reappeared on the other side of the table, untouched by the mess that I swam in. “When it comes to Prince Poison, rest assured everything went as he planned.”

  Blood was smeared over my murderous-looking face as I cut a glare over at the Prince’s portrait. That blasted painting smirked cruelly, his quartz eyes glittering at me.

  Jasper wore a similar smirk, but as an aniel, he just couldn’t resist letting his glee take hold unlike a composed, calculative God. His smirk swept up into a wide grin that glittered brighter than the portrait’s moon-eyes.

  “Oh, did you think you were promoted, little avsky?” His laugh jutted fury through my veins. “Another tip about the Prince is to never believe you are more to him than what you are.”

  I wiped blood off my face with even bloodier hands. I just made more of a mess, really.

  “Did you know?” I gestured to the massacre around me and narrowed my eyes on him. “You were pretty quick to duck under the table.”

  “No.” Jasper picked up the now-crimson flute gingerly and placed it beside the rest of the artefacts. “Though I can’t say I’m not pleased.”

  Defeat slumped me. “So what’s the point?” I challenged. “Kill more and more worshippers for what? Fun?”

  “It isn’t unusual in this palace,” he said thoughtfully. “But in these lessons, everything the Prince sets out for you has purpose.”

  “Well, all I learned is that we have pink fleshy lumps somewhere in our bodies,” I sighed and plucked another one of those strange bits out of my braid.

  “I learned,” Jasper pressed, “that vilas explode when power enters their bodies.”

  My eyebrow hiked up. I studied him silently for beat before I realised.

  “Ava didn’t explode. Neither did my mother.” I shook my head. “Something was wrong with that power,” I added with a gesture to the flute. “It has to be the power.”

  Jasper folded his arms over his chest, a crooked grin sloped on his beige face. “So how did you survive it?”

  “I—”

  I don’t know.

  For a moment, I blinked at him, a frown knitting between my brows.

  “I survived the Prince’s poison,” I thought aloud.

  Jasper hardly looked shocked by the news, and the second I told him, I realised by his impassive face that he already knew. Then came the sneaking suspicion that Jasper knew all about today’s lesson before it happened, and for some reason he wanted me to figure it all out.

  Uncertainly, I chanced a guess, “Maybe his poison made me stronger?”

  The corners of his mouth turned down.

  Wrong.

  Try again.

  “Or not.” I chewed on my thoughts, turning my stare down at the puddle of blood. “I filter power?”

  All humour evaporated from his face, and he wore weariness instead. He looked at me like I was a stupid child asking to play with the Gods.

  “Fine.” I threw up my hands. “I can survive Godly power, and ... worshippers can’t.”

  It was my last guess, and it was lame.

  I was never all that good with learning or tests. They always had an irritated effect on me and built up some of those more violent urges that landed me in a lot of trouble years ago.

  Now, it was the same problem. I couldn’t exactly tear off Jasper’s face and not meet consequences. He was still the Prince’s favourite. And I, apparently, was just the pet.

  A pet who turned out wasn’t all that bad at tests.

  “Yes.” Jasper’s smile was sincere, and the hues of his eyes softened. “You can.”

  Blood concealed the frown that my whole face twisted into. “So, what does that mean?”

  Jasper glanced at the meaty chunks on the table. “No other vilas has ever been able to hold a God’s power inside of them. None have survived the attempts. And there have been many attempts.”

  He leaned his folded arms on the clean side of the table and drew closer to me.

  I mirrored him, my boots squelching on sloppy flesh.

  “Not even aniels are guaranteed to survive a God’s power,” he told me, his voice low. “We might be crafted by them, our power fuelled by the crumbs they give to make us, but,” he added darkly, “only the most powerful of us, the most ancient, can survive a God’s power invading their bodies.”

  I felt like an echo, ready to ask the same questions over and over.

  What does that mean? Why have the Gods attempted this? What do they need with a vilas who can withstand their power?

  Instead, curiosity pushed me to ask, “Who did all this transferring before me?”

  All warmth was wiped off his face by something made of shadows and ice. “A question you should never ask again,” he warned.

  I rolled my jaw, itching to study the portraits. No doubt, they watched us intently. We were the most entertainment they had in the worship room.

  I wondered, fleetingly, if the portraits were connected to their Gods somehow and Prince Poison could access what his portrait saw, not unlike how he could see my memories in the taste of my blood.

  “His poison should have killed you.” Jasper snapped my attention back to him by the grave turn of his voice. “Prince Poison is a First God. His power is so potent that his poison should have shredded you apart from the inside in a matter of seconds. No one survives it, especially not long enough for the poison to be channelled from one being to another.”

  I began nervously, “The Prince ... Did he think I would die from the poison?”

  “We all did.”

  A sharp breath was hit out of me at his words.

  The Prince risked my life more than I’d thought. When he thrusted his poison into my body, he had the intention of watching me die. That was what he expected to happen.

  The more seconds that passed with me fighting his poison, the more he realised my strength. That must have been when he called the worshipper into the alcove.

  Jasper laughed lightly as the realisation dawned on my bloody face. “It’s hard to tell if you’re weeping or your blood is running,” he said, wearing a wicked grin.

  I touched my fingers to my cheeks, diluted blood staining under my nails.

  “I think that is enough for the day,” Jasper said and stepped back from the table. “Might I recommend you use the washtub?”

  My glower must have looked deadly from behind all the blood I wo
re. I took a deep breath through my flaring nostrils, then stalked out of the worship room.

  I made sure to boot the door shut as hard as I could, but not even the violent rattle it made against the hinges could satisfy me.

  I want to hurt someone.

  Jasper or the Prince or Damianos. I wasn’t picky.

  The few aniels and vilas that we passed on the way, hardly glanced at me, and the guards led me back to my bedchamber without a second glance at my bloody layers.

  Blood must be common in these corridors. Shame it isn’t the blood of deceitful Gods and their dreadful aniels.

  Maybe one day, I would fix that.

  3

  Nalla was my saving grace that day.

  It took three hard scrubs and refills of warm water in the washtub for the blood to finally be vanquished from my pores. I ended up having to eat my dinner while Nalla combed out fleshy chunks from my hair for the second time.

  After, Nalla tried to push me into another one of the Prince’s gifts; a pale blue dress that was cinched at the waist by an attached corset.

  A waste of gifts, given he tried to kill me.

  I snubbed the dress and instead lumbered myself into a black slip, then wrapped a dressing gown around myself. I only planned on trying to see Ava again that night, then I would sleep the stars away. Fancy dresses weren’t needed.

  I waited until darkness swept through the stardust palace and turned the corridors into shadowy, lantern-lit secrets before I found my guards on the other side of the door.

  Silently, they followed me to the vilas halls, where the paint on the walls was starting to chip, and the runner rugs were old and stale.

  We didn’t see many others on the way and for that, I was glad. After all, I was running around a palace where my attacker still clung to dark corners somewhere, and I was dressed in nightwear.

  Ava’s door was shut when my bare feet padded to a stop.

  I knocked briskly.

  Tonight, after the days I’d had, my patience felt like virgin wood, sanded down to sawdust. So I didn’t wait long before knocking again, and again, and again, each time a little harder and louder than the last.

  Finally—and to the complete surprise blanketing my face—the door swung open. I was hit with a spicy fragrance that reminded me of a meal I’d had a few days ago with ‘chilli’ sprinkles, according to Nalla.

  The face I expected to greet me was right in front of mine.

  “Sarah,” I greeted vacantly. “Ava here?”

  I stretched up on my toes to search the glimpse of room above her blonde head of hair. She was too careful to keep the door barely ajar, so I knew Ava was in there.

  But Sarah lied; “No. She’s in the mess hall, I think.”

  I dropped back down to the heels of my feet and flattened my lips together. With a hum, I nodded and let her start to close the door on me.

  Just as her guard slipped, I shoved the door hard. It smacked into her. Sarah yelped and staggered back, and I smugly strode into the room I once called my own.

  It took seconds for me to find Ava by the window, looking out at the bone-white hill, and the shadows that danced in the darkness.

  “Crows.” Ava glanced over at me before she turned back to the shadows. “They’re always here.”

  A cold feeling spread through my gut as I thought about Damianos, the crows pecking and scratching and cawing at my window in the middle of the night.

  If Damianos was a powerful aniel like I feared, and my worries about the portraits seeing all were valid, was it possible that crows were Damianos’ portraits? Could he see through them, through time and windows?

  Sarah slammed me out of my thoughts as the door crashed shut.

  I glanced over my shoulder at her, my eyes weary.

  My guards stayed outside, which drew some tension out from shoulders.

  With a sigh, I dropped onto the foot of Ava’s bed and watched Sarah stalk past me. She disappeared behind the tattered screen and swished water around in the tub.

  Ava still faced the window, refusing to look at me.

  Jealousy bubbled in my gut. Were she and Sarah close now? Weeks sharing the same room, and by the trays stacked near the door, I knew they’d eaten dinner together.

  Maybe I’ve been replaced?

  There wasn’t much I could say in front of Sarah, so the silence grew into something thick and uncomfortable.

  In that silence, secrets untold were stewing. I wanted to blurt out everything that had happened, from the Prince trying to kill me and changing his mind when I managed to do something no one else had ever survived, to Damianos appearing in my room and the truth about my attacker not being Roxhana.

  I cleared my throat and went for the obvious. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

  Ava scoffed, keeping her back to me. Her beige dress flickered orange from the lit lanterns.

  A tired sigh escaped me as I rolled onto my back and scratched the back of my hand. Prickles started to rise there, near the knuckles.

  “I don’t want to see you,” she admitted. “I’m angry, and I need some ... space.”

  “Space,” I echoed, a frown on my face.

  My scratching turned violent. I winced and looked at the red claw marks I left on myself. Beneath the blotchy redness, I spotted traces of deep blues and purples. Bruises.

  They were so similar to those the Prince’s poison had blotted all over me, and the ones I spread into the vilas I killed.

  At the thought of the Prince’s poison, the itching seemed to get worse. In seconds, I was tearing at my skin, my face twisted.

  Worry fluttered in my stomach.

  Was some poison left in me?

  Another trouble I couldn’t voice in front of Sarah.

  “We’re in this together, Ava.” My voice was petulant. “We don’t have anyone else to turn to. Only each other.”

  “I have others. You look out for yourself, Lissa,” she said. “I need to do the same for myself.”

  Finally, she turned to look at me, and her face was as cold as the Frost Season. Her eyes were her tell. They flickered with sorrow and I knew instantly, it hurt her to say these things to me. And that made me wonder if she was being entirely honest with me.

  Then her eyes matched the turn of her voice; guarded. “Have you heard from Moritz yet?”

  I perked up at the sudden change and flipped onto my side to face her. “Not yet. We can’t read and write so well, but mother taught us some things,” I explained. “If he’s getting my letters, he’ll write me back.”

  At my smile, Ava let out a heavy breath and looked down at the rough carpet. She visibly deflated.

  Ava didn’t have any family to write to. Maybe I upset her, touched a tender topic? It was hard to know. People were so jumpy and sensitive, and I was worn out from keeping up.

  “I’m sure he will,” she said, but her heart wasn’t in it. Her mouth was turned down at the sides, and she glanced at the door. Her way of telling me to get out?

  I forced my way in, I wouldn’t leave so easily.

  But apparently, there wasn’t much of an option for me.

  Not a moment after Ava looked at the door, someone knocked. This time, we both looked.

  “Coming.” Ava pulled a creamy shawl over her shoulder—a shawl she didn’t have before I moved rooms.

  It was my turn to deflate.

  I knew it was Jasper at the door before she opened it and I saw him leaning against the frame, ankles crossed, and a crooked smile on his mischievous face.

  His honey gaze darted to me for a beat. And his smile widened as he held out his hand for Ava.

  “Ready?” he asked her.

  Ava threw a brief wave over her shoulder and left without so much as a look at me.

  Jasper.

  Fucking Jasper.

  The whole time I was isolated in my boudoir, dancing around the snakes at my every step, Jasper had been wooing Ava, my only friend in this palace.

  With a scary calm settlin
g over my face, I ran my teeth over my bottom lip and stared at the door.

  Was this part of the Prince’s greater plans for me?

  Jasper might have been weaselling his way into Ava’s favour due to genuine feelings for her, or at the Prince’s command to separate my only ally from me.

  I leaned towards the Prince on that one. Aniels didn’t truly care for vilas. The Prince was making himself my only shelter. My only confidante—

  “Are you leaving or what?”

  I jerked up on the bed and swung around to face the over-worn screen.

  Sarah’s shadow was submerged in the basin, and she twisted at an angle, facing me.

  A blush crept over my face, fierce and hot. I jumped off the bed and muttered a sorry before I swept out of the room.

  4

  I stirred in the middle of the night. My eyelashes fluttered against the inky darkness.

  Sleep trickled out from my sluggish mind and I blinked, groggy and waiting for my sight to adjust to the dark.

  Someone was leaning over me.

  I stiffened. My wide-eyes stared up at the face emerging from the shadows. Sharp pale cheekbones like blades, and a jaw strong enough to crunch bone. Quartz eyes gleamed down at me, full of danger.

  My breath hitched.

  The Prince was not only in my room, but he was perched on the edge of my bed and leaned over me.

  My muscles jumped in my skin as he reached out a gloved hand for my face. I watched his glittering silver nail, sharper than a talon, inch closer to my cheek.

  The Prince held my gaze as he ran the tips of the nails over my skin, and he slowly brought himself closer to me.

  I was stuck in a daze, hooked by his fierce eyes. I couldn’t move, not even as his soft lips brushed against mine.

  I sucked in a sharp breath, and panic flooded me. I wasn’t touching anything—nothing to transfer his power into.

  With a cry I scrambled out from under him until my back was pressed hard against the bedhead. My stunned gaze locked onto his, and slowly, the darkness around his face started to slither restlessly, like agitated snakes.

  Pale skin darkened before my very eyes. The shadows slipped into his skin, stealing away his moon-like glow, and even his eyes started to change colour, until I wasn’t staring at Prince Poison anymore.