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God of Wrath

Page 4

by Aria Cole

Typical.

Even ancient sculptors knew how to leave a girl wanting more.

I glance around the empty courtyard.

“Don’t judge me. I’ve had a rough month.”

The statue remains appropriately silent.

“Thank you. Finally, a man who knows when to keep his mouth shut.”

Lightning flashes overhead, illuminating the sharp planes of his face.

For a moment, I could swear his expression changes.

His mouth almost looks amused.

I blink.

Nope.

Still stone.

“You’re not bad-looking, you know.” I circle the pedestal, examining the deep fractures running across his shoulders and chest. “A little intimidating. Definitely emotionally unavailable. But honestly, that’s pretty much my type.”

I stop in front of him.

“Which explains a lot.”

Another crack of thunder sends me jumping.

I glance toward the passageway.

No footsteps.

No voices.

Just rain.

Slowly, my heartbeat settles.

I sink onto the broad stone base beneath the statue, pulling my knees toward my chest.

My dress is soaked. My sandals are ruined. And somewhere in the city, a perfectly innocent businessman is probably wondering why a strange redhead took one look at him and sprinted away like he’d announced he was collecting human kidneys.

I laugh.

It comes out a little shaky.

“God, I’m pathetic.”

The words hang in the damp air.

I hate them immediately.

Because I’m not pathetic.

I left.