Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Taking away his pride and joy. One. By. One.
I sigh again and look out the window, digging into my pocket to clutch the piece of paper there, crinkling it tighter and tighter.
We dodge through traffic. It feels like we’re going faster and faster. Too fast. I wonder if it would be better if we had an accident. Would it change anything? Probably not.
Legends don’t die.
And that’s exactly what my family is—legendary.
I know who we are. I know our bloodline. It’s been hammered into me since birth. Which is how I also know my father’s never going to give up. Not when I’m the only person in the position to get him what he wants.
A fact I know he resents, because my father is neither patient nor kind, and having to give up even a smidgen of control, to rely on someone else to obtain his goal, well, that’s the definition of hell for him.
I smile at the thought. Maybe I’m not the only one who’s furious with this outcome. Maybe that’s my birthday gift—him needing me.
I shamefully take it.
I push aside the anger that he would risk my life in order to regain what was taken from us—what they stole from us—and cling to this one silly concept. That I’m needed by Odin himself.
He didn’t even know where the Eriksons were keeping Mjölnir until last year. Which is when I became the final chess piece and his only option.
He needs me. But he doesn’t need the people I love, which is why I’m sitting in this car.
“You have exactly one week. It’s all the time we have left.” My father finally speaks, his voice a low, rasping growl, edged with anger. Always.
I don’t flinch. Not outwardly. But inside? A storm rages. “I understand.”
I keep my eyes on the rain, watching as it streaks along the window in erratic patterns. It’s the only steady thing in a life drowning in chaos. The water beats down relentlessly, ruthlessly, but it will stop, will have its end. All things must.
The car winds up the steep mountain road, taking us deeper into the heart of the evergreen forest. My father used to tell me stories about the forests and the cold within, always warning me that an early frost never meant the beginning of something but the agonizing end of it, that it meant the Gods were stirring, screaming for vengeance.
I shiver and try to keep my hands still in my lap, take a soothing breath. I finally have a purpose—diabolical as it may be—and I can’t fail. I stare out at the towering pine trees, the rugged landscape shrouded by an eerie fog. Yet even through the driving rain, the fairy-tale mist curls among the trees, weaving over green moss and a brush of frost, and I realize: it’s beautiful here. Peaceful.
Better than Bellevue, at least.
I hate the filth, the bustle of the city.
I hate even more what my last name means there.
The forest thickens as we near Lake Stevens, home to the Eriksons—the family I’ll be forced to orbit at Endir, since they founded the university that will become my new prison.
And of course their oldest son, Aric, will be there, too. Because it’s not enough that he’s the only person who knows where Thor’s hammer is. No, my life is a Gods-fueled soap opera: complete with family drama, revenge plots, and even a former fiancé.
If you can count a betrothal that barely lasted an afternoon.
Just thinking of Aric has my stomach twisting. It’s been years, but the thought of seeing him again still knots something deep in my chest. Avoiding him will be impossible. Pretending he doesn’t exist will have to do.
We stop at a red light in Everett.
My father lets out a frustrated grumble, as if the light is purposefully slowing our journey, as if it has stakes in this game. He fails to understand that the world no longer runs according to his ancient Rolex.
A black Land Rover Defender pulls up next to us, engine roaring, and I’m jealous of the power behind that accelerator. The windows are down, and though I barely get a glance inside the vehicle, I can fully appreciate the loud music annoying the hell out of my father, along with the muscular arm resting partially out the window.
I smirk as he shifts in his seat and lets out a grunt under his breath. It’s the little things.
I’ve learned to count my small victories where I can find them.
The minute the light turns green, the car cuts us off and speeds ahead. We follow in the same direction while my father starts a monologue about respect and kids these days. I’ve heard it a million times. It has zero impact.
I know we’re close when the sound of Father folding his newspaper fills the car. With each crisp snick of the paper, my body tenses.