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)
Reeve grins at them. “I’ll let President Erikson know all the gory details, don’t worry. Feel free to do your jobs and file a report, though—destruction of property, assault. Oh, and be sure to include that Eira Helian’s private security was at fault. You should already have his information on hand.”
They talk for a few minutes before Reeve motions for me to follow him. Shattered glass crunches beneath my feet as we pass stunned students and walk back to the dining hall. I don’t even care anymore if they see the white of my eyes, the frost just dying to get released.
Fucking Rowen. The rune line down my back throbs in time with my pulse—hot, cold, hot—like it heard the word “Jötunheim” and decided to wake up angry.
“Tea.” Reeve suddenly snaps his fingers after shoving me into a chair at an empty table. “Tea always calms the nerves.”
“I don’t want tea.”
“People are staring,” Reeve says through clenched teeth. “You’ll drink the damn tea and put a nice smile on your face like you don’t want to set fire to the school or rip Rowen apart limb by limb and add said limbs to the fire—stop smiling, stop that, it’s creepy. I’ll be right back with your tea. Think…nonviolent thoughts.”
Which means the minute he walks away, I think of Rey. Which leads to thinking about Rowen. Vicious stupid cycle, because now I’m focusing on the way she didn’t look back in class, which just tells me she knows where we’re going after tonight even if I don’t.
I need to accept what’s going to happen and, rather than fight it or try to overanalyze everything, open the door and let the storm in.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Rey
Rowen’s been driving for maybe ten minutes, and this is the quietest I’ve ever seen him, let alone Eira and Ziva, who sit silently in the back seat. We’re headed to Sigurd’s for our end-of-first-week house party. Eira fidgets with her phone behind me, and I’ve seen Ziva open her mouth at least four times, then seemingly think better of it and close it. Rowen’s been stealing uncomfortable glances at me, like he knows I’m pissed.
I am fucking pissed. I heard all about the fight, after I already felt bad for pulling away from Aric this morning.
Knowing I hurt him on purpose before he hurt me first was just as awful as seeing the hurt on his face.
But there is no exit clause for us.
No out.
Only through.
I realized too late that I was calm when I was with him, and that me touching him calmed him right back. It was more than just my Aethercall, too. I could feel it in the air when I woke up in his bed. I was drawn to him, and he was drawn to me. It wasn’t by accident, which meant it would get harder to keep lying to him the closer we got to unlocking the last two runes.
Selfishly, I want him. Stupidly, I lie to myself and say I can handle all of this—we can handle it. But one thing both Gods and humans have in common is there’s no way to prepare for heartbreak. No amount of power can protect us from it.
Eira remains mostly unaware of the tension between Rowen and me. I watch her now as she fixes her lip gloss in the reflection of her phone camera. To be that unbothered about life in general? I can’t decide if I’m impressed or annoyed I can’t join her.
My phone chooses that moment to go off. With dread, I look at my messages. Father. Again. He’s texted me more in this last week than he has in the last few years.
Odinfather: Rowen is concerned, and he’s never concerned. He says you have intel you haven’t shared?
I grip the phone as rage pulses through me. I should never have alluded to Rowen that I knew how to wake Aric up.
Me: You’ll have answers either tonight or tomorrow. Either way, Mjölnir is as good as mine
I wait for his response, stomach clenched.
Odinfather: Good. That’s good. I knew I could count on you. Once he’s awake, he’ll know where Mjölnir is, and retrieving it will be all he’s able to focus on. Follow his ice and leave everything else to me.
I think he’s done typing when a picture suddenly appears on the screen. It’s Laufey, and she’s tied to a chair in the living room.
I stifle my gasp in the silent car. But then a video pops up.
I turn the volume off and press play.
My father moves in front of her with his ever-present raven cane. He very slowly pulls it up over his head, then slams it down on her hands over and over and over again until all I see is blood dripping from her knuckles. She passes out. The camera points to my father. His smile is sinister.