Chapter Twelve
Rey
It’s just a ledge. I’m very well trained in a lot of things.
Jujitsu. Axe throwing. Even sleight of hand.
But a tightrope walk, so not my thing. Something I’m reminded of as I lift the window and then the screen.
The air carries the scent of the forest, full of pine and everything that should bring comfort.
I focus on that as I climb out of the window and onto the narrow ledge.
Okay. Not so bad. I’m only two stories up. It’s survivable if I fall. Maybe.
I slide my foot along the old cement and press my back against the wall, moving slowly, steadily.
It’s windy, but I can manage. What I’m struggling with is that I’m going to have to turn my body on this ledge when I get to Aric’s window, then pull the screen off without making noise or falling to my death.
Would the dormitory door be easier?
Undoubtedly.
But now that I have a maintenance crew standing in the hallway, fixing lights of all things, I’m pretty sure that option is out, and who knows when Aric will be back.
I don’t have enough time to let any opportunity to gather intel slip through my fingers.
Definitely not for a personal weakness like fear of heights.
Once I’m at his window, I manage to turn myself 180 degrees without more than a slightly panic-inducing teeter on the ledge. Then I pull the screen off and balance it on the ledge beside me before feeling around the edges for a way to lift the ancient latch and enter.
It takes a few minutes to use my blade to jimmy the latch, then another to inch the glass up from the outside. Every few seconds, I scan the grounds behind the dorm, where, aside from one couple cutting across the open yard toward the library, no one else is in sight.
Once I’ve raised the windowpane high enough, I slip inside, quick to turn around and reattach his screen.
His room is still dark, and I know he’s not here. It’s been mere minutes, and I’d have heard him return, plus he had workout clothes on and earbuds in his ears. He was clearly going to work out or for a run.
If he comes back early… Well, would he really expect anything better from my father’s daughter?
There’s a strong scent of cedar and fresh rain in his room.
I try to stop myself but can’t help but inhale the addicting aroma.
It smells like a home I’ve never belonged to and will never know.
That’s an intrusive thought I prefer not to dwell on, but dammit, it doesn’t stop me from taking another deep breath and savoring the smell.
Why is that what I fixate on? I shake it off. It’s probably some obscenely expensive designer cologne, and I’m just another person falling for his pheromones.
I glance around the dark room, noting how everything is meticulously placed—his shelves lined with at least thirty books, his bed immaculately made.
I need to know his interests so they become my interests. Karate? Cool, I can join. Run club? I’d rather not, but I’ll suffer to get this over with.
If I’m right, I’ll need to wake him up.
Odinfather didn’t admit as much outright, but I suspect that he no longer has the power to wake someone from stasis. That he needs me. That his powers are waning. How much, he’ll never tell any of us, but it must be dire.
It’s my job to pull Aric out of whatever stasis he’s in, since his memory of Mjolnir’s location would be on lockdown. And if I’m going to break that kind of God-tier stasis, I need to understand what keeps Aric standing in the first place.
What he clings to. What he hides. What he’s willing to bleed for.
I haven’t let myself plan much further than that.
Seduce? Marry? Kill?
I laugh at my own joke. I can’t kill him. Marrying him is even funnier, and seduction? He’d hold a knife to my throat.
Good thing I brought my own.
I flash my phone light around the sparsely decorated room. He has a beanbag in the corner that looks like it’s never been sat on. I plop down, put a piece of gum in my mouth, and assess his bookshelf.
He has a few books about architecture and behavioral science. Several history tomes. A whole shelf of classics. I refuse to respect him more just because I see Virginia Woolf.
I get up, walking over to the poster he has up on his wall. It’s a picture of the sea. Fitting. I bet he wants to return and has no idea why.
“You were born of the sea and forests.” I tap the colorful image with my finger and move on to his closet. “It’s only natural to be drawn to them.”
With a sigh, I run my gloved hand over his sweatshirts and pants, his loafers and hiking boots, then bring a T-shirt to my face and inhale.
Forest. Mist. Fire. Water.
Got it.
I may not have a ton of power, other than influencing people’s emotions, but my sense of smell is amazing.
I tuck the shirt under my arm and keep looking around.
Would he be drawn to the hammer’s hiding place the same way he’s drawn to the sea?
I slowly walk toward his desk when footsteps sound, along with Aric’s familiar voice.
“Yeah, I’ll be right there. I just forgot my book and wallet again. You know, the whole purpose of me coming up here last time,” he calls.
“Hurry up!” Reeve whines. “I’m starving.”
Shit. Short run, apparently.
A shiver runs down my spine, and I don’t even think. I just duck down, his shirt still clutched in my hand, and roll under his bed. Good thing he actually makes it. The comforter hangs just low enough to hide me.
I pat my waist to make sure my knife is handy. Just in case.
“You’re always starving,” Aric yells back. He’s close.
I’ll need to acclimate to his hypnotic voice. Damn, maybe that’s his superpower. Except…do Giants even have any sort of powers, other than strength? The gaping chasm of what I know about Gods versus Giants has never seemed wider. Fuck you, Odin, for not preparing me better.
I race through my memory of Marvel movies, which were about half right, according to my father.
What the hell can Giants do? Make shit cold?
Or is it that they like to live in a cold place?
I shake my head. If they scared Odinfather enough that he wiped their memories, they definitely had more going for them than excellent body heat and the ability to make a snowman.
My breath catches in the back of my throat when the door to his room opens, and the wind carries his scent through the open window I forgot about.
Shit. He’ll know I was in here. First things first…I pray he doesn’t realize I’m still in here.
Floorboards creak as he slowly makes his way toward the edge of the bed.
“Reeve, I swear, if this is another prank you put a freshman up to, I’m going to murder you.” He sniffs the air. “I mean it. You know I haven’t been able to sleep for two days; stop messing with my head. You got me. Can we please go eat now?”
The floor creaks with each step Aric takes across the room until he’s leaning over to close the window.
He fishes something out of a dish by the door, muttering about dumb-shit brothers under his breath, then heads out again, pulling the door closed behind him.
My heart is lodged so far up my throat at the near miss, I just lie under his bed for a full five minutes. Not smelling his T-shirt. Just catching my breath.
When I’m sure he’s not coming right back, I slide out from under the bed, pausing just long enough to smooth the comforter.
The next five minutes are spent moving through drawers—methodical, fast. I pretend not to notice the tight pull in my stomach after confirming what I already suspected: black boxer briefs. Of course.
My face is still warm when I open the drawer beneath his sink and three pill bottles rattle against one another. I lift each one, read the labels. Nothing I recognize.
I slip out my phone and snap a photo.
I tell myself it’s for his own good. That maybe this will help free him.
But the justification lands hollow in my chest.
Ten minutes later, I’ve searched everywhere and, other than the mystery medication, know absolutely nothing useful.
My stomach grumbles, reminding me yet again I still haven’t eaten.
I glance at the closed window but dismiss it. I never really planned to climb back out that way. Not when the dorm room door will lock behind me just fine.
After hustling back into my room and trading my black leggings for joggers, I head to the dining hall, taking my time to avoid any more unwanted run-ins.
It’s crowded and noisy, and I’m bombarded with smells—cheap cologne, tikka masala, chocolate chip cookies, and all things greasy.
I grab a tray and follow the line along the buffet, piling on fries, a sad-looking turkey sandwich, and a salad I don’t plan to eat.
Then I find a table tucked near the corner—out of reach, just how I like it.
The first fry is glorious. I’m halfway to forgetting the day thus far when Aric walks in, and I nearly choke. They should have already been here and left by now.
He’s alone. Not with Reeve. And he’s scanning the room.
Don’t sit here…
Don’t sit here…
I’m not ready.
The place is packed, but the two empty chairs beside me haven’t been touched—thanks to my Aethercall. I’ve been pushing out waves of silent threat since I walked in, but only so I can plot. Apparently, it’s working.
Usually, I like that.
But I can only assume the Eriksons are immune to my gift.
Otherwise, all those years ago, Aric would have reacted to it in some way.
He would have felt it, right? The way I couldn’t hide the rejection or my heart dropping in my chest?
And the way they’ve behaved today confirms it.
Needling me. Approaching me, leaving too abruptly. Getting under my skin.
I glance around, debating whether to reverse the effect and pull someone into the open seat. But the students nearby are too busy filming themselves or scrolling mindlessly to notice an invitation.
I lower my gaze and keep eating—slow, mechanical, like that might somehow make me disappear.
A chair scrapes beside me.
Be anyone but him.
Seriously.
Anyone.