Chapter Seventeen
Aric
I grab my clothes from where I left them on the bench and head back up the trail, stopping partway to put on my pants so I’m not walking half naked back to the dorms. My whole body is buzzing from that interaction with Rey.
I shouldn’t have let her get under my skin, but damn if there isn’t something about her…
I use my shirt to wipe down my body as I walk until I find myself right next to the archway again.
“Stupid legends,” I say, shoving my arms into the damp shirt, and walk right underneath the arch.
Immediately, a chill runs down my spine.
I shake it off and keep walking, but something feels funny beneath my feet.
Frowning, I look down and lift up my foot.
Perfect icy footprints press into the grass.
Mine.
I slowly swallow and look over my shoulder, then notice a path from the archway to the actual trail. Within seconds, the footprints are gone. Shit. Maybe they really do need to increase the dosage of my meds this time. It’s been years since they’ve adjusted them.
I don’t blame Reeve for being worried that I might be losing control. I haven’t been the same since I heard she was coming to campus.
I almost kissed Rey back there in the hot spring. It was like something came over me, something familiar. Even though I could see the steam coming up off the heated water, all I felt was cold inside. Freezing, yet burning as well. Burning for Rey.
I keep stomping toward the dorms and try to ignore the way my heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest when I think of Rey’s mouth, the way she felt in my arms.
Everything about her is wrong.
She’s from a line of murderers, and nothing can change that. I need to seriously refocus and not overthink why my body is betraying me by responding to her the way it does. It’s not rocket science why, though I’d die before admitting that to her.
She’s so beautiful that it’s hard to look away.
She’s snarky and clever and just a little bit vulnerable.
Even her voice is hypnotic—it warms me from the inside out, only to turn into such a searing burn that my brain tells me just one touch would be worth it—even if she did shove a knife through my chest after the fact. She’s a black widow, and I refuse to be caught in her web…
But wouldn’t it be nice to have just one taste?
I quickly get on the elevator, needing the safety of my room before I shatter. It takes maybe thirty seconds to reach my floor, but even that is way too long. Lights flicker overhead like they have been for the past few days as I make my way down the hall. A sudden wave of nausea washes over me.
I quickly stumble into my room, grab the water bottle next to the sink, and pound it while the ceiling starts to spin. My vision doubles, triples. I finish the water and brace myself against the sink, looking up into the mirror.
Blood drips from my face. I yell and throw the water bottle against the mirror at my own reflection. “Stop, no!”
The lights flicker off, and when they turn back on, my reflection’s back to normal. My dizziness is gone, too, and the room seems to have stopped spinning. But still, my throat burns with a fiery ache.
More.
I need more water.
I fill up the water bottle three more times and take some deep breaths, then grab my meds and take them.
My phone rings. Grandfather, or Sigurd, as I always reference him when I’m back on campus. Shit.
I debate not answering. But he’ll only keep calling, so I swipe the phone and his face pops up on the screen.
He’s on campus, in his office. I can tell by the artifacts displayed behind him—rune-cast steel Asgardian chains; a gleaming bronze replica of Gjallarhorn, the cursed horn believed to summon Ragnarok itself; a fragment of volcanic basalt carved into runes rumored to be from the shattered stones of Jotunheim; and a small, iron-bound chest in the corner, its lock shaped like a serpent’s eye.
Honestly, anyone hopping onto a Zoom call with the guy isn’t going to feel all that encouraged about their future—his office is littered with reminders of death, destruction, ruin, and what will happen if you cross him.
Just like the runes, he surrounds himself with powerful artifacts on purpose.
“Yes, sir?”
“Control is vital, Aric. Do you need to be reminded of this?”
How does he know mine is slipping? Did he see the trail of ice I left coming back from the hot spring? I don’t want to admit that it’s getting harder, but… “It’s probably better if I move back to the house. I can commute in for classes—”
“No.”
The word hangs in the air. No explanation. Just his decree.
I don’t bother arguing.
“You’re awakening, Aric.”
No shit. “Does Reeve know? Is he like me?”
“He’s still sleeping.”
I imagine my brother wielding my powers. “Probably for the best.”
“You think?” Sigurd barks a laugh. It’s a rare display of real emotion from him. One that has me smiling, because yeah, totally agree about Reeve.
All I can picture is a shit-ton of naked snowmen or forced frigid temperatures and a call to use body heat to survive. Yeah. With great power comes great responsibility, something Reeve lacks in spades.
“I have questions—”
“And you have an enemy to manipulate.”
Rey.
“Why is she here?” Before I can voice all my questions, Sigurd is waving at someone else.
“Professor Higgins! Yes, do come in.” And with nothing more than that, Sigurd ends the call.
Right. First week of school. My grandfather is the president of the university. But would it really kill the old man to carve out a few actual minutes to communicate with me?
I angrily toss the phone onto my bed and grab my shower caddy. When I walk out of the room, it’s to see Rey just getting back. As she brushes past me, I can tell she still smells like a fresh spring day. It’s like she wasn’t just covered in mud minutes ago.
Lights continue to flicker overhead. It’s not helping with my bad mood.
“Are they going to do that all semester?” she asks like she wants to spark up a conversation with me, despite all outward warnings that I’m ready to explode.
I roll my eyes and pass her, giving her a wide berth. “Maybe we’re cursed because you’re on this wing now.”
“Very funny,” she says, her gaze focused on the key card she waves in front of her locked door.
“Wasn’t joking.”
The lock dings, and she turns. “Hey, Aric—”
“Nope.” I ignore her and go into the bathroom, shutting her out of my life and my thoughts as much as possible.
The moment the door closes behind me, I can finally exhale.
I cross the room in three strides and turn the shower on—hot, as hot as it goes—then brace both hands on the sink while steam curls up the mirror like fingers trying to blur me out of the picture.
I strip. Step in.
The heat hits like a punch, and I welcome it.
The minutes tick by as I stand there too long, water pounding over my head, down my back, trying to scald the memory of her from my skin. It doesn’t work. The heat just makes her feel closer.
Her voice still echoes in my ears. That look she gave me—half challenge, half invitation—like she was daring me to lose control.
And I almost did.
I tip my head forward, press my forehead to the tile.
This can’t keep happening.
Since my parents died, I’ve kept everything contained—my grief, my anger, the expectations from my grandfather to take over what’s left of the family’s legacy. I didn’t ask for this weight. But I carry it all the same, because someone has to. Someone has to wear the crown before it’s taken from us.
Just thinking of Odin and what he did to my parents makes my muscles lock tight, fists clenching on instinct. Fuck me. I came in here to calm down, not ratchet my rage higher.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, steam filling my lungs as I drag the heat in and hold it there. Inhale, count to three. Exhale, count to three. I repeat the exercise my therapist taught me, and my pulse slows, shoulders ease, a semblance of control seeping back into my bones.
Control. Such a simple word. And the only thing keeping me from breaking.
Yet when Rey’s in the room, I have none.
She tears the ground out from under me without trying. Looks at me like I’m a puzzle she already solved and resents the answer.
And I hate her for that. Almost as much as I hate the part of me that wants her anyway.
The water turns cold, but I stay under it. Let the sting anchor me as I think through what to do about this woman. It’s obvious she’s not going to give up. Maybe even can’t. But that doesn’t mean I can’t seize control of the situation. Use it to my advantage.
When I finally step out, I’ve made my decision. I move slowly, deliberately. Let the plan settle against my chest like a familiar blanket.
I grab my towel, sling it around my waist. Breathe.
Dragging my fist across the fogged surface, I create a clear slash across the mirror. The reflection that stares back at me? Good. I look like a man who has it together.
And all because of one simple plan.
She wants to get close? I’ll let her. I’ll play along, give her what she thinks she wants—access, proximity, influence.
And in return, I’ll get what I need: the truth. About why she’s here, what her father wants, and how to stop it.
Then maybe—if I’m smart—how to burn this obsession out of my system before it takes the last piece of me that still feels human.