Chapter Thirty-One
Rey
“Grab your partners and get comfortable.” Dr. Tyrson’s voice booms across the room, low and commanding. He isn’t loud, but it doesn’t feel like he needs to be. I imagine every word that comes out of that man’s mouth is deliberate and carries weight. I hadn’t even heard him walk in.
He stands at the center of the room, tall with broad shoulders and deep brown skin.
His close-cropped black hair has silver at the temples, and a neatly trimmed beard sharpens his already strong jawline.
He’s wearing a simple black Endir sweatshirt that makes him look approachable—almost. Maybe that’s a theme here with the professors, what with Sigurd’s garish gold outfit setting the tone.
I steal a glance at Aric and freeze.
There’s not even a dip in the temperature. But the vision hits me like an avalanche all the same.
My hand’s on his neck, his on mine. His eyes move from my mouth, lower, lower. We lean in, breaths heavy, puffs of frost appearing before our mouths, mingling, tempting. His full lips whisper my name as his hand comes up to my throat—
“You done?” Aric asks. His smile is slow and deliberate. “Don’t misunderstand, I was just measuring how much rope I’d need later. I like to be prepared.”
He’s in my head. My visions.
Now that’s a complication I wasn’t prepared for.
The classroom hums with noise—backpacks unzipping, laptops clicking open, whispered gossip carrying over the scrape of chair legs.
The air smells faintly of coffee and old books as I lean forward on my desk, tilting my head toward Aric.
“Wow, and you already know my number one fantasy about being tied up. You really are a good partner.”
I can do this. Charm him.
I lick my lips, let my gaze linger too long, and pull—just a little. The Aethercall slides from me, warm and soft, wrapping through the air like the faintest brush of a hand. Not much, just enough to test him. To see if he responds.
He’s gripping his pen so tightly I think it might snap, but slowly—painfully—his fingers unclench. His jaw eases. His shoulders drop. It’s like I just cut invisible strings that had been choking him.
He lets out a low groan, barely audible over the noise, but Reeve hears it. A sneaker jabs the back of Aric’s chair. “You good?”
“Fine.” Aric’s voice is iron through clenched teeth. His gaze cuts to mine, sharp enough to pin me to my seat. “Stop it.”
I widen my eyes, feigning innocence. “Stop what? I’m not even talking to you.”
The thing about the Aethercall is that it’s tricky—it can feel like a hug, like warmth spreading across your chest, like someone smoothing your hair and telling you everything’s going to be okay.
But I’m not touching him. Not even close. He feels it. He’s aware of it. But it’s not compelling him. He’s just…calm. And it takes him a second to realize that.
The irony stings: I can make other people feel safe, calm, wanted—but I’ve never had a clue what that would feel like for myself.
“All right.” Dr. Tyrson’s voice cuts through the classroom hum. “Open your syllabus. I know, I know—now the real work begins. If you haven’t already figured it out, you’re in Advanced Ancient History.”
Zane—of course it’s Zane—lets out a cheer. Reeve immediately starts kicking the back of my seat like an overgrown toddler. I’m surrounded by children.
“You and your partner will have several group projects throughout the semester. And to kick things off—”
Oh no. Bad news incoming. I can sense it.
“—you’ll each be assigned a local landmark to visit. I expect your paper by the end of the week, just in time for all of you to turn it in before I lose half of you to parties and the chaos of rush.”
The room erupts with groans, scattered cheers. I glance down at the syllabus, my stomach sinking. Our names are right there, paired together, next to our assigned site: the Ice Caves.
Perfect. Just perfect.
Not only are we not given much time, but the thought of being trapped in a car with Aric Erikson is its own kind of torture. And I know why this pairing happened—why my father engineered it. He doesn’t just want a paper turned in. He wants me close to Aric.
Forced proximity. Forced awakening.
He knows I can handle myself. But does he have any idea what being near Aric does to me? Not just emotionally after his rejection years ago but to my Aethercall, my control, my sanity? Does he know how dangerous this is?
He doesn’t care. Throwing me to the wolves is exactly the point.
Ice Caves. Where Frost Giants are strongest.
What could possibly go wrong?
“Great.” Aric drops his phone onto the desk with a thud and raises his hand like he’s already done with this circus. Dr. Tyrson doesn’t even look in his direction. Aric lets it fall, then slowly cranes his neck toward me.
“I actually want to make it through senior year,” he mutters, “so if you could just nod your head, not cause trouble, and at least contribute, that’d be great.”
His hand grazes mine. It’s an accident, but it doesn’t feel like one. It feels like a spark detonating under my skin. He flinches back. I ball my hand into a fist, trying not to show the fear—or the thrill—curling in my gut.
“When do you want to get this done?” I ask flatly, flipping open my planner like none of this is fazing me. “I’ve got Intro to Business Tuesdays and Thursdays, bio lab after that.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. He grabs my phone and flips it in his hand to face me, and it unlocks. His thumbs fly across the screen, and then he slides it back to me with his number saved.
“Normally people have to work a lot harder for that.”
I look down at the screen and type in his name. Giant Asshole.
“You’ll never see me beg, Erikson.”
He wraps the leg of my chair with his foot and drags me close. “Too bad, since being on your knees seems where you’re most comfortable…after what I walked in on today.”
I freeze, heat rushing to my face.
Reeve clears his throat from behind us. “Um…what exactly did you walk in on?”
Aric ignores him. Ignores me, too, facing forward like nothing happened. I stare down at my phone, force myself to breathe, and try not to let his icy composure cut deeper than it already does.
The rest of class drones on in meaningless buzz. By the time I gather my things, both Aric and Reeve are already out the door.
Dr. Tyrson’s deep in conversation with Sigurd.
Where the hell did he come from? And just how long has he been standing there?
He leans against the frame, patient, watchful, ancient.
I don’t like him any more than he likes me. But I know exactly who he is. What he is. The whispers about Sigurd are as dark as the ones about my father. Older. Colder. Not royalty, but the closest thing to it. My father once said it’s been centuries since his kind were forced to bow.
Every culture has an origin story. Every myth, a beginning.
And I’m standing in front of it.
When Dr. Tyrson looks down at his phone, then takes a call and walks away from us, I don’t think.
I just move. I press two fingers to my lips, extend my thumb to my throat.
The old gesture. Once, it meant loyalty—that you would silence your own mouth and slit your own throat before betraying the Gods.
Now it’s a mockery.
Sigurd’s eyes narrow at me, glinting sharp, unreadable, as I leave the room.