Chapter Thirty-Eight
Aric
The drive back is uneventful, the silence between us tense as hell.
My death threat could have been delivered better, sure, and I think she could tell I was losing patience with all the questions when I cranked up the music to tune her out.
But how was I supposed to tell her I was in the middle of a breakdown?
I need space, and Rey sees everything.
From the car, I watch her walk back to the dorm, and every feeling I shouldn’t have knots in my chest anyway.
One minute, I’m pissed. The next minute, I’m panicking that she saw too much—like the silver flecks in my blood that rise like mercury.
Or the way that being near her flips a switch I can’t control.
Rage or kiss, kill or keep—every instinct at war, and I’m losing ground fast. I slam my hands against the steering wheel and drive toward the lake, then park and get out of the car, leaning against it.
I take a deep breath. I need to find the silence or some other shit, because I sure as hell am not journaling about this right now.
I look up to the sky as I feel power surge to my fingertips.
I stare down at my hands and focus on bringing the cold to the surface.
Instantly, my fingertips are covered in frost. I wave my hand over the ground, more frost following in intricate little patterns.
I wait for the calm when the sound of thunder rumbles in the distance.
Like static electricity has charged the air, I can feel the weather’s vibrations on my skin.
No, the vibration comes from me, driving the storm.
I flick my right hand toward the sky, then pull it down as a flash of lightning hits a tree right in front of me. I stumble back, and then the calm comes—not before the storm but during.
I let the power rise and surge and break free.
Maybe by embracing whatever power I have inside, I’ll be able to end this once and for all. And bring Odin’s head to Sigurd on a silver fucking platter.
I take my time coming back from the lake and approaching the admin building.
Sigurd has an office at the very top with a wraparound balcony he often paces during the day—more often at night.
He says he watches the stars, but he’s never looking up.
Sigurd is always looking across—at the archway and the numerous runes scattered around campus.
Once, I asked if he even knew how many he had. He just laughed, said he tended them like a farmer tends his garden, that I should be grateful for the wards of protection. Nothing Sigurd does is accidental. He’s obsessed with the basalt of the arch, with this place—Endir is sacred to him.
It’s hard to blend in on campus, so I do my best to nod and smile as people wave.
I can’t help but wonder, though: What if one day raising my hand to wave turns into something more sinister?
I jerk open the glass door to the building, and it creaks in my hand like I’ve nearly taken it off its hinges.
Some faculty are lingering in front of the elevators. Nope. Not looking to make polite conversation in a confined space. So I bypass the lobby and slip into the stairwell.
I jog up the stairs, taking them two at a time until I reach the third-floor offices.
His is at the end of the hall, and the large black door’s already cracked open.
I grimace as I walk down the hall of antlers, the eyes of his kills staring blankly back at me.
Not one for hunting, I’ll never understand why that’s his specific hobby or why he feels the need to decorate with everything he’s killed.
But maybe it’s as simple as that.
He’s a killer.
The brightly colored clothing and the Santa smile. All that good-natured bullshit is a thin veneer, a disguise to hide the cold-blooded ruler beneath.
I wave the rune in the air and place it on the desk just as he gets off the phone. He’s changed into a black suit, his hair combed back, beard trimmed. To the world, he’s eccentric and generous, but in this office, his true power beats like the war cry of a drum.
“You went to the Ice Caves with the Stjerne girl. I’m assuming things went well, though the assignment didn’t ask for you to steal an artifact from the site. Which one of you struggles with simple directions?”
Both, actually. “It fell.” I cross my arms. “After the ice caved in on us.”
He stills. “She survived?” I can’t tell if he’s pleased or disappointed.
I scoff. “Do you think I’d be this calm if she was in my car bleeding to death?”
Sigurd shrugs. “If she were, I’d just assume you were being smart in bringing her body back to me instead of her father.”
“Wow, with that mindset, I can’t imagine why you ever wanted to force me to put a ring on it.”
He stares down at the rune, then back up at me, his gaze sharp.
“You know, this might be good for you. Having her here, sparking an old flame and all that.” He leans forward, folding his hands.
“If anything, think of it as an opportunity to get back into my good graces. You proved you couldn’t be trusted then—I wonder if you can now?
Blood over…pity, was it? For her? Your enemy.
We have no room for that as Eriksons, not for the family responsible for your parents’ deaths, Aric. ”
His words are tormenting and taunting all at once. Nothing is ever simple with him.
Nothing is ever simple with her.
I hadn’t counted on how much Rey would affect me. Then or now.
Two years ago, she was terrified and hopeful, the way she looked at me making me feel ten feet tall.
Her father was obviously willing to sacrifice her, the same way I already knew I was screwed with my own family.
Always hoping my parents would help me find a way out and protect me like they swore they would.
She would have forever been a pawn, first to him, then to me.
I was almost thankful for that night when the water froze—for one second, I hoped for something greater—and then my parents died and all of my hope died right along with them.
I bottled up whatever she’d released and swore to never hope again.
It was safer that way—we were safer.
Another lie, because safety is nothing but an illusion in this world.
Now look at us.
Right back to where we started. Thrust together by two manipulative old men, though that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? They aren’t men. They’re Gods and Giants stranded in a world of mortals, imprisoned and angry, their power waning.
Desperate times. Desperate measures.
I step closer to his desk. “Nothing happens on this campus, in this state, without you having some hand in it.”
Sigurd smiles.
“Letting Odin or one of his minions force their way into Endir and drop his daughter here, and in all of my classes, no less.”
He doesn’t reply. I loathe his arrogant silence.
I wait him out. It’s obvious Sigurd has a plan. Rey wouldn’t have been admitted otherwise. My grandfather designed her schedule—or at the very least he’s turning a blind eye. What’s his angle?
He drums his fingertips along the desk, once, twice, each time louder and more powerful than before, until tiny marks from his nails dent the wood.
“Would peace between the families be so bad?” he asks.
What a fucking lie. He never does anything that doesn’t benefit him, and Odin is the same. Peace? They aren’t after peace; they’re after power.
“An alliance of sorts? Think about it. I know I have. I’m getting old, Aric, and it’s time to pass the torch. You’ve been alone for so long, so why not take what’s been freely given to you?”
“I don’t need her. We don’t need her. And word of warning, I might actually end up killing her before the end of the semester.” Would that satisfy him?
He grins like I amuse him. “If killing came so easy to you, you would not have been the one chosen.”
Chosen? What is he talking about?
“Play nice in the sandbox, don’t forget to share your toys, and remember that we always keep our enemies close—so when the time is right to turn on them, we don’t have to chase.”
I get whiplash talking to him. “She’s living next door, so chasing won’t be a problem.”
His smile widens. Yeah. He planned that. “Let’s start thinking about next steps, shall we?”
“Next steps?”
“Graduation, your parents’ legacy, mine, your future, what you are.” He holds out his hand.
“Am I supposed to shake it or…?”
“Your vow that you’ll do everything in your power not to let me down—or let your parents down.”
I shake his hand. It’s cold as ice, just like his demeanor. Deep down, I know he cares. He’s just obsessed with his hatred for the Stjernes and the need for revenge for my parents’ deaths. I get it.
I tuck my hands deep into my pockets as I feel the tickle of ice forming along my fingertips.
His eyes zero in on my hands anyway. “A bit cold?”
Is he seriously in my head? “No, sir.”
“You’re dismissed.”
He turns his back to me. So much for asking about the rune burned into my skin. When Sigurd dismisses you, you’re dismissed.
I leave wondering two things.
Can he read minds?
And why is he encouraging me to spend time with the one girl who has the power to destroy everything?