Page 116 of Fallen Gods

“He’s mine,” I snap in a voice I don’t even recognize as protective rage takes over. “Mine to hunt. Mine to kill.”

“Whoa.” Rowen takes a step back. “Your eyes. They…” He blinks. “For a minute they just got really terrifying. You sure you aren’t all-powerful like Odin?” He’s making light of the situation. I’m still mad, but I go along with it.

I finally exhale. “Let’s just get this over with, okay? It’s a party. We’re supposed to have fun.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” he snarks.

I bump him with my shoulder while we walk in an attempt to appear normal when my heart is still racing after my ownoutburst. “Still best friends.”

His tone grows serious, and I know he means it when he says, “Until the grave.”

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Rey

“Tell me you want to intimidate people without actually saying it out loud,” I say as we get closer to the house. I look out over a ravine full of trees and statues that leads from the mountainside to the edge of the lake where the house sits. “As cool as this place looks, it’s a bit much.”

Rowen snorts in quiet agreement.

The wooden walkway leading to the house is almost as impressive as the house itself. It stretches over a rocky canyon that boasts a small stream bordered by rocks and trees. My stomach lurches sickeningly—heightsandwater? Thanks, Sigurd—but I hold my breath and cross. My black cowboy boots click against the walkway as Rowen and I make our way side by side to the front door.

We catch up to Eira, who’s already waiting at the door, annoyance plastered across her pretty face.

“No one’s answering,” she says with an eye roll.

“Weird,” I mutter. We’re running late, so I’m assuming that the party is already in full swing, meaning people are probably an hour in on making poor life choices.

The door’s massive. It’s at least twelve feet tall, maybe fifteen. The amount of video doorbells has me almost wanting to joke about them being afraid of intruders. But then again, where there is fear, there is weakness, right?

I sigh in frustration, but just as I raise my hand for a follow-up knock, the door’s suddenly jerked open. Aric’s jeans look ready to rip off of him in protest against the muscles in his thighs as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, wearing a white T-shirt.

“You’re late.” Several simple chains dangle from his neck, and on his right hand is a ring similar to my father’s. I almost smirk. He looks like an angry God. Damn, he’s so pretty.

His appreciative yet judging stare is almost too much as he looks me over. I went for a white crop top and a long army jacket I could wrap around my waist later. I loosely braided my hair and put on what I like to call mygoing out makeupso that he’d focus on my eyes.

The only thing missing is my knife, but it’s not really a college party accessory.

“Fashionably late,” I say, then nod toward the cameras. “Afraid of something?”

He leans down until he’s inches from my face. With a deep inhale, he closes his eyes and whispers, “Home,” so low that only I can hear. The single word sends my heart hammering in my chest, at least until he pulls back and says something else for our audience. “Or maybe just homeless. I can’t decide, but you do smell like something I probably want to forget.”

I shove Aric aside and barge in. “Creepy, even for you, Erikson.”

He looks over my head as he shuts the door. “Rowen. You made it.” His jaw ticks. “And you’re wearing another suit. Own anything different, or is it only business for you? Never pleasure?”

“I don’t know, do you ever run a brush through that ridiculous hair of yours?” Rowen counters.

“Some might say unkempt, where others might say easier to pull.” Aric winks at me.

I feel my face heat.

I have in fact pulled his hair, many times.

I glance away from Rowen’s knowing stare.

“Make yourself at home,” Aric continues. “The party’s down by the water—drinks, food, fireworks, you know the drill.”

Eira grabs Rowen’s arm. “I need my security detail!” She loops her arm in his, and off they go. I can’t decide if I’m annoyed or just curious why Rowen lets her treat him like she owns him.