Page 124 of Fallen Gods

She doesn’t look at me. But her whole body is tense. Then suddenly, she thrusts her hand toward me.

“Bite me.”

“What?” My stomach lurches.

“Bite me, Giant. I mean that literally. We can’t exactly go grab a kitchen knife right now with everyone inside.”

Gods. It’s like the command itself threads through my blood. I know it’s out of necessity, but still. The second her wrist brushes my lips, I’m gone. My teeth sink deep. Her blood floods my mouth—alive, scorching, intoxicating. The monster in me roars awake, clawing for more, hungering for freedom.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t break eye contact. She pulls her hand away and slaps it against the rune on Audhumla. Her blood.

I want to stop, but it’s like whatever she awakened won’t be contained. In the next breath, I slice my teeth along my palm and slam it over the rune.

Othala flares.

The burn rips through me, searing down my spine, but it’s not just fire this time.

The world blinks out. My vision goes black.

And then—

I’m there.

At the beginning.

“Odinfather,” the voice whispers in my ear.

Another battlefield, the hammer flying across a bridge and into a giant fist. A man larger than the people huddled around him praying.

They’re covered in frost, and they’re moaning, crying out in loss, crying out for the hammer to avenge them.

The moment the weapon hits his hand, five of them die at his side like a sacrifice. His face is blurred, but he turns, and suddenly he’s in the basalt archway like he came through a portal.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It must be done.” Several others appear beside him. An infant and a few people in strange costumes, swords and arrows strapped to their backs. Everyone is covered in blood.

“You force its hand, its will.” A voice wheezes from a body broken, bloody on the ground, half burned. “Odinfather will have this realm and everyone in it.”

“His reign”—the massive Giant raises the hammer—“is over.”

Chapter Sixty-Three

Rey

Aric’s eyes flash white—pure, blinding white—and then he drops.

The sound that rips from his chest isn’t human. It’s a roar, deep and guttural, shaking the walls as he collapses to his knees.

“Aric!”

I stumble forward just as blood—shimmering silver, not red—slides in rivulets down his back. It traces the curve of his spine, pooling at the fresh mark burning into his skin. Othala, the rune of inheritance. My throat closes. It’s carving itself into him.

He braces on his hands, shoulders heaving, fingers clawing the floorboards as though holding back something massive, something ancient. His breath frosts in the air between us, white clouds spilling with every ragged exhale.

“Aric, hey. Look at me.” My voice breaks, but his eyes are locked somewhere else, not seeing me, not seeing anything but the storm tearing through his body.

I drop to my knees beside him, wrapping my arms around his torso. The ice sliding off his skin stings mine, but I force him upright, half dragging, half carrying him to the bed. He collapses onto it, chest still rising in frantic jerks.

His lips move. Barely. A mumble, broken syllables slurred together.