Page 141 of Fallen Gods

“Just like you, he was forced to choose. You chose poorly two years ago.” With a swish of his hand, the cracked desk splitsin two, the halves slamming into the walls. Books fall from the shelves, and pottery crashes and shatters.

Sigurd steps over the pieces toward me.

He’s stronger, more vicious. I see it, the look in his eyes. He’ll kill me. Right here, right now, in this very room if he finds my will lacking.

And I may be strong, but I’m not yet awakened. I can’t defeat him as I am now, just like I can’t defeat Odin.

I need access to my power even if it kills me.

“I won’t fail, Grandfather.” I meet his stare and hold it. “I’ll bring you Thor’s hammer. And then I’ll bring you Odin’s head.”

Chapter Seventy-Two

Rey

I’m dressed as a Valkyrie.

I’ll admit, this wasn’t what I would have picked for myself to ride into battle. But whoever did pick it for me knew their stuff. Long white-sleeved shirt with a matching corset fitted tight against my body. Sewn-in patterns of gold make a design of wings on the front, while the shoulder armor is made of golden feathers jutting out at sharp angles. The long white cape flows out from the shoulders and rests against my calves.

Embroidered runes on the skirt catch the light when I move. A gold belt cinches around my waist, a perfect place for weaponry. A raven’s head clicks into place as the buckle.

And finally, a small, crown-like helmet rests on my hair, leaving the top of my head exposed. There are nine tiny spikes that protrude out of the top, maybe resembling the Nine Realms? I’m not sure.

I braid my hair back and look in the mirror.

I feel like I’m being mocked.

The daughter of Odin.

Who can’t even protect her stepmother or save the world from her own father. How poetic that I should be dressed up for the occasion.

Still, though. I have to admit: I look like a warrior.

I just wish I felt like one.

I mentally slap myself and reach for Laufey’s note, tucking it into my corset, then grab my very real knives, situating them in the hidden compartment of my skirt.

Finally, I grab my phone, which feels oddly out of place, and head into the hallway, letting my door close behind me. The lockdoesn’t work anymore, but it’s not like I’m planning on coming back here after tonight anyway.

Aric’s standing there, waiting for me.

I completely stop breathing.

He’s shirtless.

My eyes lock on the mask covering his face—half a white skull, stark and merciless, and half painted in shades of blue with lilacs growing across the bone like something both sacred and savage. Horns twist upward from the crown like a fallen ancient king.

His cape—a heavy royal blue—falls in thick folds to the floor, sweeping past the dark brown leather of his pants and the laced boots wrapped tightly around his calves. He’s leaving nothing to the imagination. Smooth muscle basically smacks me upside the head—arms, abs, chest. He looks every inch the Giant he is. My pulse pumps against my ribs in an uncontrollable cadence. I just don’t know if it’s telling me to run or stay.

His icy expression doesn’t waver.

My head feels too heavy, my body too weak under the weight of him and the costume I’m wearing—maybe the moment, too. “You look good.”

His gaze rakes over me slowly, deliberately, and though he doesn’t speak, the hunger in his eyes says everything. Even behind the mask, it’s there—in the way his eyes hood, the way his stare pins me in place and dares me to move.

Desire doesn’t pick sides.

It simply wants.