Page 142 of Fallen Gods

He gives me his back like that’s it, that’s the pep talk. We walk in silence to the elevator and of course, because it’s Reeve, he’s already there leaning against the wall, waiting for us.

He also has a cape, but his is green. He grins. “Thought it would be funny.”

“It’s not,” Aric snaps.

Okay, so maybe I’m losing my mind, but I do crack a smile,earning a little wink from the bastard who threatened me earlier. Well, at least the myths are right about one thing—Loki is truly every inch a confusing little dick. One minute I want to strangle him, the next I’m trying not to laugh, then the next I’m like, okay, but the supervillain cape and black crown are working for him.

College is confusing.

His crown is smaller than Aric’s. It rests around his head like mine and has four spikes that twist into black antlers with bloodred tips. He’s wearing an all-black leather chest plate with a silver snake sewn into it and matching black leather pants. Black armored gloves cover his hands, and on the tips of his fingers are long, razor-sharp black nails that make noise every time he clenches his fists.

He looks intimidating as hell.

We all pile into the elevator. “This is cozy,” Reeve pipes up.

“Shut your goddamn mouth.” Aric glances up as if praying for patience.

Reeve looks between us. “Listen, I think if we all talk things through and come up with a really good plan so I don’t have to kill people I like, then things will work out.”

Aric and I are both silent.

“Or have it your way, I guess.” He rocks back on his heels and sniffs the air. The elevator hits the lobby level. “I remember this fitting better.”

“That’s what happens when you get old, Loki,” I say sweetly. “Your body just isn’t what it used to be.”

“Don’t knock it till you try it.” He winks.

Aric lets out a growl.

“Naturally, after his untimely death,” he adds like that’s somehow helpful.

We walk out into the lobby, where everyone else is gathered. I sent a text to Ziva earlier, asking for them to wait for me. I didn’texpect Aric or Reeve to show.

Eira looks like death itself. Not in the sloppy, last-minute-Halloween way—in the way that makes your stomach twist and your skin crawl. Her usually polished features are hollowed out, her eyes ringed in dark shadow that sinks them deep into her face, making her cheerful smile look like a mask she borrowed from a corpse. Her hair falls in a glowing sheet from the top of her head, but with strategic strands sticking out like the fractured halo of something fallen wrapped around her head like a crown.

She leans on a staff—slick, black, and gnarled at the top—and every inch of her skin-tight leather ensemble screams predatory. The outfit is sculpted in sharp angles and ridges, leaving little to the imagination. Bloodstains streak down from her torso, dripping over her thighs, painted across her arms like she’s just walked out of a massacre.

She wasn’t kidding when she said she was dressing up as Hela, and I’m not completely convinced this isn’t the real deal. Please, Gods, no more surprises.

“Death does devour us all.” She winks. The words are playful. The delivery isn’t.

Ziva shudders. Her contrast couldn’t be sharper—she’s draped in a simple white dress that flutters with every step, a delicate harp tucked under her arm. She looks like she wandered out of some pastoral painting. “Judge not,” she huffs. “I went Greek last-minute. Or…Roman?”

I frown. “What are you?”

“Cupid.” Her grin is wicked.

Reeve groans. “Of course you are.”

I glance at Rowen. He’s the simplest of all, just a sharp black suit that fits too perfectly to be casual. It’s his eyes, though, that make me do a double take. They’re brighter tonight, edged with something that flickers with determination. I grip my necklace.At least I have his protection tonight.

He looks over at Aric and then me. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Yay, party.” Reeve’s sarcasm cuts through as he slouches forward.

And just like that, we fall into step, costumes brushing against each other, headed down toward the football field, where the Hunt and the feast wait like a trap ready to be sprung.

Campus sprawls in front of us like a kingdom preparing for war. It doesn’t look like the same place I’ve been hiking through between classes. Tonight, the gates are open—really open. Alumni have pulled up in polished black SUVs, glossy limos, and sports cars with engines that make so much noise, I’m annoyed. The air reeks of money and power.