Page 39 of Fallen Gods

She’s snarky and clever and just a little bit vulnerable.

Even her voice is hypnotic—it warms me from the inside out, only to turn into such a searing burn that my brain tells me just one touch would be worth it—even if she did shove a knife through my chest after the fact. She’s a black widow, and I refuse to be caught in her web…

But wouldn’t it be nice to have just one taste?

I quickly get on the elevator, needing the safety of my room before I shatter. It takes maybe thirty seconds to reach my floor, but even that is way too long. Lights flicker overhead like they have been for the past few days as I make my way down the hall. A sudden wave of nausea washes over me.

I quickly stumble into my room, grab the water bottle next to the sink, and pound it while the ceiling starts to spin. My vision doubles, triples. I finish the water and brace myself against the sink, looking up into the mirror.

Blood drips from my face. I yell and throw the water bottle against the mirror at my own reflection. “Stop, no!”

The lights flicker off, and when they turn back on, my reflection’s back to normal. My dizziness is gone, too, and the room seems to have stopped spinning. But still, my throat burns with a fiery ache.

More.

I need more water.

I fill up the water bottle three more times and take some deep breaths, then grab my meds and take them.

My phone rings. Grandfather, or Sigurd, as I always referencehim when I’m back on campus. Shit.

I debate not answering. But he’ll only keep calling, so I swipe the phone and his face pops up on the screen. He’s on campus, in his office. I can tell by the artifacts displayed behind him—rune-cast steel Asgardian chains; a gleaming bronze replica of Gjallarhorn, the cursed horn believed to summon Ragnarök itself; a fragment of volcanic basalt carved into runes rumored to be from the shattered stones of Jötunheim; and a small, iron-bound chest in the corner, its lock shaped like a serpent’s eye. Honestly, anyone hopping onto a Zoom call with the guy isn’t going to feel all that encouraged about their future—his office is littered with reminders of death, destruction, ruin, and what will happen if you cross him. Just like the runes, he surrounds himself with powerful artifacts on purpose.

“Yes, sir?”

“Control is vital, Aric. Do you need to be reminded of this?”

How does he know mine is slipping? Did he see the trail of ice I left coming back from the hot spring? I don’t want to admit that it’s getting harder, but… “It’s probably better if I move back to the house. I can commute in for classes—”

“No.”

The word hangs in the air. No explanation. Just his decree.

I don’t bother arguing.

“You’re awakening, Aric.”

No shit. “Does Reeve know? Is he like me?”

“He’s still sleeping.”

I imagine my brother wielding my powers. “Probably for the best.”

“You think?” Sigurd barks a laugh. It’s a rare display of real emotion from him. One that has me smiling, because yeah, totally agree about Reeve.

All I can picture is a shit-ton of naked snowmen or forced frigid temperatures and a call to use body heat to survive. Yeah. Withgreat power comes great responsibility, something Reeve lacks in spades.

“I have questions—”

“And you have an enemy to manipulate.”

Rey.

“Why is she here?” Before I can voice all my questions, Sigurd is waving at someone else.

“Professor Higgins! Yes, do come in.” And with nothing more than that, Sigurd ends the call.

Right. First week of school. My grandfather is the president of the university. But would it really kill the old man to carve out a few actual minutes to communicate with me?