Page 69 of Fallen Gods

Perfect. Just perfect.

Not only are we not given much time, but the thought of being trapped in a car with Aric Erikson is its own kind of torture. And I know why this pairing happened—why my father engineered it. He doesn’t just want a paper turned in. He wants me close to Aric.

Forced proximity. Forced awakening.

He knows I can handle myself. But does he have any idea what being near Aric does to me? Not just emotionally after his rejection years ago but to my Aethercall, my control, my sanity? Does he know how dangerous this is?

He doesn’t care. Throwing me to the wolves is exactly the point.

Ice Caves. Where Frost Giants are strongest.

What could possibly go wrong?

“Great.” Aric drops his phone onto the desk with a thud and raises his hand like he’s already done with this circus. Dr. Tyrson doesn’t even look in his direction. Aric lets it fall, then slowly cranes his neck toward me.

“I actually want to make it through senior year,” he mutters, “so if you could just nod your head, not cause trouble, and atleast contribute, that’d be great.”

His hand grazes mine. It’s an accident, but it doesn’t feel like one. It feels like a spark detonating under my skin. He flinches back. I ball my hand into a fist, trying not to show the fear—or the thrill—curling in my gut.

“When do you want to get this done?” I ask flatly, flipping open my planner like none of this is fazing me. “I’ve got Intro to Business Tuesdays and Thursdays, bio lab after that.”

He doesn’t even hesitate. He grabs my phone and flips it in his hand to face me, and it unlocks. His thumbs fly across the screen, and then he slides it back to me with his number saved.

“Normally people have to work a lot harder for that.”

I look down at the screen and type in his name. Giant Asshole.

“You’ll never see me beg, Erikson.”

He wraps the leg of my chair with his foot and drags me close. “Too bad, since being on your knees seems where you’re most comfortable…after what I walked in on today.”

I freeze, heat rushing to my face.

Reeve clears his throat from behind us. “Um…what exactly did you walk in on?”

Aric ignores him. Ignores me, too, facing forward like nothing happened. I stare down at my phone, force myself to breathe, and try not to let his icy composure cut deeper than it already does.

The rest of class drones on in meaningless buzz. By the time I gather my things, both Aric and Reeve are already out the door.

Dr. Tyrson’s deep in conversation with Sigurd.

Where the hell did he come from? And just how long has he been standing there?

He leans against the frame, patient, watchful, ancient.

I don’t like him any more than he likes me. But I know exactly who he is. What he is. The whispers about Sigurd are as dark as the ones about my father. Older. Colder. Not royalty, but theclosest thing to it. My father once said it’s been centuries since his kind were forced to bow.

Every culture has an origin story. Every myth, a beginning.

And I’m standing in front of it.

When Dr. Tyrson looks down at his phone, then takes a call and walks away from us, I don’t think. I just move. I press two fingers to my lips, extend my thumb to my throat. The old gesture. Once, it meant loyalty—that you would silence your own mouth and slit your own throat before betraying the Gods.

Now it’s a mockery.

Sigurd’s eyes narrow at me, glinting sharp, unreadable, as I leave the room.

Chapter Thirty-Two