Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
And then he turns. I know he turns, not because I see it but because the musky smell of the earth follows. I squeeze my eyes shut for one brief second and then shift toward him.
The car pulls to a stop, but I don’t dare look away from him. It would be too disobedient, and if I want to get out of this car, I need to show him I know my place. The newspaper is lying forgotten on his right thigh.
His hand curls around the head of the golden raven adorning the top of his ever-present cane, and he taps a tattooed thumb over it, the heavy gold ring on his hand banging out an insistent rhythm. I know he does this on purpose; he wants to draw attention. I might be one of the few people in this world who knows the power that cane holds. It’s a relic of our world, concealing a sword of Asgardian steel. It’s part of him. It never leaves his side.
“I don’t think I need to remind you how important this is, Rey.” His free hand reaches for his jeweled, braided white beard. With each stroke, his anxiety surely lessens while mine ratchets up. “You know, I didn’t want children, at least not…” He makes a face. “You.”
And just like that, we’re back to reminding me of my worth.
For as much as he needs me, he never fails to remind me of my place.
Me. A nobody compared to him.
Just like Laufey, just like Rowen, just like every other person in his life, I’ve never been good enough. I’m just his weak bastard—his words, not mine. “I understand, sir.”
Most children are born being told to shine.
I was born being told to stay dim.
But it’s my turn to shine now. I’ve been given no choice.
He nods. “Yet you’ve done well despite my wife’s best efforts to encourage the opposite of my training. And now you’ve got seven days. One week to prove that I was wrong about your worth.” He reaches for my chin. My lips tremble at the gesture. Don’t cry. Don’t flinch. “Everyone will adore you. After all, they can’t help it, can they?” He grins, and there’s nothing but malice in his smile.
Because he’s right—they will adore me; they have no other choice. They’re drawn to my Aethercall. A sort of glamour, old as the blood in my veins. People don’t choose to notice me. They just do.
It’s fitting that the only gift my father has ever given me is a curse.
“Thank you,” I whisper, hating myself all over again. “For the honor of serving you.”
His nostrils flare. He leans in and whispers in my ear, “You forgot the last part.”
I don’t shake.
I don’t yell.
I’m numb.
I lick my lips and say, “Odinfather.”
“Good girl. Now go hunt.”
Chapter Two
Rey
As we pull to a stop in front of the school, Father doesn’t reach for the handle. He waits, as always, for Rowen to open the door for him. Valet. Guard. Pet. Whatever role he’s assigned today.
I adjust my long black coat and put on my black Celine sunglasses, like they’re the only armor I need to walk into the enemy camp.
The notorious Erikson family has its legacy stamped all over campus. They even have a family sculpture in front of the student center featured on the brochure that came with my acceptance letter. The founder, Sigurd, holding both of his grandsons in a huddle, Aric and Reeve gazing adoringly into their grandfather’s beaming smile.
I’ve met the youngest brother, Reeve, a handful of times over the years at various social events. Enough times to know I’d rather jump off a cliff than fake a friendship with him.
His older brother, though—Aric didn’t bother with pretending.
He rarely spoke unless forced, and even then it was usually a grunt or a sharp glance meant to dissect every inch of your confidence.
Except for that one time.
The moment I’ve since convinced myself didn’t count. A lapse. A weakness. One I couldn’t afford then and sure as hell can’t afford now.
They’re opposites. Reeve talks until you beg him to stop. Aric barely exists in the room—until you realize you can’t stop wondering what his voice might actually sound like saying your name.
And then there’s his achingly beautiful face.
Jawline like it was carved from granite. The kind of dark, wavy hair stylists try to manufacture for cologne campaigns—except on him, it just falls, effortless while expensive, across his forehead.
“Listen to me carefully, Rey.” Father doesn’t raise his voice now. “Find the hammer or don’t come back.”
“I understand,” I say, nodding. I’d say anything to end this goodbye.
He already spent all night drilling the plan into me:
Find the hammer.
Kill anyone who gets in the way.
Bring it home.
He made it all sound achingly simple. And maybe it will be, because I grew up knowing exactly what we were.