PROLOGUE
REY
“Would you?” I whisper, hating the tremor in my voice.
We’re stopped in the middle of campus, a cool breeze brushing against my heated cheeks giving me the courage to ask again. “Would you run away with me, knowing that the world would eventually end? Knowing that the world would burn?”
Weeks ago, I never would have thought we’d have a conversation like this. Now the air between us is cold enough that his breath fogs in front of him in a frosty haze. In another life, I would have thought it poetic. Now, it just reminds me exactly what he is.
A Giant.
Ruthless.
Powerful.
A God in his own right.
Aric shifts his weight, and silence stretches between us like a chasm neither of us can cross.
Maybe I never should have let go with him. Not after knowing what was really behind the war between the Gods and the Giants. Now it just feels like the end.
“You’re hesitating.” I can barely get the sentence out.
His dark gaze holds mine, and his jaw clenches.
“I can’t promise you,” he finally says. “Not until we end this.”
All I wanted was for him to say yes. I wouldn’t have made him go through with it. I just wanted to know that he was willing to take the risk—for me.
The soft rustle of ancient leaves threads through the space between us, a low reminder of where we stand—and what’s at stake.
“So that’s it, then? We’re doing this.” Heat burns my cheeks, but I had to ask. Just one last time.
His tongue slides across his bottom lip, then his jaw tightens—like he’s trying to keep himself from saying too much. As a few errant flakes of snow float through the air, his eyes remain locked on mine.
I shake my head. One of us needs to be strong enough for this.
“I don’t need the cold,” I say and feel even more pathetic. “I don’t want it.”
“But I still need your warmth,” he adds, and I know he means it. But it’s no longer enough. Snow dusts his broad shoulders, the same shoulders that have carried so much.
“One of us is going to die.” I finally say the words out loud.
And deep in my soul, I know.
It’s going to be me.
CHAPTER ONE
REY
“One week earlier”
The note in my hand is so crumpled and damp with sweat that I’m sure the ink is etched into my skin like a brand. But that’s not what gets me.
Despite the way he treated her, I’ve never seen my stepmother cry. Not once. In all my years with her, Laufey’s been a fortress—unshaken, unreadable. Through his abuse, through her sickness, through everything.
Until today. My eighteenth birthday.
At first, I thought it was because of what my father finally asked me to do—that one “favor” I always knew was coming but prayed never would. Until of course it finally did.
But this? It feels heavier.
Like she’s been holding in something massive for years, saving her tears for this very moment.
Today, Laufey finally broke.
Between sobs, she begs, “Please, Rey. Don’t do this. We can find another way.”
I can’t meet her gaze. She was the only safe space I had other than Rowen. She protected me, and now it’s my time to protect her. She may not be my real mother, but she’s the only one I’ve ever known. And her tears cut through me like a blade.
I glance around my father’s opulent home and, for the first time in my entire miserable life, wish I could stay. But I can’t. Father has given me a mission—and promised me the world if I succeed.
My stomach pitches, but fear doesn’t matter. Can’t. Not if it means setting Laufey free.
“I know what you dream about, Rey. One day being away from me,” Father says, unmoved by his wife’s hysterics. “I know it eats you alive.”
His words dig deep into my skin like an ache I can’t get rid of, and I don’t bother to deny them. Instead, I turn to hold his dark gaze, and I let just the tiniest hint of a spine bring my shoulders higher.
An icy smile spreads across his face, and my gaze shifts. White hair pulled back into his signature low ponytail. Patch covering his right eye. Three-piece navy suit accented by a sharp walking cane. Gold adornments draping from his tie. One a hammer, the other the head of his enemy.
He’s a riot at parties.
Father glances at his bodyguard leaning against the darkened doorway to my left and nods. Without a word, Rowen moves to collect Laufey. He’s just a few years older than me and taller than Father, his shoulders seemingly twice as wide, his demeanor youthful and strong. And yet, he’s always appeared the weaker man. Maybe that’s because he obeys Father’s every whim without question.
I get it. I feel just as small in his shadow.
My stomach twists as Rowen wraps an arm around Laufey’s waist and hauls her up. She collapses against his broad chest as he leads her down the hallway to her private rooms.
Father ignores them both.
“You have one week to find Thor’s hammer.” His voice is sharp, heavy. “Remove anyone who stands in your way. Destroy them all for what they took from us, Rey. The Eriksons, every last one. But don’t be quick about it.” His voice draws into a low command. “Make them suffer.”
“How do you know Aric has it?” Sigurd’s more powerful. Why wouldn’t the Giants keep it with him?
“I know.” He raises his voice. I try not to flinch. “Because his parents hid it. Last mistake I ever made.” He clenches his jaw. “Your job isn’t to ask questions. It’s to do what I ask.”
I nod in agreement. That’s all anyone can do around this man if they hope to keep their head. I don’t know why I thought asking him would help at all. At least he didn’t say it was all my fault.
It would have been nice to ask Laufey for intel before starting this mission, since she’s a Giant herself, but my father would never allow it. She fears his anger so much, she’s left the room any time I’ve so much as mentioned the Eriksons. Even thinking about what Father might do to her in my absence has my stomach turning.
I almost flinch when he leans in and brushes a hand down my cheek, kisses me on my forehead. A soft brush devoid of comfort. “I’m proud. You know that, right? Out of all my children…you are the most worthy.”
I know he’s trying to compliment me, but it feels more like a curse.
Stepping back, he drops his hand. “Rowen will have the car brought around in a minute. Gather your things and let’s be off. I’ve waited too long for this moment and do not relish further delay.” With that, he walks away, his cane slapping against the marble floor in a rhythm that dares me to follow.
I grit my teeth, shove the crumpled note from Laufey deep into my jeans pocket. I haven’t read it yet, but I don’t need to. I’m sure it’s begging me to give up this mission. Pointless.
Reaching down, I grab my new rucksack, then throw it over my shoulder. Father’s right. Might as well get this over with as quickly as possible.
Within minutes, we’re both settled in the back seat of a sleek black Mercedes sedan, Rowen expertly taking the turn that will lead us onto the highway out of Bellevue, Washington—toward the town of Everett, Endir University, and my freshman year.
I stare at the rain pelting the windshield, the wiper blades whooshing back and forth. Someone nearby lays on their horn, and I want to rage at them: they don’t know how good they have it. I wish my worst day was encountering a bad driver.
But pain is pain—it doesn’t care about rank. It just exists. And knowing someone, somewhere, carried more of it than I did…that’s the only thing that got me through the last two years.
I’m in this mess because of who my father is—what he’s capable of and what’s been done on
both sides of this war. Some might say it’s because I was born special.
They’d be wrong.
In fact, the real reason I’m here is because of how not special I am. Or at least, how unimpressive one person in particular found me.
My heart races as a flash of warm brown eyes crosses my mind. No, not warm. I run my finger across the faint scars on my knuckles and focus on the traffic.
Rowen’s knowing gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror, then flicks away. Typical. I stare at his thick blond waves brushing his shoulders, like staring at something solid will help me forget how splintered we are underneath.
I don’t remember when exactly Rowen became my closest friend. He just was—one day not there, the next day orbiting my life like a second moon. He moved in three years ago, probably right after graduating high school, but we never talked about hobbies or birthdays or any of the things normal people compare to feel less alone. Sharing space under my father’s roof was enough. Trauma bonds faster than time.
And now, after today, I’ll likely never see him again.
My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach as beside me, my father snaps open a newspaper, like phones and social media don’t exist. Every few seconds, he clears his throat and adjusts his tie with his right hand—the one with the tattoos that tell the world exactly who he is, if they’re privileged enough to know what the runes mean on all five of his murderous fingers.
Even to a casual observer, the markings look dark and menacing. Because of course they do. He likes the attention.
At the end of the day, I know what sort of hand those tattoos belong to. One of authority, terror, and power. I wonder what it says about me that my first daydreams were about cutting his fingers off.
Taking away his pride and joy. One. By. One.
I sigh again and look out the window, digging into my pocket to clutch the piece of paper there, crinkling it tighter and tighter.
We dodge through traffic. It feels like we’re going faster and faster. Too fast. I wonder if it would be better if we had an accident. Would it change anything? Probably not.
Legends don’t die.
And that’s exactly what my family is—legendary.
I know who we are. I know our bloodline. It’s been hammered into me since birth. Which is how I also know my father’s never going to give up. Not when I’m the only person in the position to get him what he wants.
A fact I know he resents, because my father is neither patient nor kind, and having to give up even a smidgen of control, to rely on someone else to obtain his goal, well, that’s the definition of hell for him.
I smile at the thought. Maybe I’m not the only one who’s furious with this outcome. Maybe that’s my birthday gift—him needing me.
I shamefully take it.
I push aside the anger that he would risk my life in order to regain what was taken from us—what they stole from us—and cling to this one silly concept. That I’m needed by Odin himself.
He didn’t even know where the Eriksons were keeping Mjölnir until last year. Which is when I became the final chess piece and his only option.
He needs me. But he doesn’t need the people I love, which is why I’m sitting in this car.
“You have exactly one week. It’s all the time we have left.” My father finally speaks, his voice a low, rasping growl, edged with anger. Always.
I don’t flinch. Not outwardly. But inside? A storm rages. “I understand.”
I keep my eyes on the rain, watching as it streaks along the window in erratic patterns. It’s the only steady thing in a life drowning in chaos. The water beats down relentlessly, ruthlessly, but it will stop, will have its end. All things must.
The car winds up the steep mountain road, taking us deeper into the heart of the evergreen forest. My father used to tell me stories about the forests and the cold within, always warning me that an early frost never meant the beginning of something but the agonizing end of it, that it meant the Gods were stirring, screaming for vengeance.
I shiver and try to keep my hands still in my lap, take a soothing breath. I finally have a purpose—diabolical as it may be—and I can’t fail. I stare out at the towering pine trees, the rugged landscape shrouded by an eerie fog. Yet even through the driving rain, the fairy-tale mist curls among the trees, weaving over green moss and a brush of frost, and I realize: it’s beautiful here. Peaceful.
Better than Bellevue, at least.
I hate the filth, the bustle of the city.
I hate even more what my last name means there.
The forest thickens as we near Lake Stevens, home to the Eriksons—the family I’ll be forced to orbit at Endir, since they founded the university that will become my new prison.
And of course their oldest son, Aric, will be there, too. Because it’s not enough that he’s the only person who knows where Thor’s hammer is. No, my life is a Gods-fueled soap opera: complete with family drama, revenge plots, and even a former fiancé.
If you can count a betrothal that barely lasted an afternoon.
Just thinking of Aric has my stomach twisting. It’s been years, but the thought of seeing him again still knots something deep in my chest. Avoiding him will be impossible. Pretending he doesn’t exist will have to do.
We stop at a red light in Everett.
My father lets out a frustrated grumble, as if the light is purposefully slowing our journey, as if it has stakes in this game. He fails to understand that the world no longer runs according to his ancient Rolex.
A black Land Rover Defender pulls up next to us, engine roaring, and I’m jealous of the power behind that accelerator. The windows are down, and though I barely get a glance inside the vehicle, I can fully appreciate the loud music annoying the hell out of my father, along with the muscular arm resting partially out the window.
I smirk as he shifts in his seat and lets out a grunt under his breath. It’s the little things.
I’ve learned to count my small victories where I can find them.
The minute the light turns green, the car cuts us off and speeds ahead. We follow in the same direction while my father starts a monologue about respect and kids these days. I’ve heard it a million times. It has zero impact.
I know we’re close when the sound of Father folding his newspaper fills the car. With each crisp snick of the paper, my body tenses.
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.” ...
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