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)
I’m already sweating by the time I pass through the lobby. I make a face when I shove open the front door of the dorm. One day at a time. One asshole at a time, too: also known as one Erikson at a time. I’ll be fine.
I pull out my phone to look at the campus map and start walking.
Everything from the ginormous trees to the heavy air is so damn thick up here, it feels like I’m wading through soup. And whose brilliant idea was it to design the different buildings so far apart from each other? Must it be an actual nature walk to get from point A to point B?
Gods, forget my earlier resentment of Bellevue. I miss the city. My attitude doesn’t get better as the Everett humidity assaults me like it has a personal vendetta against me or my kind.
Maybe the campus is cursed. Maybe it senses my blood and is already out to get me. I notice a few runes on the ground, spaced out like a sick version of hopscotch, and I sidestep them. Paranoid much? Yes. Absolutely.
Runes are used much like wards or a talisman. By themselves, they are powerful, but together, you’ve got yourself some serious waves of protection and a giant-ass warning sign for all to feel. I mean, most people won’t know what it is or why they feel like it’s hard to breathe, but ancient power is like that. It chokes you slowly.
By the time I stumble into the clearing beside the arts building, I’m fuming. And then I gasp—because it’s gorgeous.
An outdoor classroom is tucked among the trees, ringed with cement benches, sunlight scattering through the branches above. And right next to the classroom are the blessed double doors to the arts building. Advanced Ancient History. Can’t wait. I click through my schedule again on my phone. Room nine, Dr. Tyrson. I scowl at my phone screen, then try to take a deep breath. It’s fine. It’s just a job, a mission. I’ll have Laufey free from Odin’s clutches in no time and bouncing away from campus with Mjölnir in my hands, flipping off the Eriksons the entire way.
And if I learn some cool facts along the way, more power to me.
My vision suddenly blurs as the feeling of Aric’s hot mouth on mine takes over—seriously, why at the most inconvenient times? Nope. I’m burying that vision, it didn’t happen, will never happen, and it’s just a distraction. Can runes bring on visions?
I wouldn’t put it past Sigurd. If he can steal the most powerful weapon in the world, I’m sure visions are mere child’s play. It’s not like he isn’t powerful in his own right.
I need to remember that. Right now, it’s an even playing field, but I aim to change the odds to our favor.
The smell of cleaning solution fills my nose the minute I walk through the doors. I make my way through crowds of eager students, and it’s so normal that it’s almost unreal to me. Everyone’ s just existing, talking about their majors, about rushing, sports, life. They have no idea, and the more I listen, the more bitter I feel.
Lives are on the line.
And these clueless kids are on dating apps.
People will die, and someone’s pissed that their TikTok didn’t go viral.
I roll my eyes and sweep past a group of guys, a few of them looking in my direction like they’re waiting for me to smile. I ignore the usual stares, push my Aethercall, and keep walking. I don’t have time for boys. I already have to tolerate Reeve. And Aric.
I finally make it into room nine and stare.
How typical—Aric’s sitting in the back, Reeve right next to him, engaging with a gaggle of women while tapping his pen on his thigh. Of course they’re hanging on every word he says. I narrow my eyes and peer past him to Aric.
Aric looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he wasn’t even breathing—or maybe he’s just as irritated by the chatter as I am. He radiates intensity, from his steady breaths to the way his pen spins between his fingers over and over again. Then his eyes catch mine. He holds the stare for a beat before a smirk tugs at his lips—the same lips I can’t stop imagining.
There’s no softness in his gaze. Murder? He wears it like a second skin.
I move to the long desk in front of them and start putting down my things. I start with my black Stanley, then pull out a pen, my notebook, my syllabus, and my planner. See? I can be normal, too. I feel a weird sense of accomplishment when I grab my textbook, my fingers lingering over the front page. Ancient History.
A subject I know more about than I should.