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 wouldburn?”
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 waswillingto take the risk—forme.
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.
