Killer Frost (Mythos Academy #6)(67)
Author: Jennifer Estep

“Yes,” I heard the god murmur in my mind, or perhaps I was the one who was saying the words out loud. I couldn’t quite tell. “Oh yes. This Gypsy girl’s body will do quite nicely.”

I screamed again as he dived even deeper inside me, burrowing down farther and farther, drilling into every single part of my mind, my body, my heart and soul, until I could almost see the bright purple spark at the center of my being start to take on an ugly red tint. I was aware of Loki’s hand falling away from my throat, and his body dropping to the floor, since it was nothing but an empty shell, now that he was inside me.

“Gwen! Gwen!” I thought I heard Logan screaming my name, but his voice sounded dim and distant, as though both of us were underwater.

Eventually, the pain died down to a more manageable level, although I could still feel Loki inside my body, rifling through my insides like they were index cards, and murmuring to himself, or perhaps both of us, as he took stock of me.

“Yes, yes, young and strong,” he purred. “Oh, the things I’ll be able to do in your body, Gypsy. Nike will rue the day she ever dared to stand against me. It will be such a pleasure using you against her.”

I let him rant. It was all I could do to keep breathing—in and out, in and out—and not lose myself completely in the foul god’s rotten core. Even so, I could feel it eating away at me like acid. Slowly, I managed to turn around and realized that the fight had stopped and everyone—Reaper and Protectorate alike—was staring at me with wide eyes and gaping mouths.

“Gypsy girl?” Logan whispered in a horrified voice, slowly creeping toward me.

I could see a burning reflection in his blue gaze, and I realized that my eyes must be red—as Reaper red as his had been that day at the auditorium when Agrona had tried to put Loki’s soul into his body.

I tried to smile at Logan, tried to let him know that everything was going to be okay, this was all part of my plan, that it had to be this way, but it hurt too much, so I quickly gave up. Besides, I knew what I had to do now, and time was running out. Another minute, and Loki would have complete control of me. There would be no coming back from any of it.

Not for me—not for anyone.

Of course, I didn’t plan on coming back anyway, but if I was going to die, then I was determined to take Loki with me.

Everything felt odd and clumsy and large and heavy, as if my hands suddenly weren’t big enough for my body. But then again, it wasn’t really my body anymore— it was his.

So it took a lot of concentration and a couple of tries to bring up Vic and turn the sword around. I cut my right palm on his sharp blade, but it was a small, dull ache compared to the rest of the pain burning through my body.

I raised Vic up. His eye was still the same purple as before, and I focused on that soft twilight shade, letting it center me for what I had to do next.

“I’ll miss you, Vic,” I whispered, although it wasn’t my voice coming out of my mouth anymore. “I love you.” A single tear streaked down Vic’s hilt. “I love you

too, Gwen.”

I pointed the sword’s tip inward at my chest. In front of me, I saw Logan’s eyes bulge as he figured out what I was going to do. He ran toward me, trying to stop me, but he was going to be too late.

But he wasn’t the only one who finally realized what I was planning. Loki stopped his soft murmuring, and his burning red eyes popped up into my mind, blotting out everything else, and peering at me as if I was doing a most curious and worrisome thing.

“What—what are you doing?” Loki’s voice flooded my mind again, rising to a sharp screech on the very last word. “You—you can’t do this. Stop! I command you! Stop!”

I let out a long, loud, crazy laugh that echoed from one side of the library to the other and rose all the way up to the domed ceiling before it abruptly bounced back down again. I positioned Vic so that his tip rested against my heart. His point pricked my skin, drawing a bit of blood, and I focused on that small flash of pain. Suddenly, I could feel claws scraping down my insides and seizing onto the tendons and muscles in my arms, tearing, ripping, and trying to get me to drop the sword. But I tightened my grip and held on.

“You will stop this madness at once!” Loki hissed again. “I demand that you stop right now!”

I laughed again.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I said. “That’s where you’ve always been wrong. This whole time. All these centuries. You can’t stop me. You can’t stop me from doing one single thing, especially not this.”

“And why is that?” he hissed.

I smiled, even though he couldn’t see me. “Free will.” Then, I rammed Vic’s point into my heart as hard as I

could.

There was a bright, blinding flash of pain. Then . . . nothing.

Chapter 30

I sucked in a breath and sat bolt upright.

At least, that’s what I thought I did. One second, I was slamming Vic into my chest and feeling all the pain of the mortal wound I’d given myself and the warm blood that slicked down my hands. The next, I was standing in the middle of the Library of Antiquities, still holding Vic.

I looked down, but I wasn’t bleeding anymore. In fact, I was perfectly clean, and my clothes showed none of the wear and tear from the battles out on the quad. I brought my hand up to my chest, and I realized that I could feel a third mark slashing over the other two scars already over my heart. The wound throbbed, but the pain felt dull and far away.

“Here we go again,” I muttered.

“Yes,” a soft voice called out. “Here we go again.” My head snapped up, and I realized that I wasn’t

alone.

A lone figure stood in front of me. Her long white gown seemed as crisp and fresh as new snow and draped around her strong, slender figure in perfect fashion. White wings rose up over her back, forming a heart shape above her head, and her hair was curled into bronze ringlets that fell past her shoulders. But it was her eyes that I could lose myself in. Beautiful, beautiful eyes that were a mix of purple and gray and lavender and silver that blended together to form one amazing twilight shade.

Even though I was dead, or mostly dead, or whatever I was, I still recognized her. Nike, the Greek goddess of victory.

She smiled, stepped forward, and clasped my hands in hers, and I felt a wave of cold power blast off her and flow into me.

“Hello, Gwendolyn,” Nike said.

I focused on the goddess, trying to make sense of things. “So I’m dead this time, right? Dead-dead. For real? Forever?”