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A Toy For The Trickster

I hailed a London cab and threw myself into the black tin can before any other punters could get in my way. The sound of blaring horns and mindless chatter were dimmed as I shut the door. I peered out of the rain stained window at the bleak sky. The weather was fluctuating and a storm was brewing. I was a private lawyer for London's top firm and as soon as hit the leather seat of the taxi, I shook the water off of my briefcase, off of my skirt and my glasses. I slid my Blackberry out of my pocket and scrolled through the extensive emails and reminders.

"Where to love?" the taxi driver looked how I felt. "Lensbury Avenue, Imperial Wharf please." He nodded and I smiled; "Thank you". The journey took around twenty minutes and in that time, the heavens opened, thunder growled and lightning lit up the streets flying by. I looked at my phone and the screen began to crackle and break up with all the interference. I looked up as the taxi driver thumped his dashboard as all the lights went out. We pulled up outside my apartment block just in time as the engine failed. The driver groaned and smiled sadly as I opened the door; "Love, don't worry about the fee, go and get dry" I nodded my thanks and ran. Within seconds I was soaked through. My hair was plastered to my head, my shirt was sopping and my frozen hands fumbled with my keys. I turned as I heard one more rolling crack of thunder. I gasped as what looked like a thundery rainbow shot through the sky. I shook my head, convinced I was seeing things. I pushed open the door of my eight bedroom penthouse. My home was immaculate. Even though I only lived in two rooms, at the time place was avaliable and within my price range. My job paid well and this penthouse was well within the millions but I'd worked hard for it. The door opened, and as I stepped over the threshold lights flickered on. The space was open, clean. Leather sofas, vases of flowers, and a 'new' smell. I kicked off my heels, placed my briefcase down and began to strip on the way to my room. My skirt fell, along with my soaking jacket and my shirt. I strolled through the ribbon curtain that framed my bedroom. Then I stopped. My bedroom was in darkness, but something was wrong. The air smelled faintly of metal, the atmosphere was charged. My footsteps were silent as I moved. I reached my bed when suddenly my shadow glowed green around the outline and I saw a pair of curved horns on the wall. I hand was placed over my mouth as I screamed and another hand was shoved down my underwear as I struggled. I stopped dead as a voice, soft as silk, hard as iron and as cold as ice murmured in my ear.

"Daughter of Midgard, I am Loki, God of Mischief. And you? You are my plaything..." I stopped screaming, rationality breaking through. I snarled and kicked my foot back into his groin. He grunted and his grip loosened. I fought free and turned to face the stranger. His helmet was most comical to me, it was golden and long curved horns almost brushed my ceiling. His face was thin, pointed and angular. His eyes were of an indescribable shade. From his shoulders down to his black booted feet his was a mix of gold, green and black. He looked like a character from a fantasy novel. His language, the way he spoke, and what the hell was 'Midgard?' He watched me intently. With every breath and movement of my shoulders he shifted his weight as if to say; "You run? I'll catch you." I knew how to deal with attackers, I lived in London. But this man? He was different. I knew something was wrong. He wasn't just a man. He was more, so much more than that. I opened my mouth, expecting the cool tones of a professional business woman to flow from my lips. Instead, I stammered, suddenly realising how utterly terrified I was.

"So...y-your name is Loki?" A cruel smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"You are correct. But I am a Prince, a God. Kneel." I found myself laughing at the hilarity of what he was saying. But that laughter was cut short as his sheer strength pushed me to my knees. I tried to fight but he was too strong. I shouted, screamed till my throat was raw but nothing stopped him. Finally when my energy was spent I went limp in his grip. My knees burnt from rubbing against the carpet, tears of distress pooled in my eyes.

"What do you want with me? Who are you?" All I got was a cruel laugh. He got down on one knee to face me, lifted my chin up with one slender finger. His words were sharp as he spoke; "I am Loki, son of Odin Allfather. I come from the realm of Asgard to search for mortals like yourself. But why do you need these words? I do not answer to you puny Midgardians. You are mine. And there is no choice." He crushed his lips against mine. I refused to kiss back, fear freezing me into place. He pulled away and grabbed my throat. "You will yield." I had yet to notice the staff in his hand. The tip glowed icy blue as his grip around its length tightened. My eyes widened as the blood supply to my brain began to ebb. He pointed the staff at me and my world went black. The last thing I remember? A flash of blue and this stranger's cold, cruel laugh.