He'd had enough, really. He both loathed and loved Asgard, and now the Bifrost was destroyed, he had no way back.
Well, no. That was a lie, if he was being honest.
His lips curved. Loki Liesmith, being honest.
Yes, he was certainly bored.
He did not know where he walked. It was Midgard, yes, or Earth, as its inhabitants referred to it. But he did not know the province, the city.
And why should he? He viewed Midgard with indifference. It was nothing compared to the splendour of Asgard. It held no notion of beauty for him. It was as dull as Thor's arrogance.
Still, he walked.
He took slight pleasure in the chill of the rain, but reined his jötunn form in. He did not want to cause a scene.
Again, bored. Causing fear in strangers should have delighted him, trickster that he was. Yet it did not.
Idly, he melted into the shadows, watching the mortals pass by, too preoccupied with their own meaningless lives to notice his form. Young men, drunk men, lustful men… He almost rolled his eyes at the similarities.
When their guards are down, they are all so alike.
He passed a couple engaged in less-than polite intercourse, and his gaze promptly moved from them as he turned his attention to the flickering of the lamplight.
He headed down the next street. It was deserted; well, it was past midnight. Not that the time would hinder any drunkards or harlots, he reflected dryly.
His boots were soft against the worn cobblestones, and he raised a finger to his lips to taste the rain.
Cool, slightly acidic, but not unpleasantly so.
A brief smile crossed his features.
It was then he heard the scream.
Pained, panicked – young, too.
It's a female.
Without thinking, he followed the noise from the main street down an alley, and his footsteps slowed as he came to a corner.
"Let me go," a girl cried, her desperation like a shard of glass to his ears. "Let me go!"
Her two captives grinned.
"Ah, come now, sweetheart," one reasoned, blue eyes glittering. He squeezed her hip, and ran his tongue between his lips. "Don't you want to have some fun? Are you frigid? That it? What do you think, John?"
"She should be grateful, no guys are ever going to want her," the one named John spoke softly, twirling her hair in his fingers. "No-one wants damaged goods."
Loki made himself invisible as he rounded the corner to watch the men.
The girl had tears streaming down her face, and her eyes were screwed up in terror.
And she was so petite.
She cannot be more than five foot two.
She could not fight them even if she tried.
Something inside him cracked, and his let his invisibility fade.
"Evening, gentlemen."
"Move on," the first man growled, without so much as a glance in Loki's direction. "This ain't your business."
"Oh, I think you'll find it is. Planning on getting your enjoyment, are you?" His voice was icy, an obvious warning.
"Fuck off, you little shit," the man snarled, finally looking at him, fury in his glare. Loki raised an eyebrow.
"Such eloquent words. And I am hardly little. Now, let her down. Do that, and I will let you keep your life."
John whipped out a gun and aimed it at him.
The god could not resist a laugh.
"Your mortal weapons cannot harm me."
As if to prove it, the gun simply melted in the mortal's hand. He jumped back in shock, dropping the melted mess to the ground.
The girl was staring through her tears, astonished.
"I repeat: let the girl down, and I will let you keep your lives," Loki said coldly.
The men glanced at each other.
They ran.
Loki smiled briefly, and turned to the girl.
She trembled, and her knees buckled.
He caught her before she hit the ground, and he shifted his hold so that he could lift her in his arms.
"Are you all right?" He knew that she was not physically injured – except for the bruising that would make itself known the next morning – but emotionally… Humans were so very fragile.
"Please put me down," she whispered. He frowned, unwilling to acquiesce.
"If I do so, you will –"
"Please put me down," she repeated, a note of steel in her still-weak tone.
"Of course." Relenting, he gently set her on her feet. She leaned against the wall, shivering.
"Thank you," she said quietly after a minute or so. He inclined his head.
Her accent… English. Yet this is America… they have different accents, yes?
Loki was abruptly, intensely, dangerously curious about her.
I want to know more. Yes. More.
He had never troubled himself with a mortal before… but she…
"Might I see you home?" He had a sudden urge to keep her safe, and at nearly one in the morning… well, the incident just gone had proved the dangers of travelling alone at this time.
"I don't even know who you are. For all I know, you could be as bad as those men you scared off – or worse. And how the hell did you melt the gun?"
Ah, bad. Now there's an adjective applied to me, so many times it's almost amusing.
He swept her a bow. "My name is Loki. I happened to be walking past when I heard your cries. Thus, I came to aid you. And I promise I am not a rapist. I have no taste for forcing the unwilling."
She eyed him, still wary.
"Loki?" Her tone was sceptical. "Loki, as in, named after the Norse god of mischief?"
He smiled in surprise. "You know of the Norse legends?"
My dad read them to me when I was a child. I was raised in mythology."
Short, sharp answers. Still mistrusting of him.
That's understandable. Very few would ever hold faith in me, least of all a stranger I met minutes ago.
"Ah. Then yes, you are correct. Might I know yours?"
She hesitated, even now cautious, before allowing one single word to pass her lips.
"Camille."
"Camille." He allowed the name to roll in his mouth. She ran a hand through her chocolate-coloured mane of curls, as if defensive.
"Yes. Problem?"
"No, not at all. It is a fitting name," he assured her with a faint twitch of his mouth. Her eyes narrowed.
"How did you melt that gun?"
He grinned widely. "Magic."
She rolled her eyes. "Right."
"Well, can you think of a plausible explanation?" He was enjoying himself far too much, but he refused to cease his game.
She grimaced.
"No."
He chuckled.
"There you are."
She sighed, her eyes betraying her weariness.
"If you've finished playing, I have to get home."
"Of course." He extended his hand as she pushed away from the wall, stumbling a little. She ignored the gesture, though her cheeks were a little pink. His eyebrow rose, but he made no comment. Instead he held out her bag. She took it, muttering her gratitude, and an unfamiliar emotion flooded his being.
Concern. I feel concern. For her?
"Are you certain I cannot escort you to your home?"
She shook her head, her eyes shimmering with newborn tears.
"I will be fine. Thank you for your help, but I… I don't trust you. I'm sorry, I just don't."
With that, she began to hurry away from him, quick, frightened footsteps.
He stared after her as she made her way along the alleyway. Something about her had struck him the minute she had begun to move.
Her gait was odd. Uneven.
Damaged goods…
The man's words echoed in Loki's head.
His eyes widened.
"Camille," he whispered. "What happened to you?"
A/N: I thought another chapter would get this story going! Thankies to those of you who have reviewed and alerted this! Hugs!
Lightning xoxo