Chapter 3

If you asked me earlier today if I thought I'd be standing on the road in the pouring rain, inches away from someone who claims to be a god, I'd call you crazy. Absolutely insane. Now it all doesn't seem so far-fetched anymore.

We stand in silence for a long time, both trying to out-stare the other. He may be trying to break me, but I am still stronger than him.

"We should go back to your home," he finally suggests. "Mortals don't last long in the rain."

For once he's right. I'm already suppressing the need to shiver. He probably thinks he can lead me back, but I surprise him by stepping to the side and leading the way down the muddy road. I don't look to see if he's following; I know he is.

I'm relieved to be back in the warm cottage, but my clothes and hair are soaking wet, my feet dirty from running through the forest barefooted. I remember throwing my glasses away too; thank goodness I packed my contacts. For a moment it's not like I have an uninvited guest, but it becomes a reality once again when he follows me inside. He slicks his wet hair back with his pale hands.

"I think I'm going to change," I spit out.

"Not a bad idea," he muses, and cautiously takes a seat on the couch. He's as wet as I am, but I have many others things to worry about besides damp furniture.

I do my best to towel-dry my hair in the bathroom as he waits outside the door, and am relieved to finally be alone in my room to be changed. This is why I come out to the cottage every so often; to get away from all of the people in such close proximity in the city. I still remember that's not the case now, but panicking and trying to run won't get me anywhere. I've learned that much.

I step out of my wet clothes and slip into a loose grey t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama shorts, the usual night time uniform. I leave my jeans and shirt on the back of my sitting chair to dry off and return to the living room. He's still there, sitting on my couch.

"I think I'm going to go to bed," I sigh. "It's been a long night."

He immediately rises to his feet, looking far too enthusiastic to go to sleep. "Excellent. Though I usually didn't see much need for sleep in Asgard, it seems that being without powers has made me quite tired. I will join you then."

"Excuse me?"

"While I do trust that you won't run away again," he starts, "I'd prefer to be in the same room as you, Brynn."

I know it's an argument I can't win. I could put him in the guest room, but he'd probably find his way into mine. "Do you mind sleeping on the floor? I have a sleeping bag, and I'd be more comfortable if you were there."

"Very well," he nods. "Would you happen to have some dry clothes for me to change into?"

Fortunate for him, a few of my dad's clothes are still lying around the cottage. I'm sure there is a pair of pajama pants in there. "I think so. You can change while I set up your sleeping bag."

I'm unrolling the musty sleeping bag at the end of my bed while he changes in the bathroom. I can't say I know for sure why I'm doing this for someone who won't seem to leave, but I blame the lack of sleep mixed with too much wine. I just want the day to be over.

He enters my bedroom as I'm fluffing my pillows, and I admit to being a bit shocked that he is not wearing a shirt, only a loose-fitting pair of pajama bottoms. As much as I don't want to, my eyes can't help but fall onto his built frame, supported by a strong chest and arms.

His voice snaps me out of my trance, thank goodness. "So this is a sleeping bag?"

"Yes, I hope it's alright," I offer, rushing into bed. The sooner I fall asleep, the better. My next words come out a bit awkwardly as I reach for my lamp. "Well...goodnight."

I turn off the lights before he's settled on the floor, but I'm still convinced that I can wake up from this strange dream. But no matter how tight I close my eyes, and how many times I toss and turn, time continues to pass as I lay in bed awake, unable to drift off.

"Are you still awake?"

I nearly jump out of bed at the sound of his voice; I'd forgotten he was lying at the end on the floor.

"Yes," I mumble into my pillow.

A long silence passes until he speaks again. "Perhaps a story will help both of us get to sleep."

Bedtime stories? I suspect that if I say no, he'll tell me anyways. "It might work."

He clears his throat before he begins. "I come from a place far from here, in a different realm entirely. Asgard, they call it."

"You've told me that already," I point out.

He seems unfazed, and continues. "Though I'm on the outs with everyone there now, I was a prince there. Even though I was a member of the royal family, I always felt that I didn't belong. My older brother, Thor, seemed to get the majority of the attention. It wasn't until much more recently that I discovered I'd been adopted. My real parents hailed from Jotenheim, and they were frost giants."

The way he speaks of his life, apparently in a different realm, I notice something in his voice. Sadness. Perhaps he's not as inhuman as I'd thought before. Could I be misunderstanding him, just as his family had?

"Do you have a story?" he asks me.

"No," I mutter. Maybe I do, but I can't say I'm in the mood to tell him. "But that didn't make me tired."

"Me neither."

My words once again move faster than I could think. "Maybe it's because you're on the floor. You can come into bed, if you want."

He doesn't say anything. He rustles the sleeping bag about, and I peek over my shoulder to see him getting to his feet, just able to make out the movement of his upper body in the near-darkness. Still silent, he walks over to my bed and pulls back the top blanket before climbing in, keeping a respectful distance between us.

And we don't say anything else. Once he's next to me in the bed, I suddenly find that I am able to let my eyes flutter closed and fall asleep.