Chapter 4
The book is a thick hardback and it hits Loki with its corner, so hard the 'thunk' echoes. The book hasn't even hit the floor before my rage inconveniently beats a retreat, leaving me cold and horrified by my actions.
I know the men outside are having some reaction to all this, but all I can see is Loki and the way he's stiffened in place. Then slowly, deliberately, he places the gauntlet back on the table and turns around to face me. The look on his face makes my blood freeze.
His eyes are like icy chips of pure malice. Then he smiles, bearing all his teeth, and cocks his head slightly to the side in an unnerving twitch of displeasure. "Now that wasn't very clever."
"I-I…" I stutter helplessly, unable to get any further before he steps over the felonious book and starts walking towards me with the calculating stride of a predator. "Wait, wait!" I shout, raising my hands out in front of me as I back away, "I'm sorry, okay, I'm sorry!"
And I really am. I'm only just beginning to realize how merciful Loki has been with me so far, his twisted idea of 'fun' and harsh, grabby fingers aside. Judging by the psychotic smile on his face I'm positive his leniency has come to an end and I'm about to be murdered, through no one's fault but my own. And that's the worst part – the aching pit of regret at the realization that I might have been allowed to live if I'd just been less of an impulsive moron.
Loki ignores my shaky apology, still stalking me determinedly as I try to maneuver myself so he can't back me up against the glass. I want to summon back the rage, the hatred that had spurred my idiocy in the first place, but I'm too afraid and all I can do is cry some more. He follows me doggedly until I've backed myself up next to his bed. If I can just jump over it, maybe I can make it to the bathroom and shut myself in. It's my last, feeble hope for survival.
But either Loki realizes what I'm about to do, or he's just lost interest in the 'chase', because the moment my muscles tense to make the leap over the bed, he strikes.
He's faster than I could have possibly imagined. I don't even have an opportunity to scream before he's lunged, and wrapped a single hand around my neck. The back of my knees make contact with the bed and I'm forced down on my back, Loki pushing himself between my legs and leaning over me with a snarl on his face. He rests his left hand beside my head, creating an indent in the mattress that I would have slid into if not for his firm grip on my throat.
The position he has me in is like a trigger for pure, primal female terror. I start to thrash wildly, and that's when his grip starts to tighten, from pinning me down to suffocating the life out of me. I push against his upper body with my hands, but it's like trying to budge a brick wall, merely disguised as a man in leather. I start to beat my fists uselessly against his chest. He's not even trying to hold me off. I'm making horrible choking sounds as I try to scream and beg for my life around his stranglehold.
It hurts, like nothing I've ever felt before. It's more than just the agony of his deathgrip – it's the burning fire in my lungs that starts out innocuous but is soon taking over all my other senses. I need to breath, I need air!
When his face starts to blur beyond the usual from my tear-streaked vision, I realize I'm close to passing out – or death. I give up trying to beat him off, which had done nothing but piss him off and waste precious energy so far, and instead wrap my hands around his wrist. I try to pry him off, but it's like a kitten trying to pry off a bear. A weak, dying kitten.
I only manage a few frail tugs before my grip on his wrist weakens and my eyes begin to flutter. I make one last attempt to call him off, and it comes out as a fragile squeak.
And, miraculously, it works. Loki scowls fiercely, but the cruel fingers around my neck are gone. It takes me a moment to realize I'm free before I begin trying to suck in precious air. I roll onto my side underneath him, pulling my legs up from around him to curl into a protective ball, cradling my neck with my hands while I gasp and choke. The air isn't coming and for a heart stopping moment I think it's because he's caved in my throat.
He's still leaning over me, the hand that had been killing me moments ago now on the other side of my head, caging me beneath him. He's staring down at me with a completely unreadable look on his face while I try vainly to breathe again.
But I can't. I'm past the point of no return and the asphyxiation is irreversible. If I don't do something, I know I'll die. So I grab the arm in front of me and tug on it desperately, looking pleadingly up at him over my shoulder. I whine hoarsely, begging him without words to save me, to undo the damage somehow.
Loki sighs loudly and exasperatedly, as if my predicament were a nuisance of my own making. His one hand roughly grabs my arm, pushing me over onto my back again and then his other hand is back over my throat. I whimper and widen my eyes up at him beseechingly – no, please, don't do it again! – but instead of the pain I expect and fear, I feel a warmth spread into my skin where he's touching me. The pain doesn't recede much, but blessed air suddenly floods my lungs and I inhale so powerfully I almost black out from the sudden influx of oxygen. My chest heaves up and down with my renewed respiration.
Then he grips my jaw firmly, forcing me to focus on his face. "I trust I won't have to repeat this lesson, mortal," he says quietly, his soft, pleasing voice an awful juxtaposition to his brutality.
I shake my head, curling my fists into the blankets beneath me. Loki nods and pats my cheek with a condescending smile. "Marvellous." I lay limp on the bed as he straightens up, following his retreat with my eyes. He walks back over to the coffee table and picks the gauntlet back up, much to the men outsides renewed interest. "Now where were we…" he mutters to it, turning it over in his hands and giving it his undivided attention.
Those beautiful, elegant hands had brought me to the brink of death and back. I can't bear to look at them, or him, any longer. I gingerly sit up, cradling my throat. I swallow and wince powerfully at the pain. Whatever Loki did to help me breath again hasn't healed the damage, only mitigated it. He clearly wants the 'lesson' to be a lasting one.
If I hadn't hated him before, I do now. But the evolution of my hatred is nothing to the evolution of my fear, so I'm not anywhere near tempted to say what's on my mind.
That he's a monster. Worse, that he's a bully. A common thug. There's no way that book hurt him. And even if it did, there's no way it hurt him enough to justify his attack. He half killed me because he could, because he probably enjoys throwing his weight around. His intelligent, sophisticated veneer is nothing but a disguise, hiding a brutish, petty man who pretends to be better than he is, all the while just waiting for any excuse to explode with violence.
And he does need the excuse, so he can keep playacting the put-upon victim, the poor deceived princeling. He finds out he's adopted and tries to kill half his family. A guard is a bit rude and he attacks him with magic, disabling him for the rest of his life. I throw a book at him and he almost strangles me to death. I'm beginning to see an ugly pattern of disproportionate retribution.
And the worst part is how justified he obviously feels. If anyone's actions today are justifiable, its mine. After all, he's the reason I'll never be able to read again. And he should know that – Fury had promised he would tell him. So either Fury had lied, Loki had forgotten, or he gave me that book deliberately to torment me.
I'm fairly vibrating with helpless anger, but somehow I don't think it's the latter. There hadn't been nearly enough attentiveness there for it to have been deliberate. And Loki doesn't seem like the forgetful type.
Which leaves only one explanation. Fury lied to me. He never told Loki what he'd done.
The evil bastard has no idea.
A/N: Hey guys? Do me a solid, and if you like what you see, tell me. My self esteem needs it, I kid you not. It's taken a pounding this last year, and the last chapter was the first time I'd written anything in over nine months. Over NINE FREAKING MONTHS PEOPLE.
But anyway, shameless review begging aside, I should say that this will be a slooowwww buuuurrrrnnn, and an angsty one at that. I love that shit man.