Disclaimer: Nothing from Marvel or Thor or Avengers is mine.
Syn would never forget the day the princes of Asgard came to Vanaheim. The official presentation was to be the beginnings of a royal marriage, a symbol of the enduring peace between the Aesir and the Vanir.
The entire palace had been bustling with activity for weeks in preparation.
Syn's own preparations had started before dawn, on the day of their arrival, when she had been uncomfortably stuffed into a dress that was stiff and restricting and very different from her usual choice of bare feet and loosely-fitting trousers.
Mama had brushed her bright hair until it crackled. Then, after what had seemed like hours of poking and taming and yanking the unruly mess into some semblance of subdued order, she had finally been deemed acceptable.
Her three older sisters had been proclaimed far more than acceptable. To Syn's young, fanciful mind they had floated into the main hall like mist and cloud, in dresses of silver and white, all of them wearing their hair loose around their shoulders in the Vanir tradition. Their beautiful silver-golden locks were silky, with loose waves that did not need to be tamed into submission with pins and softly muttered curses.
Syn remembered twisting one of her own carefully prepared curls around her finger, in her usual habit, and wondering how she had ended up with so much copper and coil running throughout her own wily strands.
Freya had swatted at her hand. "A lady of Vanaheim does not toy with her hair."
"Oh Freya, she's probably just nervous." Sigyn had dropped to a knee in a flowing gown of moonlight silk, her luminous, beautiful blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"We must show our best this day, little minx," she'd added, before enfolding her in a forceful embrace that showed no concern for carefully pressed garments or smudged cosmetics.
Syn hadn't understood why her sister had been so sad in that moment until years later, when she herself had had to say goodbye to her beloved home.
But what her sister hadn't understood was that she hadn't been beset by nerves. Quite the contrary. She'd been near busting with excitement and curiosity. The moment Freya had been distracted with final preparations, she'd made her sneaky escape to the front courtyard, determined to get the first glimpse of the approach of the Aesir.
What she'd gotten instead was mussed hair and a muddied dress.
The trellis in the garden to the side of the main entrance had been climbed countless times. But never in such an unwieldy outfit.
Freya had been horrified to see her take her place at the end of the presentation line at her uncle's side, mere moments before the arrival of the Aesir. Frey had let loose a loud snort, quickly muffled, before offering his hand. She had taken refuge at his leg, swiping desperately at the smudges of dirt on her formerly pristine dress.
She'd been so busy trying to tidy herself, in a state of embarrassed shame, that she'd all but missed the ensuing fanfare she had so coveted. Her eyes had been fixed on her scuffed shoes, until the moment the hairs on her neck had stood straight on end, filling her with the vivid and uncomfortable realization that someone was staring at her.
She'd lifted her eyes to meet the demanding, intimidating gaze of the All-father himself.
This moment had etched itself so deeply into her memory that she had dreamt the scene throughout her youth.
He had stared, his one eye piercing her to her very heart. She'd assumed her appearance had drawn his attention.
But now, as she stared into Mimir's well, shaking with a cold that stilled her blood, she re-lived that moment from her past.
And saw herself, through Odin's eye.
But she wasn't a muddied little imp of a girl.
She was a woman fully grown, still clinging to Frey's hand, her hair, still a mass of coppery curls tumbling around her shoulders and down her back.
But she wore the green dress. Loki's dress.
She blinked, and the courtyard vanished. Now she saw herself standing somewhere she could not recognize.
In her hand she held something golden. A golden shard that gave off heat and yellow light and power. She squinted, tried to focus on the object. But the more she tried to focus, the farther away she seemed to get, and the golden glow expanded. It illuminated her face, growing ever brighter to encompass the lean dark-haired man standing across from her, head bowed.
She watched as he closed her hand around the shard and touched her face with his hand.
He looked…he looked almost…
She flinched in pain, blinking rapidly, trying to discern details that only blurred the more she pursued them.
A new light appeared, different from the golden glow. It felt menacing. Burning. It brightened painfully, blinding her to all else, until the image shifted yet again.
She now looked on Yggdrasil from afar, these coils of energy that spread throughout the cosmos, and they were filled with a golden glow. And outside of the circle of light generated by the world tree, there was nothing. Only ash and darkness remained of the world.
A world that had been destroyed.
She blinked again as the vision dissipated, and water filled her sight, flushed with swirls of crimson.
Pain sluiced through her temple. Her eye.
She felt the large hand pulling her head back from the fountain, fingers twisted cruelly in her hair. She breathed deep and found herself looking upon those red burning eyes again.
Filled with hate.
Filled with venom.
She felt the reassuring weight of a dagger in her hand. She had managed to pull it out after she'd been dumped unceremoniously on the cold, hard floor of the massive cavern that housed the infamous well.
Mimir had seen many things, but when she had looked deep into his eyes, she knew he was not going to keep his promise of letting her go after she shared her vision with him.
He was greedy for Vanir knowledge.
And Vanir blood.
She stabbed at his wrist, but he anticipated her move, and slapped her hand away.
The force of the blow from the massive giant sent her to the floor. She rolled quickly away from him towards a narrow tunnel she'd spied earlier, and left a double of herself where she'd fallen.
The distraction would be brief, and probably ineffective, but it gave her a small window.
And she had always been fast.
She moved quickly towards the tunnel and didn't look back, even at the sound of his enraged roar, keeping her focus on avoiding the treacherous patches of ice.
His little guardian stumbled in the snow.
Loki heard the thud as if it were right in front of him, and then he heard her soft mutter of pain, and one of the vile Midgardian curses of which she was so inordinately fond.
He shook his head in annoyance, despite the fact that no one could see it, and took a sharp left down a steeply inclined tunnel.
It was completely dark, but he needed no light to see.
The same could not be said of Syn, as she emerged from the darkness in front of him. She was looking behind her as she stumbled forward.
He quietly stood his ground as she barreled into his chest.
She shrieked, and whipped her head around, catching herself blindly on the lapel of his overcoat. She must have recognized him, for she did not struggle but simply seemed content to take a moment to slump against him.
He wanted to shake her, to seek out information imperative to their survival, but he was so horrified when he got a glimpse of her bloodied, broken face that he could only manage a shocked outburst.
"What have you done!"
She caught her breath. "We must get back to Asgard, Loki. Please."
And then her warm, delicate body became nothing more than a dead weight in his arms.
He stood there for what seemed like ages, holding her body in the cold dark.
Listening.
Waiting.
He could feel the other presence in the labyrinthine maze of tunnels.
It was rare for Mimir to leave his well deserted.
It was the perfect opportunity to slip in.
He shifted Syn's unmoving body against him, before lowering her to the floor and carefully laying her back against the frigid wall.
He had not gotten far down the narrow, frozen corridor when the sharp sliver of realization lodged in his back like a knife.
He had not felt warm when he held her.
He slid to a halt and focused on the coil of energy, so much a part of him now, adding to his magic and thrumming with power. And entwined throughout the energy, he felt the constraints of the harness.
Her link to Yggdrasil, joined with his own.
Her power, with the potential to augment his own.
It was dimming.
As was his own.
He stood there, in the freezing dark, faced with a choice he had no desire to make.
They moved as if of one mind, but the choice to move had not been their own.
They covered the land like a pestilence, legions of warriors from ages past, warriors who had given their lives for purposes good and evil. They gathered, their souls propelled forward by a force none could deny.
Syn saw them, greater in number than any immortal had time to count in the vast expanse of existence.
And in the distance, Asgard.
She screamed, and found her scream echoed in the face of a Frost Giant, his visage full of the fury of battle and terrible to look upon. He was covered in blood and gore and she almost choked on the scent of death.
And in the distance, her beloved Midgard, covered in frost and ice and snow.
And death. So much crippling death.
The giant seemed to sense her presence. He roared with such force she felt her chest tremble, his red eyes glowing with hatred as he cut her down.
She screamed again, her vision clouding with crimson, until the red color crystallized into another pair of menacing, venom-filled eyes.
Mimir.
He was almost upon them.
Blood-soaked hair blocked her vision as her world bounced and tilted.
She was being carried again, hoisted on a shoulder. Did the giant have her already?
No, his eyes were behind.
And gaining fast.
She screamed, and awoke with a start, finding herself not caught within the cold confines of the cave, but wrapped in the cloying embrace of luxurious midnight satin.
She sat up slowly, expecting pain, but only a shiver of cold greeted her as the lush bedspread slipped from her shoulders.
She took a tentative peek at her surroundings. She was sitting on an ornately carved four-poster bed positioned in the center of a circular stone room. She couldn't make out many details in the flickering shadows, except for the one and only source of light, a small lamp resting on a dressing table against the far wall.
She gingerly scooted to the edge of the massive bed and swung her legs over the side until her toes met cold stone. Padding slowly and silently across the room, she was unable to focus on anything but the lure of the light.
And the mirror that reflected it, the only other object resting on the table, as if in invitation.
She sucked in a breath as she got closer, and forced herself to look at her reflection.
She wasn't exactly sure what she'd been expecting.
Perhaps an ugly, twisting scar. Dried, caked bloodstains. Clumped and matted hair.
Not this.
She watched her own russet eyebrows lift in surprise, both golden eyes reflecting back at her, bright and startled. Her fair skin was smooth and unmarked, a healthy flush of color at her cheeks. Even her hair was clean and dry, falling in silky soft curls to frame her face.
She showed not a hint of her recent struggles. She couldn't help but wonder if it was a trick of the sparse light.
She also couldn't shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.
The darkness and shadows were wrong.
Unbalanced.
Menacing perhaps, in some capacity, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.
She suppressed a scream as Loki's reflection appeared behind her in the mirror. Before she could turn to confront him, he reached around an arm and covered her left eye with his hand. She was plunged instantly into utter and complete darkness, Loki's low voice the only harbor she could cling to in the rising tide of her alarm.
"I can heal the pain, take away the scars…but once you have given something of value to Mimir, it is not easily restored. I cannot create another eye for you. Only the illusion of one."
She reached up and clawed at his wrist, pulling his hand from her eye. She leaned forward to stare in the mirror again, poking at her cheekbone, pulling at her eyelid.
Everything seemed so normal.
Except for when she closed her left eye.
She breathed deeply in the dark, hoping to calm the fractured beat of her heart, and inhaled the wintry aroma of some spice that brought to mind the crisp conifers of the forest green. She thought she caught a hint of mint. She opened her eye and turned, finding herself trapped between his body and the table. She had to resist the ridiculous urge to lean closer and sample his scent again.
Speech did not come easy. "Thank you. For the eye and for….for saving my life at the well."
His gaze hardened. "Do not be so foolish as to presume any of my actions were for your sake, guardian. If you die, your power, this power that is rightfully mine, goes with you. If you are truly grateful, you can demonstrate this by telling me everything you saw when you looked in the well, and whatever you continue to see."
She swallowed. "What I continue to see?"
"In your dreams, and even in your waking moments, you will experience visions. You might say, in your quaint Midgardian way, that the well is a gift that keeps on giving. It is impossible to know for how long, and it is equally impossible to control when it happens. There are some circles that whisper of beings accomplished enough in magic to control the content of what is seen, but that is a moot argument to pursue here. You had a dream just now, did you not?"
She narrowed her eyes. "You were watching me sleep?"
"Someone had to do the watching, guardian."
She sighed. He was right. She did need to focus on her duty. "It is imperative that we return to Asgard. Where are we?"
"Where we are is not of consequence."
His defensive snap only served to stoke the fires of her curiosity. Everyone in Asgard suspected that Loki was in possession of a secret hideaway, where he honed his magical abilities and stored powerful artifacts. No one had ever laid eyes upon it. Intrigued, she took a peek around, hoping to get a glimpse of anything else as decadent as the massive bed she had recently vacated.
Broad shoulders moved to block her perusal. "Focus, Syn. The visions, if you please."
She swallowed and touched her fingertips to her temples. Her mind was full of sharp and jagged images, and just like shattered glass, they were difficult to piece together. A few, however, were as clear and vivid as the morning sun glinting off the armor of the enemy.
"I saw ranks of the dead amassing at Vigridr Field. I saw Jotuns invade Earth, pulling Fimbulvetr in their wake. Please, Loki. We must return to the palace. Ragnarok is imminent."
Loki looked decidedly unperturbed, waiving a hand in dismissal of her revelations. "The denizens of Hel leave their proper domain, the mighty winter of winters is brought upon Midgard. We have known for centuries these harbingers of Ragnarok. Now tell me everything you saw. No detail is insignificant. Each piece can have a greater meaning, some hint to gain me the knowledge of what I need."
Her frustration grew. "We're wasting precious time," she snapped. "Mimir can't give you back your soul."
His eyes turned as frosty as his scent. "It was not my soul I was seeking." He leaned forward, placing his hands on either side of her hips. "Odin will not give me knowledge of how to obtain the true power of the mark that is mine to possess, but the well could have. And you have taken that chance from me."
Her temper bubbled over, and she pushed against his chest to loosen the impromptu cage. "I was not the one to bring us to Jotunheim on the eve of Ragnarok. You care only for power. Does nothing else matter?"
He backed away from her towards the center of the room. His expression gave nothing away, but his voice was full of a kind of truth and conviction she was accustomed to hear only from the noblest of warriors.
"Not to me."
She sputtered, felt her anger flare again, and then die a sudden death. What must it be like, to have no other meaning, to have nothing else of significance or value but to be consumed by a lust for power? She sighed, and leaned back against the table, resting her head in her hand, ready to tell him whatever he wanted if it would speed their return to Asgard.
"Do you remember the first time you came to Vanaheim?"
She heard a quickly indrawn breath and looked up, only to find that he had blended seamlessly into the pitch and shadow, using the lamp at her back to his advantage, along with the black fabric of his Vanaheim clothing.
Syn hadn't yet realized the most recent change in her attire.
But his traitorous body had. It tightened in vicious response.
The mark, this conduit of energy that served as a link between them, magnified many things.
It had proved a difficult distraction ever since he had healed her wounds, the process draining him in a way he had never before experienced. It felt as if he had been leeched not just of physical energy, but of something far deeper and dangerously more personal. It had given him the ridiculous urge to climb into bed with her and lose himself to the lure of sleep, the kind of warm and nourishing sleep he had never before tasted.
And now it seemed to be manifesting as lust, hitting him hard and mean. His obsession with possessing her power was now a savage desire to possess her. It was as if the energy of his body recognized its mate, the energy that was hers.
He wanted these powers joined.
He wanted their bodies joined.
He clenched his teeth against the dangerous kind of heat that danced through him like wildfire, almost daring to chase away the constant, bitter chill. He focused on her sudden shift in conversation. He welcomed any distraction from the raw ache, even if it came from vivid reminders of past mistakes.
From a time when he had bothered to place value on something other than himself.
It had come as a surprise to the All-father to discover that the Lady of the Vanir had chosen the younger of the two sons of Asgard for her precious daughter. And while Thor had certainly been relieved to escape the bonds of marriage at the time, the slight remained a blow to his massive pride.
Thor had never been overlooked, had no experience in that particular feeling.
Thor had been easy to ignore.
More alluring and difficult to deny had been the absurdities of his own mind.
Thoughts of a companion all his own. Someone to share a life with. Someone who might keep the darkness at bay. Someone he had hoped, with a desperation that now shamed him, would banish the lonely coldness of his existence.
Fool.
There was no someone to keep the cold at bay. Only power would suffice for that purpose.
He shook himself from the haze of the past. "Why do you ask this now?"
She winced at his harsh tone, cocking her head in his direction as she used his voice to find him. "I saw it. In the well. I think Odin saw something that day too. Something in me."
Her eyes were startlingly large in her face, flickering with confusion and memory.
"Tell me," he demanded.
If he hadn't been watching her so closely, he might have missed her slight hesitation, before she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin an imperceptible fraction.
"I saw myself, through Odin's eye, on that day. At first, I was in the courtyard, but as an adult, not a child. I was wearing your dress. And then I found myself standing within the world tree, holding a golden shard. I wasn't alone. There was a dark haired man across from me and he….he…"
She blinked, and looked for a moment lost as she searched the shadows for him again. "It was you. And you…we had a shard. A golden shard. One to fight the horror of the end times. Odin knows something of the location of this shard. We must return to Asgard."
It angered him, in that moment when he so wavered on the precipice of his own irrational desire, that she thought she could lure him back to the palace with half-truths. "Why are you so full of care for Asgard? Think you they return the sentiment? Did they not cast you out?"
His barb flew from the dark and, unerring, found its mark. He could feel her anger rise like it was his own, sense it filling her, though she tried to fight it. "And who should I care for, you, my true betrayer? At least Asgard has noble purpose in this time of calamity, instead of greed for ever-increasing power."
He snorted, and moved out from the shadows to the very edge of the small circle of light generated by the lamp. "On that score alone their hands drip with more blood than I could ever hope to achieve. Why do you judge them by one standard and save another measure for me?"
He watched her hesitate. Syn was loyal to Asgard, but the gifts of truth-seeking ran deep in her blood.
She seemed to come to some sort of a decision, pushing herself up from the table to stand in front of it. His eyes lowered of their own accord, caught unprepared by the compelling lure of her body. The light shining behind her illuminated her every curve through the thin fabric she wore. He realized his mistake when her eyes furrowed, as she looked down to follow the heat of his gaze.
It seemed that she was about to realize exactly what it was she was currently wearing.
Syn gasped when she saw exactly how much she wasn't wearing.
Her dress turned armor had been replaced by a thin-strapped nightgown made of a deep emerald fabric, something that reminded her of lush silk. It felt buttery smooth against her skin. The material was undeniably rich, clinging to her curves and ending mid-thigh. It left nothing of her body to the imagination. Under Loki's penetrating regard, she unconsciously tugged at the thick, curled ends of her hair in a vain attempt to provide additional covering.
A lady of Vanaheim does not play with her hair.
She dropped her hands to her sides and squared her shoulders at the memory of her mother's soft rebuke. But in light of her current wardrobe, she felt no closer to being a lady. She forced her chin up another notch, refusing to feel embarrassed for something over which she had no control.
Loki smirked, shifting from angry taunts to playful teasing with startling swiftness. "Alfheim tailors would weep to handle even a few threads of the fabric you wear. It is very rare, and only obtained by means of magic. You are very, very welcome."
His mockery threw in stark relief his earlier dismissal of her gratitude, as if the gift of the dress was somehow more significant than that of her life.
"Give me back the full dress. Or better yet, the armor," she gritted out.
The smile he sent her would have looked genuine on just about anyone else. "Such choosey demands, from a beggar. If you do not find enjoyment in the garments I provide for you, perhaps you should endeavor to supply your own."
She was aware that her temper would only fuel his amusement, but she was too frustrated to care. "Is this some sort of mad game for you? Thank Yggdrasil that my sister never had to experience your perverted idea of a wedding gift. You are completely unprincipled."
"A man with no principles would have left you no covering at all."
His voice had lowered to a growl, full of both threat and a heady sort of promise. A shiver of expectation ran down her spine. She refused to analyze if it was fear or desire she needed to conquer.
Loki stalked towards her with the lazy grace of a predator confident in his own territory. She felt more vulnerable with his leisurely, steady approach than when she had faced the imminent threats of Mimir and Thanos. The moody flickering of light was unevenly reflected in his frosty green eyes, making him look as maddened as she had claimed him to be.
She panicked, and felt the energy build within her chest in response, seemingly outside of her control. She wasn't sure if it was dread or anger or even her own forbidden hunger that triggered the mark, or even some precarious concoction of all three.
Her predator almost upon her, Syn held out her arms in protest. She had planned to push him away, perhaps unwisely choosing fight over flight, but as she gathered her strength she felt the energy gather as well.
She pushed, and felt the energy tightly coil and drain in a burst of burning light. She could only watch in horrified shock as Loki was thrown back with some unseen force, his mask replaced by slack-jawed surprise, which turned to a grimace as he hit the far wall with an ominous thud.
Syn gasped, her guilt immediate. She rushed forward and fell to her knees at his unmoving side, splaying a hand over his chest. Relief filled her as she felt it rise and fall in a steady rhythm, in stark contrast to her own thundering pulse.
"Loki," she whispered.
His dark, sooty lashes rested against his skin, highlighting the pallor of his cheeks. In his current repose, he looked almost vulnerable. She reached her trembling hand towards his face, felt the silky skein of his hair tickle her fingertips. She was about to give into the urge to brush back the rebellious strands that had fallen forward when a groan escaped his lips.
His eyelids opened, giving her a glimpse of the pain within before he blinked and masked his torment.
"It seems the energy favors you," he rasped.
He took several deep breaths, and then propped himself forward with a grunt of pain.
"Help me gain my feet, guardian."
He had spoken sharply, which was to be expected, but she was still utterly taken aback. Loki never sought help. She almost wanted to analyze meaning behind the moment, but she was too consumed with the difficult task of leveraging his heavy frame to the massive bed. She didn't have the strength to lower him, but she tried her best to provide a solid anchor as he maneuvered himself down.
Except he did not let go of her arm as he descended.
She shrieked and tried to stop her fall so as not to hurt him further, but found herself caught in his embrace. He deftly rolled her on her back and shifted his body over her, his weight pushing her deep into the plush bedding.
There was no trace of his earlier pain. Only victory danced in his half-lidded eyes.
"Confess, Syn. Do you fall prey to every mad pervert in Asgard, or do you save it all for me? You must stop making it so easy. It is no longer a wonder to me that you fit in so well among the gullible humans."
Her jaw dropped. With all his machinations it was a damn wonder to her that he could still manage to find opportunities to toy with her. It seemed as innate to his nature as her desire for him was to her own.
She pushed at his chest with her palms, and when that wasn't enough to dislodge him, she bent her leg to gain the leverage to roll him off.
But the action only caused his slim hips to nestle deeper within the warm cradle of her own. With the silky material of her nightdress riding dangerously high on her thighs, his soft Vanaheim trousers provided only a thin barrier between them.
Her fickle body reveled in the feeling of his heat and hardness against her core, her lust shockingly immediate. She suddenly felt as if everything in her body was reaching for him, humming with an energy that really was his alone to control.
She tried desperately to fight the aggressive heat of desire that flooded her body. But her body knew what it wanted.
It recognized him, in some elemental way.
She shook her head in silent denial as she watched his eyes change, the smug victory replaced by smoldering intent. "Don't you dare kiss me!"
He went still above her. She turned her head and sighed in something that wasn't quite relief, only to feel the scrape of his teeth against her neck.
It should have been impossible, that such a slight touch could sear her with such awareness, as if she were being branded. She gasped. "What are you doing?"
He nipped at her again, harder. "Complying with your demand."
His voice had lowered to a gruff whisper, leaving behind all traces of scorn or laughter, caressing her more softly than the warmed silk against her skin.
"I would comply with all of your demands. Is that not what you wanted, guardian, an obedient charge?"
That voice, just a mere rasp of sound, but full of smoke and heat and promise.
She pushed against him, but she knew she was already lost. He was impossibly hard and heavy against her. "You know what I meant. This is not the time for games."
"I am not gaming. You almost condemned me to incalculable torture at the hands of Thanos. It would behoove you to learn to be more specific with your demands."
His mouth moved to her ear, his teeth sharp against her skin as he nipped at her lobe.
"Come now," he coaxed, "does the kiss of my teeth count? Perhaps we should explore this intriguing dilemma further, for the sake of precision."
She wanted to answer with a biting reply of her own, but like the alluring call of the siren, his voice tempted her with her own downfall.
"If I touched just my tongue to you, would that be a kiss?"
It was no siren that whispered so dangerously in her ear, but the Prince of Darkness himself. If this voice offered her an apple, she would likely break just about any divine ordinance, without thought of repercussions, for a single, forbidden taste.
"Here, Syn. If I touched my tongue to you, here?"
He moved his hand up her side to caress her breast through the delicate fabric, causing a shiver of expectant pleasure that left her swelling and peaking. He smoothed the silk taut with his palm before brushing the pad of his thumb over her already aroused nipple. She was unable to deny him a soft moan of pleasure, nor could she stop herself from arching into his touch, her mind driven to distraction with thoughts of all the places she'd like him to put the velvety heat of his quick-silver tongue. She barely resisted the urge to rub herself against his leanly muscled thigh and prove just how easily she could be convinced to take back her earlier, foolish demand.
As if he could sense how close he was to another victory, he stilled his movement, his control, as always, impenetrable.
"Only a coward refuses to answer, when the answer does not suit the coward's preference. Can you not at least find the nerve to look at me, guardian?"
His will impossible to refuse, she turned her head to find his face mere inches from her own. The sparse flickering of light cast his beautiful features into shadow, making him look like the dangerous, fallen angel she had fancied him to be. She realized with a rush of damning clarity that her vulnerable soul was threatened far more perilously in Loki's arms than it had ever been at the hands of Thanos.
"You seem to need time to consider the matter further."
His eyes held her, pinned her more securely than his body as he shifted his weight, smoothing his hand down her trembling body.
"Shall we move on? We can always go back and revisit any questions you missed."
The words were taunting, but his tone still held the caress of a lover. His questing fingers traced patient circles from her belly down to her mound, each one closer to the core of her than the last. She waited in agony for that smoky caress of his voice. She knew he could feel her desire in the dampened silk between her thighs, but she was past the point of stopping him.
He was so close.
And then he stilled again.
She knew what he wanted.
Her surrender.
She had to voice it.
"Loki, please..."
His groan interrupted her, and she thought he would kiss her then, or touch her.
But there was no relief for her ache.
She opened her eyes to find him frozen in place, his head cocked to the side, his tenseness pulling her from the haze of desire.
And then she heard it.
She realized, with painful and sudden clarity, that it was not a moan that she had heard. The sound was equally low but reverberated from a distance, and grew louder as the seconds passed.
It was the blast of a horn.
One that she had never thought to hear.
No one did.
Gjallarhorn.
Heimdall was sounding the Herald of the Twilight War.
Ragnarok no longer belonged solely to the realm of vision and prophecy.
It was here.