Let me just say, because it has been upsetting me this entire week: I am so incredibly sorry for the lengthy delay in updating. I try to update every 5-6 days, but this was the proverbial week from hell (and it will endure for the next two weeks) due to the vast amount of midterms and papers I've had to (and still have to) write. So I apologize for that. I promise to do my best to stay ahead of the next chapter and get it up sooner.

Your reviews were delightful to read. Every single one of them warmed me and kept me smiling throughout this past week and all its exhausting tribulations.

*This chapter is rated higher for violence and possible language, but nothing too terribly graphic.

12: Fallen From Grace

Loki was reclining on his bed, flipping through the well-worn pages of one of the tomes that Miss McPherson, despite the court ruling against it, had brought to him in confidence. He desperately wanted to immerse himself in the philosophical inquiry of the plot but found his mind, as it had been for the past two weeks since the attack on Asgard, preoccupied by the image of a pretty pair of brown eyes.

His attempt to read as a means of distracting himself was proving futile. With an irritated huff, he shut the book and stashed it beneath his pillow, out of sight of prying eyes. She was constantly in his thoughts as of late and it irked him. He had tried to overlook the appeal she had over his normally removed emotions, but his efforts to distance himself from her were to no avail. Whenever she was within the same room as him, his fingers itched to touch her. Her presence in his life had changed him in ways he had not thought possible. Her distress caused him distress, her injury left him livid.

He did not know what it was about her—her kindness, her vulnerability, or her naivety—whatever it was, his reason was lost to it. When Thor had brought her to his cell the day of the assault, the sight of her battered body had left him feeling sick with fury and injustice. He had wanted, so incredibly desperately, to take up that ridiculously oversized sword that Miss McPherson had used to protect herself, and storm from his room to fight, against his better judgement, alongside his brother. It was only her need to have her injuries assessed and administered to that had kept him in that cell.

It disconcerted him, how her pain had evoked such incomparable rage within him. He had never before felt so strongly for someone. Deep within his chest there was a powerful desire to protect her from unnecessary evils. But he knew that was unreasonable of him. He had no such control over her, no legitimate reason to care for her to the degree that he did.

He opened his emerald eyes once more, recalling the sensation of supporting her small frame beneath his arm. She was far weaker than he, and the act of supporting her had filled his chest with pride; a sense of territorialism had swelled within him. He closed his eyes again and recalled the dangerous sensation of their noses brushing, their faces so close, those innocent, wide brown eyes tempting him, alighting within his chest an overwhelming desire to ravish her.

Loki sat up sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. These were the thoughts he tried desperately to ignore. Loki wanted her—wanted her companionship, her attention, her affection. This pining was fruitless, he knew, nothing of the sort could ever occur between them, not while he was her client. And in a month and a half she would be gone from his life forever. He cringed at the hollowness that descended over his stomach, a terrible emptiness at the thought of losing her companionship, a companionship that, despite his best efforts to denounce, was something he had come to value.

He cursed his sentimentality. He really had gone soft.

A sharp knocking came at his door. Loki rose from the bed as the door opened. It was Treasach. The young guard had brought him his lunch, as he often did when on duty. Loki had never cared for the youth. He was an arrogant, self-centred, entitled lad with an inclination to use violence as a means of expressing himself. Loki was no fool either, for he knew fairly well that Treasach cared very little for him. In fact, he would go so far as to say that the young guard despised him—though he wouldn't be the first to harbour such resentment for the mischievous god.

"Your lunch, princess," Treasach said with snide satisfaction as he dropped the silver platter upon the table, sending it clattering noisily.

Loki glared at the man, not moving from where he stood by his bed. They eyed each other levelly, silently challenging the other to look away first.

"You may leave now," Loki gritted out, agitation stirring in his chest.

"I'll do as I well please, sweetheart," he taunted. "I don't take orders from criminals."

A scowl lit Loki's lips then, indignant. "Your impudence does you no credit, you disgrace," Loki spat, his silver tongue assuming a life of its own. They were cruel words, to be sure, be he did not regret them.

Loki was taken aback when the young man began to laugh. It wasn't a warm sound, no, it was mirthless and cruel.

"What is that amuses you?" he asked darkly, advancing cautiously towards the guard.

"Your hypocrisy," he said shortly. Loki started at his reply. "You call me pathetic, yet here you reside, locked in this sad little hole, deprived of company and your usual entertainments. You're so desperate that you've lowered yourself to the level of a simpleton mortal man."

The rage swelling in Loki's chest threatened to explode. "What are you talking about?" he snapped.

Treasach shook his head self-importantly. "You deluded fool," he said with a shake of his head. "You've taken a mortal woman to your bed. There is nothing more degrading than that. You are no better than your brother," he snarled callously.

Several equally infuriated reactions competed with each other within him. First, to call him a fool… The nerve, he thought angrily. And then to compare him to his brother—for despite their rocky reconciliation he still resented much of what his brother did, what he represented. But it was neither of those injustices committed against his character that irked him to the edge of blind rage. No. It was the way he so blatantly assumed that he had ill-used Miss McPherson to satisfy his bodily appetites, to demean her and imply that her mortality made her a disgraceful choice of companion.

There was a time when he would have agreed without pausing to bat an eyelash. That time was no longer. He had changed, and yet he had not. He might still harbour dislike for mortals, but the mortal woman who was committing six months of her life to help him, as underserving as he was, to return to his place in the royal family of Asgard, was different from the rest—better, purer somehow. He would not allow an ignorant scoundrel like Treasach to speak degradations against her person.

"It would be wise," Loki said menacingly, "for you to take your leave now. You have overstayed the entails of your guardian duties."

Treasach did not stir, his bitter smile growing much to Loki's frustration.

Fists clenching and brow creasing with his effort to stay calm, he said: "Leave now, before I make you." His voice was deep, lowered with threatening promise. His patience was tried.

The guard cocked his head. "And how would you manage that? Let's consider it shall we? No magic, no weapon, oh, and let's not forget, prohibited by the codes of you sentence to misbehave. Seeing as there's only the two of us and no witness, whose account will they believe? A convicted mass murderer with aggression issues, or the victimized guard who was only performing his duty."

"You're pathetic," Loki snarled.

"That makes two of us then," Treasach replied nonchalantly. "But you're right. I should leave. I don't want to intrude when your pretty little strumpet comes to part her lovely legs for you."

The frayed thread that had been restraining Loki's anger snapped like a brittle piece of wood, reason and caution tossed carelessly to the wind as he launched himself at the guard with a roar of outrage. Both of his pale hands gripped the collar of the guard's shirt that was protruding from beneath his armour, lifting the shorter but bulkier man clean off of his booted feet. With another growl of uninhibited wrath, he threw him mercilessly into the wall where he held him, suspended. Loki seethed with unrepressed ire.

"You disgusting bastard," he snarled, slamming him again into the wall. Treasach's mouth popped open in shock, eyes going out of focus from the brute force of Loki's handling. "How dare you speak of her in such a degrading manner?" He shook him with enough force to rattle the largest, brawniest of men's bones. Adrenaline pounded through his veins like a drumbeat; enduring, resounding, and steadily driving. His body quaked with anger, each nerve ending trembling like an earthquake's epicentre.

"You've gone soft for her, haven't you?" Treasach taunted, his cold eyes finally returning to focus as he frowned distastefully at the enraged prince before him. "I suppose the mightiest of immortal men fall from the highest precipices. But you didn't stop when you hit ground. You fell right through to the flaming pit of shameful disgrace," he sneered.

Loki's nostrils flared, emerald eyes burning. He thrust the guard back into the wall, drawing back one hand in an iron fist , ready to strike him.

Treasach eyed the fist, a satisfied smirk on his lips. "I knew you wouldn't hold out on me much longer," he said levelly, his coal-black eyes locking with Loki who towered above. "You haven't really changed. You will always be a heartless, bloodthirsty bastard and traitor both to your kin and Asgard. Hit me. You know you're dying to."

Loki's fist tightened, his straight white teeth grinding together. Treasach was bringing out the worst in him. The cunning young guard knew exactly how to rile him. The overwhelming desire to beat him bloody and broken was coursing through him like searing, white-hot molten metal. He had thought he had changed, but the swiftness with which he was overcome by the violent reaction suggested otherwise. For the briefest of moments he was struck with clarity. It was short-lived, but impactful. He could not break his sentence. He recalled Miss McPherson's words: "I think that whoever was involved might be trying to rouse Loki's fury. I think that they want him to mess up, to be blinded by anger and wind up incarcerated and without magic for eternity."

If he so much as struck Treasach he'd end up imprisoned for the remainder of his lifetime. The courts were rooting for him to fail. Without witness, no plea of self-defence would stand in court. Loki closed his eyes briefly, the adrenaline pumping through his body dwindling, his violent fury dissipating, but the anger still simmering. He would not disappoint Miss McPherson. He would not disappoint himself.

He lowered his fist.

Treasach looked stunned when Loki released him with one last, rough shove. "You surprise me," he said with a hint of disappointment.

Loki stood taller, staring arrogantly down his straight nose at the guard. "You aren't worth my time and effort."

The younger man's nostrils flared with sudden anger. In a motion too abrupt and swift for Loki to deflect, Treasach threw a ferocious punch at his jaw, landing his meaty fist on Loki's left cheek, his head snapping to the side. Loki stumbled back a step, his face now aching dully from the blow. His green eyes darkened as he rubbed his cheek.

"Fight back, you coward," Treasach said, his voice low and deadly.

Loki ran his tongue along the back of his teeth, his gaze never straying from the guard. He would not waver in his resolve. He would not sacrifice his imminent freedom for the fleeting pleasure of beating the pompous scoundrel to within an inch of his life. He did not stir.

"Fight back!" Treasach shouted, shoving Loki in the chest. "Fight me!"

Another punch hit him in the gut, and then again. When the guard lunged for his face, he shielded himself with his forearms. It took every ounce of self-control to refrain from fighting back. The willpower it required to not rip every single one of Treasach's bodily appendages from his obscenely muscled body was infinitely more exhausting than the event of being beaten black, blue and bloody.

Loki blocked another blow to his face with an open palm, but Treasach kicked in the back of his knee, causing him to topple forward onto his left knee. He abruptly received a fist to his windpipe. Loki wheezed, knocked onto his backside, lungs screaming for air.

A steel-toed boot struck him in the chest and he gasped in pain, rolling onto his hands and knees. Another kick landed painfully in his chest, and then another, still more fierce than the last. Loki's vision spotted with black. He was aware of a painful stinging in his chest signifying what was most likely a broken rib or two. He coughed, struggling to his feet, but an elbow to his temple knocked him back to the ground, momentarily blinding him. The back of his head struck the floor and his teeth knocked together, cutting open his lip. He turned his head to spit out blood.

A moment later and he was grabbed by the collar and thrown roughly against the wall. He could have laughed at the reversal of roles, but he choked on blood instead. A rivulet of blood ran down his forehead and into the corner of his eye. The acidic fluid burned his eye, causing him to tear up. His vision blurred as he tried to make eye contact with Treasach.

"Do you feel better?" Loki asked, spitting out more rancid-tasting blood.

Treasach responded by punching him hard in the gut. Loki gasped, curling forward at the waist as his chest burned painfully. "Is that all you got," Loki breathed venomously. A blow to the face shut him up.

"It all depends on how much you can take," Treasach leered back.

Loki tried to grin, but his face was swollen and numb which made the feat a challenge. He grimaced instead. "You hit like a court elder," Loki taunted daringly. He was in no position to rile the young guard, but if he couldn't fight back, then he could surely get some kicks out of verbal sparring.

The next few minutes were an onslaught of endless, tireless assault. When the young guard slammed him into the wall one last time, he could hardly see through his hazy, half-lidded eyes. He had lost track of the number of hits he'd taken. The pain coursing through his battered body all amassed together into one sickeningly debilitating agony. He felt disgraced, undignified. He truly had plunged from grace.

For Asgard, Jotunheim, and Midgard to see him now, the mighty and monstrous god of mischief, reduced to a pitifully broken man. They would surely cheer on his imminent ruin. He deserved it after all. What was the Midgardian expression? If you give it you have to take it? Something along those lines. He couldn't really recall as his thoughts swirled and blended into an indiscernible whole.

The deliberate, drawn sound of a sword being unsheathed penetrated his muddled mind. He blinked back the haze, his clouded, emerald gaze falling on the foot-long dagger that Treasach had withdrawn. He looked from the shining blade to the black eyes of its bearer that were ablaze with sadistic pleasure. Loki swallowed back a protest. The weapon hovered between them, a death sentence waiting to be carried out. He would not beg for his life; never had he begged for anything before. He was not about to start now as he hovered on the precipice of death.

Treasach pressed the tip of the blade to his collar, carelessly nicking the skin. Loki winced. His body ached, immobilized by searing pain. "Anything to say before I run you through?"

The battered god licked his dry lips, the steely taste of blood lingering like corrosive on his tongue. He blinked his bleary eyes. For once he had nothing to say, no will to speak. He closed his eyes and large, chocolate doe-eyes swam across his vision, staring back at him, embracing him. He clung to those eyes, finding strength in their intricate depths. The tendrils of his consciousness reached towards them with desperate fervour, like the grasping fingers of a wanting babe. The large, warm eyes beckoned to him like a sweet salvation. If only he could somehow manage to hold on to them.

The tip of the dagger pressed into his left shoulder, splitting his leather garments beneath its sharp, pointed edge. Loki's breath shuddered in his chest, his head drooping forward as consciousness began to evade him. A fierce stab, an all-consuming pain, and then his world went black.

OOOOO

Evelyn ran a tired hand over her face as she ascended the spiral staircase. It was so familiar to her now that she could easily walk it with her eyes tightly shut. She was dreading the evening because it was the designated day of trans-realm communication. The last time she had spoken to Natasha had been several days following the Frost Giant attack. Needless to say that the ever-calm Black Widow had lost her renowned 'cool' upon learning that Evelyn had nearly lost her head at the hands of a Frost Giant.

"I'll kill him," she had vowed venomously.

"Kill who?" Evelyn had asked cautiously.

"Thor. He swore not a hair on your head would be touched." Her eyes had darkened with supressed anger.

After several long and tedious minutes, Evelyn had finally pacified Natasha's bitterness to the best of her ability, convincing her that is was really her own fault for walking into the midst of danger. The task had proven difficult as Natasha's mind, once determinedly set, was a difficult one to sway. They had signed off, but not without Natasha issuing a promise that should anything else happen she'd demand to be brought to Asgard in order to protect Evelyn herself, since, as she had put it: "Thor's an incompetent oaf of a demi-god whose brawn is slowly eating away at his corroding brain."

The words had been harsh, but Evelyn knew well enough that Natasha was just being protective of her. In all honesty, she wasn't averse to the idea of having Natasha as company for the next month and a half, but on the other hand she was aware that the following fifty-something odd days would be crucial for Loki's final report to the court. He needed to keep his track-record clean and undergo some major changes if he wanted to be released back to his rightful place as a respected prince of Asgard.

Evelyn was the first to admit that Loki had proved that, in his own distanced and brooding way, he could be considerate, kind even. However, those occasions had been far and few in between. She needed to crack the hard shell of his removed exterior and reveal the true, raw Loki that had been carefully concealed beneath it. He could do it. She had full confidence in him. The only doubt that she had was whether he wanted to be redeemed. In his mind, the effort would be futile, but giving up would not accomplish anything. She desperately wished that he would find it within his character to choose to strive for redemption. For now she could only hope he would persevere, and that was a hope she optimistically clung to.

Evelyn finally reached the landing of the tower. She glanced fleetingly at Treasach who was leaning casually against the wall, thick arms of sinewy muscle crossed over his massive chest. His beady eyes were dark and his lips set in an arrogant, self-satisfied smirk. She quickly averted her gaze.

"I'm afraid the dear prince isn't in top form today," he said provokingly, his low voice echoing through her chest cavity like thunder. Evelyn didn't reply and swiftly let herself into the room, shutting the door swiftly behind her. She paused, facing the door for a moment, stilling her breathing. Treasach always managed to leave her nerves aflutter. She knew he didn't particularly favour her, and she did not trust him.

When she finally turned to seek out Loki, her dark eyes widened in horror, and her stomach clenched as a wave of nausea overcame her. It was an image that would forever be seared into her mind—the sight of Loki, bruised and bleeding, slumped unconscious against the furthest wall, his bodyweight held up by a dagger impaling his left shoulder. A horrified sob escaped her lips as she stumbled forward.

Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, her throat constricting with fear. Was he even breathing? She rushed to his side, cupping his cold cheek in her warm hand, and pressing her middle finger and index to the pulse point on his jaw. The dull thump was there, but laboured. Panic struck her. His handsome face was battered, blood dripped from his temple and shoulder. There wasn't time to speculate about what had happened; she needed to get him down from the wall.

Running to the bed, she pulled off three of the pillowcases and ran back to his side. She was running on adrenaline now, she couldn't think about anything but getting him down, staunching the blood flow and getting help. His life may depend on her. Immortal or not, she wasn't going assume he'd survive a wound that likely would have killed any mortal man in minutes.

She cautiously wrapped her left arm around his narrow, muscled waist, pressing her chest to his as she held him tightly. Something wet seeped into her blouse—blood. Her body went cold and rigid. He must have several broken ribs as well. Refocusing her attention to the task at hand, she then took the hilt of the dagger in her right hand. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily and steadily as she tried to push back the nausea and faintness that was overcoming her. She needed a clear head for what was to follow.

"Oh, God. Oh, God," she mumbled faintly. Her fist tightened around the hilt, her breathing coming out in sharp pants. "It's okay, it'll be okay. Come on, Evelyn. You can do it," she said to herself. "Count of three. Right. One," her hand tightened around the hilt, "two," she gripped his waist tighter, fiercely clutching his emerald ensemble with her cold, trembling fingers, "three." With as much strength as she could muster, she pulled the dagger clean from his shoulder, blood spewing in her face from the motion. She tossed the blade aside and pressed her open palm against the bleeding, gouged flesh.

Loki's green eyes flew open with sudden lucidity, his gaze sharp and clear. He gasped in pain, his legs crumpling beneath him as he slumped forward into her. Evelyn fought to keep him upright, desperately clinging to his waist, but his weight pulled them down the wall. He collapsed limply beneath her and Evelyn managed to fall to her knees, straddling his thighs, her left arm still supporting him. The crimson blood was spreading beneath her palm, crimson rivulets dripping down between her splayed fingers.

She swayed suddenly, closing her eyes, her nostrils filling with the metallic scent of blood.

"Focus," she whispered to herself, opening her eyes again, only to be met with a familiar and oddly comforting searing emerald gaze. She licked her lips. Loki's eyes went in and out of focus, his head drooping forward. Evelyn pushed him upright. "Stay with me, Loki. Look at me," she pleaded desperately. He blinked, gaze bleary. Evelyn lightly smacked his cheek. "Come on," she urged. "Don't pass out on me, you insufferable git."

Loki's eyes focused on her, a strangled chuckle escaping his bloodied lips. He began to choke, closing his eyes momentarily in pain. Evelyn released her grip around his waist, took his right hand in her own, replacing her palm with his over the wound. He opened his eyes. She pressed his hand firmly over the gash with her own bloodied hand. "Press hard," she ordered. He nodded mutely, eyes never straying from her face.

While he held firm to the wound, Evelyn made quick work of folding the pillowcases into makeshift bindings. She neatly wrapped the first one around his shoulder, knotting it loosely.

"When I pull it tight, remove your hand," she instructed.

Loki nodded weakly

"This might hurt," she warned, looking apologetically into his dim eyes.

"As opposed to?" he managed in a strangled voice that might have sounded half-amused if not for the underlying agony lacing his words.

Evelyn blushed. "Right," she mumbled, straightening her glasses nervously. What was a little more pain? Without further hesitation she pulled the knot and he let his hand fall away. Loki's face blanched, turning first deathly white, then a sickening shade of green.

He gasped, releasing a ragged breath. Evelyn made quick work of securing the other two makeshift bindings around the wound, ignoring his protests and moans. He would bleed out if she didn't staunch the blood flow until he could receive medical treatment.

"Okay," she breathed. "We need to get you to the bed," she said aloud.

Loki didn't reply. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the wall. Evelyn felt fear grip her heart. She couldn't let him pass out on her. Her rudimentary knowledge of medicine had taught her to keep a gravely wounded individual from falling asleep. She didn't know why that was, but she was desperate to see his emerald eyes open.

"Loki." She shook him somewhat roughly.

He grunted but did not open his eyes. Frantic now, she took his bruised face between her two hands, caressing his pronounced cheek bones with her thumbs. "Stay with me, you infuriating idiot," she pleaded, jostling his head a little. His breathing was shallow. His eyes remained closed. "Damn you," she murmured, wrapping her arm around his waist. With strength she knew not she possessed, she lifted him halfway to his feet. His dead weight slumped against her, winding her, but she wouldn't let go.

When still he did not stir, Evelyn pressed her thumb into his shoulder wound. He cried out in pain, his head falling forward, forehead pressing into the junction of her neck and shoulder. Laboured pants wracked his body, his hot breath fanning across her skin.

"The bed," Evelyn ground out against his weight. "I can't carry you by myself," she pleaded.

He nodded against her shoulder and, with surprising strength, grabbed her shoulder fiercely with his good hand, pushing himself the rest of the way to his feet. With his arm about her shoulder and hers about his waist, the pair stumbled over to the bed. Evelyn carefully lowered him onto the soft cushions, situating his long body across the emerald sheets. She was aware that they were both sweating with exertion. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, unknowingly smearing blood across her forehead.

"Lie still. Don't go to sleep. I'll get Treasach to call for the healer," she said quickly, turning towards the door.

She nearly fell backwards when a forceful grip snagged her wrist, jolting her to a stop. She turned back to Loki who lethargically shook his head. "No," he rasped. His emerald gaze had darkened with anger and resentment. It amazed her that even in his broken and beaten state he could still manage an intimidating glower.

Evelyn frowned at him and she was suddenly struck with realization. How had she been so blind? Treasach was on duty. No one could have gotten by without his approval and no one with access to his cell would ever beat him so brutally. Her dark eyes narrowed with rage. "I should have known," she hissed.

She tore her wrist from Loki's fierce grip, briefly meeting his gaze.

"Don't," he said, struggling to sit up. "Get Thor."

Evelyn hardly heard his words. She was already marching towards the door with a vengeance. The door flew open, slamming against the wall as she stormed out of Loki's cell. Her body was tense with anger, her fists clenched at her sides. Her dark gaze met Treasach's, who merely crossed his arms pompously over his chest, a smug grin plastered to his ugly face.

"You disgusting, boorish, hypocritical cretin!" she cried.

Had she been less blinded by her rage, Evelyn might have noticed that the door did not shut securely behind her. But then again, had she taken notice and closed it, her story might have ended a lot sooner than anticipated.

"How dare you!" she cried angrily, pointing a trembling, accusatory finger at him. "You nearly killed him!"

Treasach glared down at her, unmoved by her antics. "Nearly? What a shame," he mused.

Fury burned through her blood as she advanced towards him in a state of fitful rage. The calm, reserved, level-headed Evelyn was lost to primal ferocity. "I demand that you call for medical attention."

Treasach pushed himself away from the wall and stepped towards her, his thick, muscled arms falling to his sides. He sneered at her, pausing a foot away before leaning his head towards her. "I don't answer to harlots."

Indignation swelled in her chest, and before she could stop herself, her hand flew out, striking him across the cheek. He barely twitched. Evelyn's eyes widened in shock as her mind caught up with her actions, but she was just so enraged by the injustice. Seeing Loki, normally so resilient and stern, an immovable pillar of solitude and strength, beaten down and vulnerable was disconcerting. Every minute was precious to her if she wanted to ensure Loki's full recovery.

"You bitch," Treasach growled angrily. Evelyn didn't have time to anticipate the backhanded slap that struck her fiercely across the cheek and sent her sprawling against the wall. She caught herself with her hands and cautiously touched her stinging cheek. Blood coated her fingers. She spun back around to face him, tears stinging her eyes from the lingering impact of his assault.

He was upon her in a heartbeat, a small dagger pressed to the column of her throat, his other hand knotted in her hair, pulling her head back to expose the delicate white flesh. Evelyn struggled against him, gripping his weapon arm with both of hers as she tried to push the steel blade away.

"Beg for your life you filthy whore," he hissed, his foul breath warming her face as he leaned his head precariously close to her own.

Evelyn gritted her teeth when the edge of the blade scraped her neck. Goosebumps shot across her arms and shoulders at the sensation. Her chest tightened with terror making it difficult to breathe, let alone speak.

"It's so easy," he breathed against her face. Evelyn recoiled, trying not to gag. "Human life is so frail. Your lives last seconds in comparison to ours. Fleeting. Insignificant." Evelyn whimpered when he drew a thin laceration along the base of her throat. "You aren't going to beg? What a shame. I can always blame your death on Loki," he said as he manipulated the angle of the dagger in his hand to press its cold tip to the hollow of her throat.

Evelyn closed her eyes, not wanting the last thing she saw before dying to be his disgusting, satisfied face. There was a sudden grunt, and the caress of the blade was gone. She opened her eyes and saw Loki's back as he pinned Treasach to the opposite wall, throwing punch after punch at his face and chest with his one good arm. Evelyn stared on in shock, her mind slowly processing the repercussions of Loki's actions. He had saved her life, but in the same instant had broken the rules of his confinement. Dread swelled in her chest.

Loki kept hitting him, over and over again, sending blood spewing from the guard's battered face. Treasach wasn't fighting him, and Evelyn realized he was unconscious, suspended by Loki's grip around his neck. She stumbled forward on shaky legs. She grabbed his shoulder with trembling fingers.

"Loki," she said fearfully. He didn't hear or chose to ignore her. He punched Treasach again, splitting the flesh on the guard's chin. "Loki, stop! Stop it!" she cried, tugging on his shoulder. "That's enough! He's unconscious!" she pleaded, tears in her eyes. She grabbed him by the arm before he could throw another punch.

He abruptly released the guard who crumpled lamely to the ground. Evelyn released Loki's arm, staring at the back of his glossy black hair while he leaned forward against the wall. She could hear his heavy breathing. Concerned that he was going to pass out again from disturbing his wounds, she gently, albeit hesitantly touched the back of his shoulder.

"Loki. Look at me," she breathed.

Slowly, he turned. Evelyn gasped in surprise, hand falling away from his shoulder as she stumbled back a step. "Oh my," she whispered.

He was blue—the same vivid blue that the Frost Giants who had sacked the city two weeks prior had been. He met her gaze but his normally rich, emerald eyes were instead a fierce, crimson red. Evelyn swallowed back the dread that rose within her. This was Loki, she reminded herself, not some maniacal, blood-thirsty Frost Giant. Her experience with the Frost Giants had been a horrible one and it was hard to separate the memories of them from Loki's similar appearance. She swallowed back her doubts. Loki had just saved her life. She trusted him. He may be blue, but he was no Frost Giant.

"Loki," she began, but he cut her off.

"I told you I would disgust you," he said bitterly, clenching his bloodied fists.

Evelyn shook her head. "No. I – I was surprised," she admitted. "You're still you," she said confidently. "You saved my life."

Loki frowned at her. "So we're even," he said gruffly, leaning tiredly against the wall and closing his eyes.

Evelyn advanced towards him. His wound was bleeding through the three layers of bindings she had put. "You unsettled the wound," she chastised, gently touching the bandaging. She looked up only to be met by his fierce red eyes.

His gaze shifted hazily towards the staircase. He swallowed anxiously, seemingly conflicted. Evelyn followed his gaze, immediately detecting his train of thought—his escape lay just feet away.

Evelyn shook her head severely. "Don't you dare," she whispered sternly. Loki turned his gaze back to her. "You're almost there," she said

Loki stared into her eyes with defeat. "I won't see daylight after this," he said harshly. "I just broke the terms of my imprisonment."

Evelyn was about to reply, but an agonized groan escaped the god's lips, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull as he collapsed. She managed to catch him about the waist, both of them crumpling into a battered heap on the ground. The sound of many heavy footsteps echoed up the stairwell, filling her head with their measured thumping, their rhythmic pounding building in her brain until her temples throbbed with an oncoming headache.

Loki was unconscious in her arms, his head resting limply against her shoulder. The blue gradually faded from his skin, replaced with sickly white. Tears filled her eyes. What a mess, she thought desperately. She gently rocked him in her arms, not wholly aware of her actions, clinging to him as if somehow it would solve the disastrous consequences that would result from the past hour's events.

The footsteps finally reached the landing, and Evelyn, through her dazed haze could detect several dozens of guards filing into the open space of the landing. She didn't know what they had expected – probably a madly rampaging Loki. What they hadn't anticipated, however, was a beaten, unconscious guard, a broken and bloodied murderer, and a young mortal woman clinging to him, eyes wild with desperation, as if her life depended on it.

This was a hard chapter to write. I tried to deliver various layers of emotion all the while advancing the underlying intrigue of the plot. Hopefully it conveyed all it set out to do.

I hope it was worth the tedious wait. Leave a review if it so pleases you!