Prologue

Pain was a familiar companion, one that I had long accepted would be a constant. I had forgotten what it was like not to hurt. I still was not prepared for the tsunami of agony and loss that slammed into me, the current grabbing me in a Titan's grip, sweeping me away. I was drowning, lost in a vortex of death, of the screams of trillions of voices, the waves crashing into my mind and pulling me deeper, deeper, deeper into the abyss until I was trapped, unable to tell up from down. Not that I had been able to tell that for months, or maybe even years, by now. Not with their hooked claws ravaging my mind on a constant basis, feeding on all of my self-doubts, forcing me through a mental gauntlet where black was white, right was wrong, truths were lies, and everyone I ever loved was gone.

I knew the moment when everyone I loved was truly gone. Their voices were among many, so many, in the tidal wave of screams burying my psyche.

After that, I got my wish. There was no pain. There was nothing. I knew nothing. It was oblivion and it was Hell, barely better than the claws and the twisted labyrinth my mind had become.

There was no telling how long I was in that state. A few minutes? Days? Years? Decades? Time had no meaning in Hell. Time didn't exist, nothing existed, there was only the darkness, the screaming silence of the void. I screamed, a sound that wasn't a sound, a gesture without meaning.

I didn't want to leave.

Warmth came, warmth and softness. A hand stroked my filthy tear-stained cheek, lips and tongue pried my mouth open. A taste flooded over my own tongue, filled my throat, suffocating, sent electricity into my sinus cavities.

I opened my eyes against the glare of the first light I'd seen in forever. A beautiful face, dark blonde hair over a sapphire gaze. Blood covered his face, poured out of his nose. I perceived other wounds. One wing had been ripped off. A gaping hole in his chest was the fatal one.

"Live," he rasped and then fell.

And I screamed.

Fire arced through me, and I howled, my back bowed and my limbs rigid. Lightning zapped my bones and flames consumed every cell. Where I once saw only darkness, I now saw light, blinding and nerve-searing. It bathed me even as it became me and I became it, the light and the fire engulfing my very being, my heart, mind, body, and soul.

It was unrelenting agony.

It was glorious.

There was nothing again. After a while I slowly cracked my eyes open. I saw flames that became more defined as my vision cleared. I tried to move but my muscles screamed at me. My very bones hurt, but I knew I had to move. They might come back.

There was no they however. Just scorched ground and bodies. Some of them at least were them but not all.

Get out, run, while you still can, before they return, before their hooks dig back into your mind and send you under...

No. It didn't matter how much I hurt, I had to get away. I ran. Instinct took over and I tore blindly down the rocky corridor, running through flames and smoke without a care, way past caring about being burned. No burn could come close to the suffering I'd already endured.

I saw light and I ran toward it. I was running too fast and crashed into the stone walls numerous times. A particularly sharp stalagmite sliced my hip open and my blood gushed all over my pelvis and down my leg, soaking the ground I ran on. I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.

I heard voices, shouting. They knew I was free and were coming for me. No! I turned away from the voices and ran, the stone walls forming a maze that didn't quite rival my inner labyrinth.

I turned a corner and saw another light. I ran into it without hesitation.

I was falling, falling, falling through cold and whirling snow, the air rushing past me as I plummeted out of the gray sky and into a thick drift of white.

Darkness again, briefly. Then a voice.

"Stephen, she matches the energy signature you picked up."

"How the hell did she survive falling from way up there?! She should be splattered all over!"

"Very nice, Rhodey. Doesn't matter how she survived; she looks like she's in bad shape. Bucky, help me clear this debris so we can help her."

"Don't!" The sound of wind rushing was followed by a thunderous boom as something landed hard. "It could be dangerous."

"Thor is right. That isn't a woman."

"Wait, aren't you a doctor? What do you mean, she's not a woman? She sure looks like it to me. I'll prepare the jet so we can get her some medi-" That was from Rhodey. Rhodey sounded very snarky. Under other circumstances I might have liked Rhodey.

"She doesn't need it and thank you I am aware of what she looks like, but I'm telling you she's not a-"

I opened my eyes and stared at them. The one who was speaking immediately shut up and stared back at me.

He had to be in his 40s or 50s at my best guess. Black hair with streaks of gray at the temples framed a lined face with deep blue eyes. A goatee adorned his chin, but the most striking feature was the scarlet cloak that billowed about his slender frame in the winter breeze. The expression on his face as he studied me was wary, matching the one on the face of the large man with the shoulder length dirty-blonde hair and a beard that would do ZZ Top proud, wearing leather armer over a body that looked like it was in that limbo between being out of shape and just starting to get fit again. His most striking feature wasn't his red cape but the huge battle-axe that had lightning dancing around the blade.

I did not like the way he held that axe as he stared at me with that look in his eye. Didn't like it at all.

The other men just seemed to be confused and at the same time had some serious White Knight syndrome going on. The man closest to me also sported deep blue eyes but his were a little bit softer than the Cloak Wearer. His kind face was topped by blonde hair and his body was well defined under the tight blue outfit with an American flag stamped across the chest. Next to him was a brunette man dressed in black, with a metal arm holding some debris.

There was an African American man whose head was the only body part visible, the rest of his body covered by a bulky suit of some type of armor. Another more colorful suit of armor was worn by another middle-aged Caucasian man with a goatee.

They were all staring at me, and all were tensed up and ready to move tow—There wasn't enough air. Why wasn't there enough air?

"Hey," Blonde Blue-Eyes tried to get my attention with a voice he obviously decided was soothing. "Hey, it's alright. We're here to help."

"Rogers..." Cloak Wearer's voice was cautionary as he flicked his arms up and golden circles with symbols floating within them ringed his hands.

Cloak Wearer was honest at least about his intentions. Blonde Blue-Eyes was wearing a friendly face, but...

He crept closer. I took two steps back. My body trembled violently.

So did the snow.

Armor 1 and Armor 2's faces both vanished under visors built into their respective suits. "Cap, it's not looking good, back off," Armor 2, the one with the more colorful armor, was stating.

Blonde Blue-Eyes wasn't listening. He stepped closer, reaching out towards me...

No. No don't touch me. It was getting hot. I was burning up, and I still couldn't get enough air.

"Her eyes," Bionic Arm pointed out, then let the debris he was holding drop.

I jumped with a startled cry, and Blonde Blue Eyes grabbed me.

Chapter 1

Three months later

I stared at the ball of brilliant white energy, my forehead prickling as beads of sweat broke out under my bangs. My arms weren't getting tired from holding my hands up for so long, but I hated sweating. I wished that had gone away with the zits.

Can't win them all.

My lower lip was caught under my teeth as I continued to concentrate, my spine tingling as I felt Stephen watching me. Judging me. After a few more minutes he called out. "Okay, I think we're done today."

I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding and let my arms fall to my sides while the energy orb vanished. I fell hard into the chair Stephen used magic to call behind me at the same time he did those irritating spacial shifts that I had by now grown familiar with. One minute we were in the practice room and the next we were in his office, his desk between us as he lounged in his leather high-backed chair. Two cups of steaming tea appeared, even though he knew I wouldn't drink it. I didn't eat nor drink since I no longer became hungry or thirsty.

"Don't know why we keep doing this," I remarked as I started pulling the pens out of the pencil holder on Stephen's desk. "It's obvious I'm not any good at this."

"It's been two months. Many people study and practice for years before they can so much as use a sling ring. You're doing fine." Stephen watched my hands as I began sorting his pens by color. "I mostly have you come here to check up on you."

Well at least he was honest about that. Of course, he had to be, since he knew I would know anyway. Even when I was human, I was a very powerful receptive empath, which meant that no one could hide their true feelings nor intentions from me. It was almost impossible to lie to me, even now when I was still overwhelmed by other sensory input. "I'm fine," I told him as I lined up pens, using my keen eyes to judge them level.

"Do you want to try that again without lying?" Stephen had his eyebrow raised and was giving me The Look.

I shrugged as I went from sorting the pens by color to sorting them by Clicky or Twisty. I was starting to drive Stephen bananas doing this. Even if I couldn't feel it I could tell because I saw that slight twitch his right eye acquired when he was just a little annoyed.

Good.

"The headaches are easing up. I've started carrying an iPhone with some white noise tracks programmed into it, and I've been using that to help me deal with the constant noise." I was still getting used to my enhanced senses, and it sucked. The enhanced hearing alone was enough to make me burst into tears every time the cops pulled someone over nearby, but the enhanced sense of smell was a nightmare. I could smell rat droppings, rotten food, mildew, dust, and urine everywhere in the city. I could smell when someone just had sex. I could smell when someone just used the bathroom. I had never fully understood just how disgusting the world could be until I started smelling everyone and everything in it.

"Mmmhmm, have you slept?" Stephen's sapphire gaze bore into me while he sipped tea.

"Why? I don't need to." Clicky or Twisty was done. What was next? Amount of ink left? Too difficult. Brand? Now there was a challenge.

I saw the disapproving frown out of the corner of my eye. "Sleep isn't just to cure physical exhaustion but mental as well. You have been through some very traumatic experiences in a short time. Sleep helps our minds work through our issues. I believe you can benefit from it."

"But that's human minds, right? I'm no longer human." I began sorting the capped pens by brand.

"It hasn't been that long and you clearly still have the mind, and the heart, of a human." Stephen tapped the pens. "Obsessive behavior like this for instance is a symptom of many emotional disorders that I would normally recommend seeing a professional for."

"I'm not seeing a therapist. There aren't any therapists who could deal with my shit anyway," I said, scowling at the pens.

"None that could relate to your unique situation, no, but it would be helpful to talk to anyone who specializes in helping people deal with trauma." Stephen sighed. "I will level with you Abriel. I am worried. You are wound up tighter than a bedspring and are primed to snap. If you don't do something sooner or later someone will get hurt. We've already seen what can happen when you lose it. When you first arrived here you almost killed Captain America. It took Thor to restrain you and it was still a long while before you calmed down. There've been other moments since then...none as severe but someone with your power and strength cannot afford to carry on as you are. You're a ticking timebomb."

I had been fiddling with a pen, twirling it in my fingers, but now I squeezed down on it and snapped it in half. Good thing it was dried out. "I'm. Fine. I'm just not ready to talk about all of it yet, okay? I'm still in mourning for fuck's sake, give me a damn break." I could feel tears stinging my eyes and I was getting annoyed. I was not going to cry in front of Stephen Strange. "Thanks for the lesson, and thanks for the advice—I think. Are we done now?"

Stephen was gazing into my eyes. "There's that human heart I mentioned," he murmured.

He wanted to get up and hug me, comfort me. He made no move to do so but I felt his intent.

He knew better. I left before he forgot that.

I combed the leave in conditioner into my hair and looked at my reflection without truly seeing it. I knew what it would show anyway.

One would never know that anything about me was different looking at the outside. I still had mousy dark brown hair with bangs and Irish fair skin with a small scattering of freckles across my nose. I had a slender and shapely body of average height that was just starting to gain a little muscle from my workouts in the Avengers gym. An oval shaped face with a narrow chin topped my slender neck. The dark hair reached my waist though I was braiding it more frequently to keep it out of the way.

My best feature were my eyes. They were a deep green, a pure green. Most people with green eyes had a hint of brown or blue to the irises so they weren't strictly green. Mine didn't, they were as emerald as the Isles my ancestors had resided in.

What was missing where the once ever-present bags under my eyes courtesy of my seasonal allergies. I no longer had allergies because my immune system no longer overreacted to every little mote of dust or pollen spore. The acne was gone. So were any uneven spots in my skin. I no longer really had to wear makeup even.

The hair still frizzed in rainy and humid weather, hence the conditioner. My muscles no longer fatigued. I no longer needed to sleep. I no longer felt the pangs of hunger or thirst. But I still sweated and still had to shave my legs. Life wasn't always fair.

I tried like hell not to think about what brought me here. I found that if I did dwell on it that I ended up in a bad place which everyone wanted me to avoid doing. It was hard though, since the changes in my body were a constant reminder. Everything around me was as well.

This world was so different than my own, but there were enough similarities to remind me of home. I had never been to the New York of my world, but I knew enough about it to recognize landmarks and street names. This New York had a Statue of Liberty just like mine. It had a Yankee Stadium. It had a Memorial since Nine Eleven had occurred on this earth just as it did on mine.

My world and this one both had the musicians I liked to listen to, the actors I liked to watched, the same movies and TV series that had been my favorites, yet my world didn't have a Stephen Strange, Steve Rogers, or Tony Stark. My world had me but on this one I didn't exist.

My parents didn't exist here.

My lower lip trembled and my breath hitched. I pressed my face into the towel I had used to dry off after my shower, the one that I had bunched up in my hands without conscious thought. I tried to breathe, fought the tears that wanted to burst out.

I fought for a long time.

The apartment Tony got for me was a one bedroom on the second floor above a bakery. The bakery closed at two in the afternoon and the owners didn't return until four in the morning when they began preparations for the day. If I still slept it would be nice to wake up to the smell of fresh bread just out of the oven.

There were two apartments above the bakery. The occupant of the other apartment was never a problem.

Stephen had offered to let me stay in the Sanctum but I declined. I knew how he had really felt about having me close to all of those artifacts 24/7. He had made the offer to be polite. Besides if I had to be in Stephen's presence around the clock, I would have wound up putting the question of whether or not I could die at my own hand to the test.

I sat back in my chair with my eyes traveling over the page the book was open to but not seeing the words. I was too busy grimacing at what I was feeling from the neighbor. The nightmares were bad tonight. I felt fear, anger, guilt, self-loathing. I could picture him tossing and turning, sweat soaking his sheets and pajama pants, and knew the moment he woke up gasping and frantically looking around.

He was slowly coming to grips with where he was and realizing that it was a dream. Those days were over and that was not him anymore.

I began a mental count in my head and checked again that the coffee table held what would be required. I licked my lips and swallowed to wet my dry throat.

The door was unlocked and it now opened slowly. He was trying to be quiet which was silly. I was sitting right here and if I had been in the other room, I would have heard the door open no matter how quiet it was. I would have heard him walk in no matter how silent his footfalls, known him by his unique scent. A mix of metal, cut grass, and the tang of citrus.

Besides he was forcing air in and out of his lungs and the sound was enough to wake the dead. I didn't look up as he approached. If I had he would have turned around and walked back out and that wasn't what he needed tonight.

He stopped by my chair and towered over me, his hands, both bionic and organic, closing into fists then unclasping over and over again. I could smell his sweat and his effort to breathe evenly. His blue eyes burned holes into me from a chiseled face framed by dark hair that was recently cut. His entire body was quivering, his bare upper body displaying his straining abs and pecs. His back was no doubt taut enough to bounce a quarter off.

Neither of us spoke. We never talked during these nocturnal meetings.

After a few minutes I closed my book and glanced sideways at him. I quirked a brow in silent question.

He took a seat on the sofa.

I looked at the coffee table, changing my mind. Nope, those were too heavy and not what he needed tonight. This was a really bad nightmare. He needed a lighter touch. Nothing too fluffy, that would just upset him.

I got up, ignored the King and the Martin on the table, and reached for one of Patricia Briggs' werewolf books on the shelf. One of the Mercy Thompson series. Nice and light, but not too much, and certainly better than a girl watching her father get beheaded or people dying of a super flu.

I sat back down in my chair, opened up the book, swallowed again to clear my voice, and began to read aloud.

Bucky fell back asleep after five chapters.

The late-night visits had started shortly after we both moved in above the bakery. At first, I had been flummoxed by the unexpected drop-ins. Bucky had not said one word to me since I arrived on this earth and nearly killed his best friend. I was even more confused when he never said anything after coming into my home, just either grabbed a book after I began leaving them out on the coffee table for him or, if the nights were really bad like tonight was, laid on the sofa while I read to him.

Then I realized that he came to me rather than going to Steve because I didn't require conversation. He needed another presence, a human presence, to ground him after the nightmares, to provide an anchor to reality. He needed to hear someone's voice, be around someone, anyone. But he also didn't want to talk, and anyone else would have insisted he talk.

I was fine with not talking. I was content with just reading with him in the same room. Silences that would be awkward for other people weren't awkward for me. In fact, I preferred them. I found that just the sound of me breathing was enough to calm James down and provide reassurance that he wasn't alone. On the bad nights I was sure that I could read the phonebook to him and he wouldn't have cared as long as he could hear my voice.

He probably could have used a hug or some sort of touch but with me that wasn't going to happen.

He probably didn't want to wake Steve up either since it tended to be two or three in the morning when he burst into my apartment. He knew that I didn't sleep so he wasn't worried about waking me up.

I dressed and left the apartment with James in it. He would lock up for me after he woke up. We both had copies of each other's keys for emergencies. I suspected it was for his sake more than mine.

The bus didn't go to the building that the Avengers were using as their temporary headquarters. Stark had sold his Tower awhile back and the Compound upstate was now a crater, courtesy of a battle that took place months before I arrived. Steve had decided to hook me up with a car as a "perk" of the job he had given me as part of his efforts to make sure he could keep an eye on me at all times, and in his infinite wisdom he had procured a 1986 Rabbit that consumed oil at a terrifying pace and barely made it uphill as it smoked and gurgled.

It could have been worse. I was actually shocked he hadn't gotten me a Pinto.

I muttered my daily—almost hourly at this point—prayer of "please don't let this be the day it bites the dust" and slipped my key into the ignition. Thankfully it started and I made my slow, smoking, choking, leaking, gurgling way to the old manor that Howard Stark once used as his New York home, loaned to what was left of the Avengers by his son shortly before he returned to his quiet retirement with his wife and little girl.

Parking was always an adventure. I never had gotten the hang of parallel parking and had barely passed that portion of the driving test when I took it at age 16 around fifteen years ago. Give or take. There was no telling how long I had been impr-

No. Best not to think about that.

As soon as I walked into the foyer, I knew someone had been at my desk. I also knew who it was. There was only one person I knew who smelled like Bazooka Joe bubblegum.

I wasn't sure if Steve Rogers would be appalled or amused to discover that he smelled like that to me. Maybe a bit of both.

I checked the computer and sure enough all my stuff was fubared. No doubt Steve had needed something last night and, rather than call me or at least get someone who was more computer literate than he, decided to poke around and get whatever it was himself.

Hoping that he didn't screw everything beyond salvaging I dove in to put things back the way I had them. The way they should be.

It was two hours later when I heard the door open and someone walked in. I had the habit of speaking out loud when I was thinking or fixing something, a habit that did not die with my humanity, and was using Power Words to describe in graphic detail what I would do to a certain Captain if he ever again touched my stuff without me here as I was getting close to finally getting things back in order and running a malware scan as I plugged things back in. I was under the desk and whoever just came in was someone I had never met. I was picking up the scent of leather, and the tones the man—and I knew it was a man because I could smell male musk and hear the distinctive heavy footfalls that men walked with—gave off were the way the air smells after the wind blows over a glacier, with a tiny hint of peppermint.

The stranger cleared his throat while I put the last plug in its slot. I came out from under the desk and stood up to see Steve in his Captain American attire smiling at me.

Even if I wasn't an empath with enhanced senses, I would have known that wasn't Steve. Steve never smiled at me like that.

The moment I stood up a wave of lust slammed into me with the force of a hurricane. I literally had to grip the back of my chair to keep from falling over. Holy shit!

The form of Captain America melted away to reveal the stranger's true shape. He was a foot taller than me, tall and slim, with a chest that I knew would be shapely under the greenish leather he wore that tapered to a slender waist and a pair of long legs. Long arms with hands that looked delicate yet hard as steel. The face was way too gorgeous to be called handsome, framed by raven black hair that fell in graceful waves to his shoulders. Creamy white skin, porcelain perfect, set off a pair of piercing dark blue eyes that blazed as he looked at me.

The inferno I was picking up was coming from him, and was directed at me. My heart pounded and my throat dried up as sweat broke out on my palms, making my grip on my chair slippery.

"My apologies," the stranger crooned in a silky cultured voice. "I overheard you ranting about the good Captain and I could not resist having a little fun." He held out a hand palm-up, no doubt expecting me to slip my own hand into his. "I am Loki of Asgard."

He quirked a brow in anticipation. I swallowed, or tried to, but my mouth was cotton and my skin was hot. No, it was burning, the inferno of his lust cooking me from the inside out. I could not look at those eyes so instead I stared at the hand that was still stretched out towards me. I knew who he was now. I had been an English major in college and knew my Norse mythology. But this Loki, rather than being blood brother of Odin, was Thor's adopted brother who, according to my reading, did some really bad stuff years ago. He was somewhat reformed, first helping Thor and the Asgardians when a death goddess tried to destroy Asgard and then during the aforementioned battle that made the Avengers Compound into a crater. Apparently, a doppelgänger of his from another timeline had taken his place at some point on the ship the Asgardians were on and died at the hands of the bad guy. Later Loki had joined the Battle for Earth.

Even though he was reformed some of the Avengers still didn't trust him, particularly the ones who had actually fought him. Thor vouched for him—and speak of the devil.

"Loki, leave her alone. We don't have time for messing with the desk wench," the Thunderer himself chastised his brother.

I forgot about Loki for a moment and gaped at Thor. Desk wench?

"We have time, brother. I was merely making her acquaintance. She was just about to give me her name."

I was still glaring at the God of Thunder, who had lost weight in the past few months and was almost back in fighting shape. "Apparently it's Desk Wench." I said that through my teeth since I was smiling. Well, I was showing my teeth anyway.

Thor grimaced. "Well, no it's not your name but it's a fitting title. You work at a desk, and you're a—erm..." He stopped talking.

"As amusing as it is watching my brother dig himself into a deeper hole, I must insist on a name for this lovely creature."

"It's Abriel," I told him, almost biting it out.

He grinned, displaying perfect white teeth as the blaze in his eyes grew. "What is your real name?"

"That's the only name you're getting." If I wasn't willing to give Stephen my real name I sure as hell wasn't going to tell someone whom I just met.

"Loki, Steve just pulled up and I am certain the others are also on their way." On cue I heard a door slam upstairs and then Sam's voice was answered by Rhodey's.

"Fine. Perhaps I should escort the lady to the situation room?" Loki came around the desk and held out his arm.

No.

Don't touch me.

I sucked in a harsh breath. The smile on Loki's face vanished.

"She doesn't join us on missions." Thor clapped Loki's shoulder and led him away from my desk. "Don't take it personally, Brother. She cannot abide anyone's touch."

He was whispering but I still heard it. Sometimes Thor was an idiot.

"Well then, you boys have fun on your mission. The Desk Wench will be right here when you get back." I snarled when I said Desk Wench.

I plopped into my chair and began checking my email, ignoring the way Loki glanced over his shoulder at me until the two gods vanished into a hallway on the second floor.