In Love With The Darkness
A/N: Apologies for the delay on this update and other updates on other stories, but unfortunately I do have a life. But to make up for it, have three updates at once!
Three days after their conversation on the mountaintop, Eira was determined to avoid her captor.
How dare he think that she would be so easily swayed by promises of power! Lies, all of it.
The heels of her boots clicked on the marble floors of the corridor, as she strode quickly through the silent palace. She had no idea where Loki was, or where she was going, only that she needed to walk, to move, to find some purpose other than sitting in her rooms, going mad.
No, not her rooms. Her prison, her gilded cage.
It had been a mark of how insidious the King's influence was that she had thought for a moment that she had softened towards him, yet he had revealed himself in that last conversation between them. As if she would ever betray her people for power, of any kind!
Did he really believe her that naïve? To think that the promise of a throne would sway her?
That thought hurt. She'd believed he thought better of her than that. But no, it was not just that. He had promised her the power to help.
And that struck too deep a chord within her, and it frightened her. It frightened her because the facts were not on her side. The Resistance had been fighting for seven hundred years, with no real progress. Thousands of lives were lost with each fight; each attack and it led nowhere. It didn't even cause a dint in Loki's armour.
The fact was that a little voice had began whispering away within Eira that perhaps more good might be done within the system than without. That perhaps to win, she would have to lose.
Or at least appear to.
Before that thought could take a more coherent shape, Eira became aware of the sound of footsteps, not walking or running, but near-silent, irregular and graceful, as if dancing.
Frowning, she followed the sound down a side corridor, and through a set of arched doors into a wide, cavernous hall, lit by towering windows that let in the natural light outside. Eira's eyes went wide, as she stopped, paralysed by what she saw.
In the very centre of the hall, clad only in training breeches and nothing else, eyes closed and face taut with concentration, was Loki.
His dark hair was slicked back but for a few strands that fell over his brow. His body flexed and rippled with muscle as he glided through a set of movements, his infamous staff in his hands, cutting down invisible opponents with a lethal skill that made her breath come short in her lungs.
She had seen footage of the King fighting before, but never had it affected her like this. Her pulse raced, and her mouth dried even as she acknowledged that it was little wonder their best fighters could do little to harm him. He was faster than a viper and a thousand times more deadly.
But maybe this war wasn't about physical strength and might. Perhaps, the answer was something else…
Eira's thoughts once again trailed away, as her eyes followed the line of his shoulders, the muscles bunching and rippling with every thrust and lunge of his body, yet there was a stillness about Loki, even now, his eyes shut and features calm, that belied the ferocity she knew lay within.
Suddenly he paused, and she knew he had sensed her presence, if he hadn't already known she was watching from the moment she stepped into the room. She stiffened, recalling she was supposed to be angry with him, and folded her arms defiantly.
Loki smiled as he opened his eyes, lowering his knives, not bothering to face her as he spoke. "Enjoying the show, my lady?" he called teasingly. "You come out of hiding at last. I had begun to despair of ever seeing you again. Had I but known my combat practice would be so efficacious in drawing you out, I would have done it sooner."
"Don't flatter yourself," she snorted. "I'm surprised one such as you even bothers to practice."
"Oh? And why is that?" he asked, striding over to a small table to sheath the knives and place them aside.
"Your towering ego, of course. No mortal could hope to match you," she replied, finding herself drawn further into the room, watching him closely. Loki laughed, reaching for a sheath of shapeless black leather that turned into a dark coat as he draped it over his shoulders.
"There is a difference between arrogance and confidence," he retorted. "It would never do to be unprepared, for anything, even the most unlikely scenarios."
Eira wasn't sure what made her do it, but as she trailed a hand over one of the knives, she found herself drawing it and raising it to his neck in a graceful, confident move, that she knew it had been practised before.
Loki just smiled.
"As unlikely as this?" Eira breathed.
"Do you even remember how to use that?" he asked tauntingly, his eyes raking over her form, today clothed in a comfortable tunic and long, loose trousers. A knife appeared in his hand, as he twisted under her guard, dark eyes gleaming. Eira instinctively compensated, fisting her hand and using to bat away his other hand and jumping away. "Impressive."
"One of yours, if I recall correctly," she replied, with an exhilarated smile. Loki's eyes glinted, and he grinned wickedly.
"You always were an enjoyable sparring partner," he replied silkily. "In more ways than one."
Images flashed across the surface of Eira's mind, instilling a confidence inside of her that she had never possessed before. She had been taught basic hand-to-hand combat, and a few advanced techniques, by Peregrine, but she was a healer, not a warrior.
Or at least, so she'd always believed.
She threw her knife, but he had been expecting that, ducking and lunging for her, his blades in a cross. She dropped and kicked out, forcing him to the floor, before following up with a kick to one of his wrists, making him drop the blade. It skidded across the floor with a resonant screech of metal on hardwood.
She twisted the other out of his grip, straddling him on the ground while pinning his wrist to the floor with her spare hand.
"I thought you said I was the Goddess of Healing," she breathed, her breath shuddering from her in gasps. His own was not much better, his body rising and falling beneath her, impinging on her senses with every pant. He was completely relaxed under her hands, until she felt his free hand snake around her waist. Abruptly, she was tilted sideways to the floor, and he crushed her beneath him, the blade still at his throat. She was achingly aware of his hips nestled between her thighs, and the strong muscles of his chest pressing into her breasts, partially exposed by the opening of his coat.
"You are both healer and warrior. You are Valkyrie, Eira, a symbol of the duality of women as fighters and healers," he murmured, his lips so close to hers, within touching distance as heat raced through Eira and she found herself longing to kiss his mouth again, the way she had once before. Or maybe, many times before. "You have stopped fighting your true identity. You've accepted who you are."
"Who I once was, maybe," she whispered back. "There is more to me now than you could ever know, Loki."
"I know you have suffered," he replied gently, sliding his long, dexterous fingers around her wrist and gently holding. He exerted no pressure, and it was she who lowered the blade. "But that is why, out of all, you are the best qualified to help me. We can change the Earth, Eira. Help me."
"You are the God of Lies, Loki Odinson," she whispered, narrowing her eyes at him as he tensed at the name she gave him. "Only time will tell if your words are truth or lies."
And with that she pushed him off of her, amazed by the strength she had found. She sensed him rise beside her, as she held out the blade, hilt pointed towards him, challengingly.
"Truth and lies are a matter of perspective, dearest," he told her, taking the weapon, covering her fingers with his own. He held her gaze, as shivers raced down her spine, making her tremble, and she felt trapped. "You shall decide which."
Forcing her gaze away from his, inwardly shaking, Eira tore her hand away and fled the hall, feeling his gaze, both a warning and a promise, centred right between her shoulders, piercing her heart.
Once again their interaction deteriorated into a game of cat and mouse, pursuit and evasion. The one place he did not come was her bedchamber, as she realised he was allowing her own personal space, to retreat and feel secure in herself, and that he was waiting to be invited in.
Loki was a dark temptation, a shadow that sought to reach out and claim her, and Eira could only do her best to avoid him. She was still so torn, so confused, by him, by everything. Her mind pulled her in one direction, her instincts another, and her soul yet another.
Her time was running out. Sooner or later, their game would have to end.
Eira wasn't sure if she was ready for it to end.
Two days after their interlude in the training hall, he finally cornered her, or maybe she let him, she would never know.
She was stood on the balcony overlooking the lake, dressed in flowing silk the colours of a dawn, her arms and back bared by the cut of the fabric, her hair piled high on her head. She had stepped out of her sanctuary, needing the free air on her face and a chance to breathe it, regardless of the danger.
Or maybe she'd had enough of their game, and wanted it to end, one way or the other. A raven cawed in the distance, and she watched it take flight lethargically, mind removed from the present as she thought over the events of the past few days. The sunset was beautiful, but it could not hold her today.
She didn't have any recollection of consciously deciding to play his little game of seduction, so why did it feel like a game they had played before? Perhaps because it had been, once upon a time.
She could feel his gaze on her, where she stood, and she stayed still. She didn't know what was going to happen, or what she would do, but she could find no will to fight him on this level anymore.
"I've been chasing you for two days," he breathed, and she was surprised by how dark his voice was, how low it had dropped. Like raw silk, it caressed her senses, even as he took one step towards and another. Still, she refused to meet his gaze, keeping her back to him. "You torture me, my lady. You look at me with such desire, yet you push me away with such repulsion, a feeling we both know is forced."
"Loki…" she breathed, unsure if the word was plea or warning, but hating herself all the same. She felt his tunic brush her back, then the warm solidity of his chest pressing against her back as he hemmed her in, between his arms on the balcony. Still she refused to look at him.
"Why do you deny yourself? Why do you deny me?" he whispered in her ear, his lips caressing the whorl gently, with each silken word. "Whatever the reason, enough. I have been patient with you but it is fast running dry. We return to the Capital in three days time, and you will take your place as my Queen. You are mine, Eira."
"You talk of change and freedom, yet you always use domination and tyranny," she replied quietly. Her breath was sucked in, in a startled gasp, when she felt his lips in the small of her back, placing heated, open-mouthed kisses up her bare spine, his hands fanning out sensuously across her ribcage. "Loki…"
"No domination, no tyranny, my love," he breathed against the nape of her neck. "Never with you."
The words sounded like a vow, and she shuddered, trembling with desire and the wish, no the need to give in. Her resistance, in this at least, had snapped.
She felt his hand tilt her head back, bringing her face around to his, before his lips were on her and she was lost.
The first touch was gentle, tentative, a question not a demand. Eira released a shuddering breath, longing too much to bear, too much to resist as she felt his breath wash over her mouth, needing more.
Their lips met again, with such ferocity and urgency that they moved back with preternatural speed against the wall of the palace. This time, she kissed him back with all the passion within her, releasing all her frustration and anger into her kiss, drawing blood with her teeth before kissing it away with lips and tongue.
His body pressed heavily into hers, holding her up even as the pain of another forgotten memory flashed through her, making her cry out.
Blunt teeth nipped along the line of her throat, effortlessly balancing her on the threshold of pain and pleasure, as she gasped and arched beneath him-
Loki groaned into her mouth, as she buried her hands into his hair to haul him closer, pouring all her pain into the kiss even as it waxed stronger.
She could feel him within her, hard and claiming, tenderly marking her as his as she writhed willingly in his arms, her legs slung around his hips-
He rucked up her skirts, grasping her knee and pulling her leg up to cling to his waist, his arousal hard between her thighs as his mouth possessively marked Eira's neck, memory blurring into reality, and vice versa.
Pain blossomed deep within, but she welcomed it, bade farewell to her maidenhood with eagerness, as Loki murmured his love and his devotion against her lips, in each and every caress of her body, in every mark he had left across her skin. She had never felt more complete, more connected to anyone in her long existence.
His beloved green eyes looked down on her tenderly, silently asking if she was well. With a smile, as she leaned up and kissed him, drawing him deeper into her body with a muted moan.
Eira tore her mouth away from his with a cry, panting heavily. He did the same, burying his face against her neck, both fighting for control as pain and need wracked Eira's body, and that of the man in her arms. Another memory, another temptation.
She found her hands buried in his hair, gently caressing and cradling his face, as he raised his eyes, wide and glazed over with need, mirroring her own feelings, but she sensed that this time, she was not the only one to experience the memory.
The memory of the first time they gave their bodies to each other, the night of the summer solstice, after he had asked her to be his wife.
Emotion, heavy and sobering, settled in Eira's heart as she stared at Loki, all the world narrowed down to him and him alone. His hand caressed her cheek, his eyes searching hers with a question she wasn't sure how to answer.
The need was suddenly negated when Eira heard the familiar whistling sound of an arrow slicing through the air, then a cry of pain as Loki bent over her, a feathered shaft protruding from his shoulder.
With shock and horror, she glimpsed Peregrine over Loki's shoulder, already fitting another arrow to his bow, flanked by Resistance soldiers, before all hell broke loose.
It had taken them weeks to find the hole in Loki's defences. Peregrine himself had led his team on several clandestine missions, to hoodwink Hall and the others, just for this.
They had finally found it, in a small cave system that led under the mountains and emerged near the waterfalls. There had been a gap, small but usable, in the magical shielding Loki had erected around his palace, and Peregrine and his men had managed to slip through.
The palace was only lightly guarded, and it was easy to get in. They would take the King by surprise.
Peregrine himself had been a little uneasy at how easily they had infiltrated Loki's defences and his palace. There had been a few servants, easily take care of, and the handmaiden in Eira's rooms, but she was now soundly sleeping.
The sight of the opulent chambers had made him shudder as he thought about what might have occurred there. They had emerged onto the balcony to find them in each other's arms, and rage had boiled over into hatred and disgust, that he would do this to a young girl, an innocent like Eira.
Peregrine had never felt greater satisfaction than when he saw his arrow pierce the tyrant's shoulder, and his cry of pain.
Loki's face was transformed into a monstrous rictus of pain and blazing anger, as a wave of magic, suffocating and lethal, flew from his outstretched hand towards them, throwing them back into the marble walls and pillars. Two of his men fell and did not stand again, but the rest clambered to their feet.
"Fools!" the tyrant spat through gritted teeth, pulling the arrow from his shoulder with a contemptuous snort and tossing it towards them. Peregrine ducked, but it pierced one of his men through the jugular, sending him to the floor as he breathed his last with a gurgled sigh.
Snarling, Peregrine switched to his knife, as the surviving members of his team sprang at Loki fearlessly, all the while he shouted at Eira to run.
Eira watched everything through a haze of pain and confusion and horror. Peregrine was here? In Norway? No.
She saw him lunge at Loki with one of his arrows, and her heart stopped. Her mind battled, between two men, two fates, her feet held to the floor as if by quicksand and she was sinking.
Were there no guards? She would even take Chitauri right now, but as she looked around, the palace and grounds were deserted.
Damned arrogant man! Of course he would think his magic enough to keep out all intruders. She forced herself to move as she saw one of the fighters, a man called Peters if she recalled correctly, throw himself at Loki, knife raised and aimed at his neck, and the God had not seen him.
It was instinctive and sudden. Magic welled up within Eira so quickly she had no chance of restraining it. She raised her hands and it burst forth, racing towards Loki, Peregrine and his soldiers, leaving the God unharmed but throwing the mortals back, into unconsciousness.
Peregrine was thrown clear, and the last thing he saw as darkness bled into his vision was the sight of Eira, hands outstretched, power radiating from every pore, as he realised she had betrayed them to save the monster who had taken her, but then he knew no more.
Eira panted for breath, suddenly so drained she could not keep her body upright, and she collapsed, as nerveless as a rag doll. Loki sprang across to her with a cry, ignoring his injuries, cradling her in his arms as he stroked her hair back from her face.
It had been too much, too soon. The magic she had used so instinctively in defence of him had nearly killed her.
"Eira," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead, as she fell into dreams of a life she had once known, millennia before.
Above them, from the tallest spire of the palace, a raven cawed and watched with a satisfied gleam in its single eye, before raising its wings and taking flight into the sunset.