NOTE - This chapter references the previous book in this series, The Q Word.


3. A Drop of Blood


Loki appeared in her dreams a few nights later, dressed not in simple clothes but full, formal armor complete with his signature helmet. "Natasha!" he thundered in a voice filled with anger, as he strode straight up to her and tipped her chin up forcefully. "I believe I told you to come to Asgard the instant you received my letter. Tell me, madam, have you approached Thor to make your plans?"

She looked up into his face, knowing exactly how to play him. "No," she said with a regretful shake of her head. "Your brother has been absent lately."

His nostrils flared. "I do not accept this. You of all people know how to contact someone who is evasive."

"Yes, I do." Natasha trailed her touch over his vambraces to grasp the hand under her chin and move it to her lips. Capturing his gaze with hers, she slid his finger into her mouth and sucked it to the tip, taking care her tongue followed the sensitive underside. His eyes widened and his lips parted; as a reward she allowed him to see a flicker of her secret smile. Anger, she thought, was probably a powerful aphrodisiac for the prince.

"What are you …" His voice gave out and became a ragged gasp.

"What am I doing? Well, Loki, last time you came to me in a dream you said you wanted to taste me. Now I think it is my turn." She waved at his armor. "Get rid of all this, but…" she added as his clothes disappeared, "leave the helmet."

A mischievous smile spread across his face. It was difficult to believe anyone that beautiful could look so wicked at the same time. "Why?" he breathed.

She stood on tiptoe, reached to caress both horns in her hands. The tips were sharp; she pricked her thumb on one and watched as a drop of blood welled up on its point. "I just wanted to experiment a little with your magic. When I wore your helmet on the Clerkenwell Syndicate case I noticed your horns were very sensitive. I thought it could be interesting to use that to my advantage."

"Vidofnir's Wings! You have a saucy tongue, darling." His eyes darkened with lust as she leaned forward and licked one horn. At the same she caressed the other, curling her fist around it, making him breath sharply with a sudden hiss. "But if we are now using magic…"

She felt air curl around her and looked down. He had dressed her in her own Black Widow's catsuit, but it was a perverted version with the top cut out to reveal her breasts and the inseam between her legs gone so her cleft was open, naked.

Natasha pushed him down so he would have an excellent view of the leather framing her body and pressed one horn between her breasts; the demigod in front of her cursed softly and pressed his length against her thigh with a desperate thrust.

"Why, Mr. Odinson!" she said in an airy voice. "Look at this. It appears you have a third horn." She knelt in front of him, kissed his navel, the fringe of dark curls at his groin, and took him into her mouth. He tasted clean and smooth, with a slight whisper of smoke and his own sharp masculinity. "Mmm," she hummed against him, and she pressed his pelvis to recline back so she could reach every inch of him.

He threw back his head, his horns curling into his neck. She knew it was her moment – she released him to straddle his body with a quick motion. "If I do visit you in Asgard, it will be on my own terms. Do you understand me, Loki?"

Moving just as smoothly as she did, he sat up and held her face between his hands. "No. I need you now. I want to do this in the flesh, all night. Each morning. Every instant we have to ourselves. You are like a ripe fruit just out of my reach, and I must have you." He clutched her body and moved her onto his erection, slipped inside her with one burning, exquisite move. "A wet, warm mystery, meant just for me."

Natasha felt absurd tears prick her eyelids; his thrusts felt impossibly wonderful. "I can't believe…"

"You cannot believe you have allowed yourself to become my lover?" He laughed breathlessly, never ceasing the motion of his hips, and his eyes glittered. "But so it is, and you cannot change it. There is no escape for you now."

The strangeness of that thought as well as the teasing motion of him inside her was too much; she threw her head back and shouted his name as she pulsed and spent around him. He followed quickly with one last thrust, holding her close as he clutched her waist and spurted voluminously inside her.

The clung together for what could have been hours. At last Loki raised his head and pulled off the helmet in one motion. His black hair curled with sweat as he kissed her neck, her breasts, her mouth, stopping at her ear. "Darling, when we are able to cleave together skin to skin, I fear it will be a desperate, rushed affair much like the first time we had each other. Do you remember?" She could only nod in response. "But I promise I will settle myself eventually to prolonging our acts of love for nights on end if you will it. Tell me, would you like that?"

"Yes," she whispered, eyelashes fluttering closed.

"Then," he pressed, pulling her close to lie with him, "come to me in Asgard now. Now, Natasha."


When she woke, she jumped out of bed as though she had been lying on hot coals and stood for a moment, one hand pressed to her beating heart. She remembered that dream, every moment of it.

Ever since she had received Loki's letter, she found she was able to sleep without chugging vodka. Perhaps that was why she recalled each detail; she had gone to bed sober. Curious, she examined her hand to find a tiny dot of blood on the tip of her thumb.

Natasha swore and felt for her phone by her bed. She was about to dial Jane's number – it was certainly the fastest way to get to Thor – when the device vibrated and the screen flashed with Clint's name.

Natasha pressed Talk. "Hey," she said into the phone.

"Hey. Listen, I know we had a date in a few days, but is there any chance we could meet tonight instead?"

A bolt of relief shot through Natasha. Her partner had saved her again, this time from running off to an alternate universe simply so she could have frantic sex with a dark villain. "Absolutely," she replied. "Sounds great – you don't know how much!"

"Cool."

"Um, what's up? You sound a little worried."

"Yeah. I – oh, hell, I just need to talk to you in person. Seven-ish okay?"

"Perfect. See you then." Natasha clicked the phone off and padded to the shower. As she scrubbed and shampooed she thought of Loki's letter, carefully folded next to the black lock of hair she had taken from him, as well as the silver miniature portrait.

The god of mischief, it appeared, would simply have to wait.


"Do you mind a good old-fashioned burger?" Clint asked, eyeing Natasha over the edge of the huge menu.

"I would love a burger." She winked at him and gave her order to the waitress. "Plus a couple of beers."

As the girl left, he rested his head on one hand. "How are you doing now that the SNAKE stuff got swept up under the carpet?"

She repressed a shudder; the last thing she wanted to talk about was SNAKE, the Clerkenwell Syndicate, and all the resulting fallout. Still, this was Clint, her partner and best friend; if anyone in the world had a right to ask her anything, he was that person. "To be honest, I had a really rough time writing it all up. The whole thing was so confusing, wasn't it? And to throw an Elder God into the middle of it… in fact, we never found the connection between Chthon and the syndicate."

"I just figured one of the gang members came across those pages of the Darkhold while exploring the underground tunnels of the Tubes," Clint said. "They discovered how powerful the pieces of parchment were, probably accidentally, and without knowing it they unleashed Chthon at the same time."

She nodded. "Yes, that makes perfect sense. I'm going to have to rewrite my final report to reflect that." Reaching out, she curled her fingers around his. "You are so smart, buddy."

His grin was filled with some weird, self-conscious awkwardness. "Jeez, Tasha – you're making this really difficult."

"What? What am I making difficult?"

The waitress returned with their beers, silencing them both. Clint accepted his eagerly and downed half the bottle in a few swallows. Natasha folded her arms and sat back. "Okay. Now are you going to tell me what the hell is on your mind?"

He ran one hand back and forth through his hair. "Argh," he groaned. "I know you're going to – oh, shit. Here goes. Remember when you went to the lower levels of the SNAKE headquarters with whatisname?"

"Yes, what about it?"

"Well, I stayed there with Anzhela, remember? You asked me to keep an eye on her."

"Yeah…" Natasha frowned. Clint was acting really weird. "Are you mad at me? I wouldn't have stuck you with the babysitting detail, but she seemed to trust you the most out of all of us, and I didn't want her to go ballistic – hose the mission, you know…"

He held up one palm, silencing her. "Just let me get this out. It's difficult enough as it is." Blowing out a long breath, he continued, "Things got really wacked. We heard screams and the lights cut out; it almost seemed like we were in the middle of an earthquake…."

"Right." Natasha remembered the cause of the screams and the 'earthquake' – Loki had been tied down, a serpent over his face dripping poison into his eyes. His pain had been so great the entire underground had rattled with it.

"Right. So, Anzhela was about to lose it when that all went down, and she kind of grabbed me, I guess you could say. Tasha – the truth is she sort of came onto me."

She sat back, her lips tightening. Anzhela, the girl who looked just like Natasha, had even asked her if Clint were 'available' when they were right in the middle of the case. At the time she had ironically wished her niece good luck. "What the hell happened?"

"Okay, don't destroy the restaurant or kill me just yet, although God knows I deserve it. I – she – it was dark, and she looked just like you. She was a good listener, and she wouldn't take No for an answer, I guess…"

"Clint, are you telling me you fucked my niece? My only existing relative?" Natasha's voice become glacial.

His eyes, always drooping with emotion, grew even sadder. "It's actually worse than that. I got a call from her today. She's – well, she's pregnant. And I guess I'm the father."

Every particle of oxygen expelled from Natasha's lungs. The blood rushed to her head; she snatched up both bottles of beer and poured them all over his head. "She is pregnant? Really?" she shouted. "Well, enjoy being a dad. That's really nice. I hope you two are happy together." Throwing the beers down, she felt for her money, deposited all the cash she had on the table, and stormed out. "Don't call me!" she yelled over one shoulder before bursting out onto the street.

Outside, the streetlights were struggling to hold back the early darkness. Natasha quickened her footsteps, seething with rage. That bastard! That jackass! To take my niece and have sex. Unprotected sex at that! And now…

Muttering to herself, Natasha covered a few blocks before her steps slowed. At last she stopped and stared, unseeing, into the window of a pawnshop. Am I any better? While Clint and Anzhela were getting busy, I was flirting with the god of mischief – the same one who held Clint hostage on the Hellicarrier. And unprotected sex? I never even considered it when Loki and I jumped each others' bones. Yet Clint never said a thing about it to me, and I bet he knew all along...

Her face stared back at her from the plate glass window. Behind her, a pale face with green eyes appeared, outlined with black hair. Come to me now, darling, the reflection demanded. Now.

Natasha drew a shuddering breath. Slowly she retraced her footsteps, hoping Clint would still be there. When she arrived at the bar he was just leaving, dressed in a t-shirt with the name of the restaurant chain printed on it. It was new with creases from being folded, and it still bore a size L sticker on the front.

His eyes lit up as soon as he saw her, and he held out both arms in surrender. "Tasha! Take your best shot, please. I deserve it, right on the chin. I won't take no for an answer."

Natasha shook her head, threaded one arm through his, and dragged him out onto the street to walk home with her. "No, you don't deserve it. I – it was probably my fault after I ditched you on the case and left you to take care of her. I should have been the one sitting and holding her hand." She eyed him up and down and added, "Nice shirt, by the way. Did I get you all wet?"

He grinned. "I'm pretty sure I have beer in my taint."

"Oh! Hey! Wow, just wow. On a need-to-know basis… Seriously, though, Clint – what are you going to do?"

Clint didn't hesitate. "I'll stand by her, of course. If she wants to have the baby, I'll be there for her and the kid. Money, support – whatever she needs."

Natasha tugged his arm to make him stop, and brushed his hair back with one hand. "She's really, really lucky to have you," she said softly.

"Yeah. It just kind of kills anything between me and you…but that was already dead, wasn't it? If we are honest with ourselves for once, I mean. You have another deal going on, and not one I want to even imagine … but of course that's your business."

It was difficult to talk. His face, so familiar, so dear to her, wavered in front of her as she blinked furiously to clear her vision. "Clint," she sobbed.

His arms went around her, those strong arms banded with muscle. She knew he would stand by Anzhela, be strong for the girl and – oh, God – the baby. Whoever got to spend a lifetime with him would be the luckiest woman in the world.

"I'll always be your partner," he whispered into her curls.

Natasha, pressing her face into his shoulder, felt as though the world was spitting her out into the Void.


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