A/N: Wow. Overwhelmed by the responses to this fic! I hope I can continue to satisfy you lot :)

Quick note on the use of Old Norse:

I will combine Old Norse words with Icelandic if the sentences are long, or if I cannot find an accurate Old Norse translation. This is because Icelandic is the living language which is most similar to Old Norse; if you speak Old Norse to an Icelandic speaker, they'll understand about 70% of it, if not more. Also because it is extremely difficult to find lengthy and accurate resources on Old Norse, and my knowledge of it is very limited so far (though I'm hoping to study it at university :D).

Also, letter translation/pronunciation, for future reference:

ð = d

þ = th

Just so you can read it more easily :) Okay, onwards we go!

Once the news had broken, Eva had run. Run back to England, her safe base. She knew Loki would come after her – though how soon, she couldn't be sure. She silently cursed herself over and over for piquing his interest, for being so goddamn confident that he viewed her as a test.

After Loki had destroyed all major opposition, the Earth had realised he was not one who could be contested. He had declared his right, and he had won. He left most cities intact, privately admiring various pieces of architecture – though the hideous metal structure known as the Eiffel Tower, well, that simply had to go. One by one, the nations bowed their heads and accepted him as their King; with America subjugated, there was very little effective military strength left to battle the Asgardian and his forces. Any who did rise up were soon slaughtered by the Chitauri – that was a lesson quickly learnt.

To Eva's surprise, her life changed very little. She rented a new apartment, obtained a job as a librarian, and lived as normal – or as normally as she could hope to. Loki had left England mostly unharmed, though London – as with most capital cities – had been badly damaged. Its infrastructure was intact, but its people were left trembling, terrified that worse would befall them.

Yet Eva resided south of the city, in a smaller town where life was almost as it has been before. Calm. A vague semblance of normality.

It was almost another two months before it all shattered.

"To John and Mary!"

Applause and cheers rang out across the hotel restaurant as Eva's grandparents smiled and kissed. Their sixtieth wedding anniversary. Eva sat across from them at one of the circular tables. Surrounding them were at least six other tables full of her grandparents' friends, all grinning and clapping. Eva glanced at her dad, sitting beside her, and he gave her a warm smile, squeezing her hand.

"Time for you to be getting married, isn't it?" he teased. She rolled her eyes.

"I'm twenty-five, Dad. I've got time."

"Of course, sweet pea." He laughed and took a sip of wine. "Next thing you know, you'll be as old as most of these wrinklies."

"Dad!" She smacked his arm, and he laughed again. She shook her head, running a hand through her golden curls.

"You're dreadful."

"So I've been told."

The entire room, filled with chatter and giggling only a second before, fell eerily quiet. Eva frowned as she noticed her grandparents – and everyone near – looking wide-eyed at something behind her.

Or someone.

"Good evening, Eva."

She froze as the voice slithered over her, and she closed her eyes as the whispers started.

No. No. No. She had made it six months, almost seven. She was safe!

"You." Eva's father stood, eyeing Loki with a mixture of shock and wariness, not caring to address the god by title. "You know my daughter?"

Loki's chuckle sent ice shooting down her spine.

"Indeed I do. Why, Eva, did you never tell your family of our encounter?"

Loki's tone was wicked, and satisfaction rolled through him as Eva answered him with silence and a blush, seen by all except him. He did not need to, however; mortification radiated from her in waves. He sighed in mock-disapproval.

"It does not do well to keep secrets, my dear. Especially from your kin. Now, might I borrow you for a moment?"

She had not turned to look at him at all, and she swallowed, composing herself, taking a breath.

"You may not." Her voice was steady, much to her internal shock. "This is a personal celebration; I do not wish to be disturbed. Please leave."

He tutted.

"Defying your King, Eva?"

"You are not my King. I have not knelt, I never will."

There was a ripple of muttering at that.

"Eva, do you really wish to cause a scene?" This was spoken in Old Norse, and several pairs of eyes widened at the language switch.

Eva sighed and turned in her seat to finally look up at him. He was dressed in a sleek black suit with a dark overcoat, a green and gold silk scarf around his shoulders. He held a black lacquer cane in his right hand, and she steeled herself.

"Hvað vilt þú, Loki?" What do you want?

His head tilted, and a smile shaped his mouth.

"Sjöt." Company. "You intrigue me, Ms Manning. I wish to converse with you. Shall we?"

Her father made to object, but she placed her palm on his chest.

"No. It's fine. I will be alright."

He watched Loki, eyes narrowed. Loki returned the look with one of dry mirth.

"Do not test me, mortal. I am quite sure your daughter would prefer I let you live."

She glared at the god. "Don't you dare."

Loki's eyes gleamed. "Oh, you are a fiery one."

"When you bully my family? Yes. King or not, no-one threatens the ones I love."

She rose from her seat, but a little hand caught hers. She half turned to see her little brother looking up at her, innocent blue eyes worried. She bent and kissed his head.

"It will be alright, Aidan," she murmured, stroking his cheek. "I will be back soon. Eat your ice cream."

Loki watched, an amused smile edging his mouth.

"Do not fret, little one. I mean your sister no harm."

Eva's eyes narrowed as her stance instantly turned defensive. "Do not talk to him."

The corner of Loki's mouth quirked, and he gestured.

"Shall we?"

With a last look at her family, she walked with the god to the other side of the restaurant, where a waiter opened the French doors leading onto the balcony. Loki led her to a table nearby, and he bade her sit. She did so, smoothing her dress – a knee-length, strapless scarlet silk affair which hugged her curves. She softly requested a glass of water (alcohol was out of the question; she needed every bit of her wits now) and after taking Loki's order of the best red wine they could offer, the waiter departed, leaving the two of them alone.

Loki sat back in his seat, eyes appraising the mortal opposite him. A fierce intelligence burned in her eyes, and she held herself elegantly, her posture fine even in his presence. He knew that he made her uneasy, yet she still maintained an air of confidence around him.

She watched him, and her eyebrow lifted slightly.

"Studying me, are you? Am I so fascinating?"

"You carry yourself well," he remarked. "You are much more refined than many of your race."

"My, was that a compliment?" No-one could have missed the edge of sarcasm in her words, and Loki's expression turned amused.

"Merely an observation. Take it as you will."

Eva's eyes narrowed slightly, examining his countenance. She was good at reading others, but he was well-trained in the art of deception. She was very aware that he would never allow true feelings to show.

"Why now?" she asked quietly. "Months later? I would have thought you'd forgotten me." And oh, what a sweet blessing that would be.

"Forget the only mortal I have met who speaks my language?" His eyebrow raised. "You possess uncommon characteristics; of course you would not slip my mind. And I accepted your challenge, did I not?"

The blood drained from her face as the implications hit her.

Oh god, what have I done?

"What you have done, Ms Manning," Loki said casually, nodding at the waiter who arrived with their drinks, "is piqued the interest of your King. Whether that was wise of you… is debatable." He dangled the wine glass between his long fingers, his gaze piercing hers.

"You are not my King," she replied steadily, seething at his invasion of her mind. "I have sworn no fealty to you; I will neither bow nor kneel."

He laughed.

"Ah, and how long will you continue to say such things, lítteinn?" His eyes glittered with mirth. "It sounds as though you are attempting to convince yourself."

She took a sip of her water. It tasted fresh, and it helped to clear her head.

"As long as it takes for you to understand it," she replied icily, her gaze fixed upon him. "You're an intelligent being, I'm sure it won't be too taxing for you. Unless you choose to be ridiculously, deliberately obstinate. Or do I mean obtuse?"

"Were I so inclined to be hurt by words, I would be wounded by you. As such… they do little more than amuse me."

"Ah, but you and I both know words are the most effective weapon of all," she replied calmly. "What was it they called you on Asgard? Silvertongue?"

The corner of his mouth pulled up. "Thor never could learn to keep quiet."

"I asked for information in order to better understand you," she answered evenly. "I set no limits or rules as to what he told me, only that it must be interesting."

Loki chuckled, and he lifted his glass to his lips, tasting the wine. Not bad, he mused, before returning his attention to her. He gently set the flute down, steepling his fingers.

"And were you suitably interested, my dear?"

"I think you know the answer to that, don't you?"

He was silent, pondering over his thoughts. She was clever, and somewhat sly. He could not deny that it appealed to his mischievous nature, but it irked him deep down that one mortal could be so fascinating. He had never been bested by one, yet she seemed to almost match him verbally and in mind.

No matter. He would have her kneeling before him soon enough. She was beautiful, with her immaculate blonde curls and azure eyes, yet her place was at his feet. As all mortals' places were, whether literally or figuratively. For her, he thought gleefully, it would have to be literally. Oh, he would take such delight in breaking her, reshaping her to suit his needs and desires. Yes. Her fire is pleasing, but her submission? Even more so.

"I will have you before me," he said, so casually it only heightened the unpleasant knot of tension in her stomach. "You will surrender. The more you struggle, the more I shall savour it." The look in his eyes was dark, predatory. "You are no longer free, Eva. Freedom no longer exists for your kind. Whether by your will or not, you will submit to me. And you will find that subjugation is all that you have ever craved."

"And if I run?"

"Then I will pursue you," he replied, still nonchalant. "You cannot run forever, Eva. And you will tire long before I do. You could give in to me now – but I know you will not. You are foolishly stubborn, you cling to what you believe remains of your cherished 'freedom'. But when I catch you, little one… how sweet my victory shall be. For me, of course. I cannot promise how pleasurable it will be for you."

"I'm one human being in a sea of seven billion. I am not an intrigue."

"Oh, but you are. You made that quite clear the moment you opened your mouth and spoke in my tongue. That was your fatal mistake, Eva Manning. Perhaps you should have declined SHIELD all those months ago."

"I had no choice. I was dragged." As calm as she tried to sound, it still felt like a protest, and humiliation flooded her.

"Liar." The word, spoken so simply, so easily, cut her like a freshly sharpened blade, and she inwardly winced. "You wanted to come. To finally meet one of the gods you had spent your life reading about. So tell me, my dear." He leant forwards. "Do I satisfy your curiosity?"

She backed away, standing up, her heart thudding, her veins flooding with fear. He tilted his head upwards to look at her, and a malicious smile shaped his mouth.

"Afraid of me, lítteinn?"

She forced herself to keep from retreating.

"Stay away from me."

Loki's smile widened. "It's too late for that. Far too late."

His gaze seared her like black fire, all amusement gone.

"I will hunt you down. I will break you, piece by piece, until you are a lovely fragmented toy with no other will but mine. I do not care who I use or how long it takes. You will yield to me."

Horror washed through her, and she stared at him.

I do not care who I use…

Images of her little brother screaming and dripping scarlet flashed in her mind, images not of her own mind, and her face went white.

"Don't you dare," she said, her voice trembling. "Not him."

Loki laughed softly.

"Careful, Eva. Your guards are down."

In a split second he stood behind her, and she tensed as his hand closed around her throat, his voice a harsh whisper.

"I will not stop until you come to me. Only then will I consider mercy, if at all."

He released his hold, and she stumbled, gasping for breath.

"Run along now. Go back to your family. After all, who knows how long they will live for?"

With his soft amusement echoing in her ears, Eva walked away from him, desperately trying to compose herself before she entered the restaurant. Her hand closed on the doorknob, and she took a deep breath, pushing her emotions away. Opening the door, she stepped back inside.

Absolute silence greeted her, and her eyes fell on her loved ones, white-faced and anxious. Without faltering, she made her way over to their table and took her seat, saying nothing, though countless pairs of eyes burned into her.

"Eva." Her father's voice was soft. "Did he hurt you?"

"No," she replied, as steadily as she could manage. "He didn't."

"Eva, sweetheart – " her mother began, but Eva held up a hand.

"No. I don't want to talk about it. Not today, okay?" She glanced at her little brother, and smiled ruefully. "You finished your ice cream, I see. Not leave any for me?"

"My ice cream. Get your own," he said petulantly, and Eva grinned, ruffling his dark curly hair.

"Spoilsport."

The celebrations soon resumed in pace and noise, and Eva almost forgot that Loki had appeared at all.

Almost. She could still feel his hand around her neck, hear his laughter, see his malevolent expression as he threatened everything she held dear. She would not speak of him, however, despite her family's best efforts. Not even her little brother's persistent questions about the 'King' could sway her, though it broke her heart to refuse him answers. She remained silent on the matter, and it was a relief to eventually retire to her hotel room at the end of the festivities.

Until she noticed the note resting on her pillow.

It felt as though she'd been doused in ice when she saw the emerald ink on the front. Written in his hand. She knew it had to be him. It had to be.

With trembling fingers, she slowly picked it up. Made of good quality cream-coloured card, smooth to the touch. Only the best for him.

Biting her lip, she read the single word upon it, and she closed her eyes as fear trickled through her being.

Þegar.

Soon.

A/N: Yes, Loki is a little dark in this fic. Heh. But that's how I like him ;)

Lightning xoxo