A/N: Truly astonished by the response. I love you all. Loki will reward you handsomely ;)

And Shadowed-Shikiyo - YES. lokis-dirty-whispers is an amazing tumblr. I adore it. Instant turn-on. And yes, it does inspire me xD

People, go check out the above tumblr. You will not regret it. At all.

Right. Now onto the fun. Enjoy, lovelies.

Oh, and for all my non-British readers - £9,000 is roughly $14,000. US dollars that is. Keep that in mind for this chapter :)

He had this planned all along.

And yet, it didn't really surprise her. He was cold, calm, methodical. The complete opposite of his brother – as brief as that meeting had been, she had been instantly able to see just how different the two of them were. Fire and ice. Literally. Forget chalk and cheese; the two of them just… did not possess any similarities at all.

The car ride to the airport had been foreboding, to say the least. The vehicle itself was sleek, black, with tinted windows and a gleaming body. The driver barely spoke, and Eva plugged herself into her iPod, trying to use music to ease her apprehension. It didn't really work. The music she preferred was hard, bass-driven stuff, often dark and meaningful. In frustration she tossed the iPod back into her bag, and gazed out of the window, biting her lip.

She hadn't even spoken to her loved ones, and that threatened to split her heart. She didn't know when – if – she would ever see her little brother again. She found her hand slipping into her bag and drawing out her phone. She scrolled her list of contacts, and halted on one.

M&D Home

All it would take was one press, a lift to her ear, spoken words. Just that.

And she felt a sudden urge to push it. See what would happen. She wasn't even out of the country yet and she wanted to test Loki.

But suddenly the image of her brother crying and bleeding swam in her mind, and she dropped the phone, horror freezing her body. No. She couldn't. If Loki had no qualms about hurting a child… she was fairly certain he'd start with Aidan. Only a little pain, but enough to make her give in.

Good girl.

Her eyes shot wide, and she turned to look beside her. He was not there. But that had definitely been his voice. She grimaced, and leant back against the leather seat, eyelids falling shut. She would bear him, bear his psychotic behaviour. She had to. Until he tired of her.

Either way, she was fairly certain she wasn't going to get out alive.

And strangely enough, that didn't alarm her. A sense of calm overrode all strong emotion, and she set her jaw. She would meet him, and she would meet him with elegance, grace, poise. She would not let him get the better of her. Not this time. Never again.

She was still resolute as the car drove onto the open asphalt, and her eyes widened as she saw the jet on the runway. It was shining, white.

And most definitely a private one.

The car stopped, and the driver got out. The door opened, and the chauffeur held out his hand. She took it, murmured her thanks, stepping onto the tarmac. But when she looked into his eyes, she was momentarily startled. Sympathy. Pure sympathy. It made her façade almost crack, especially when his lips moved. I'm sorry, they seemed to say. Yet he made no sound at all.

He walked to the trunk of the car, picking up her cases and bags. She made her way around the vehicle, where a man dressed in black approached her.

"Ms Manning. A pleasure. Will you come this way, please?"

His voice was cool, controlled. Not as silken as Loki's, but it was effective. Her gaze was guarded – as it always been the minute Loki came into her life – and the man gestured, walking towards the stairway leading to the plane. She followed him, keeping pace.

She did not ask his name. If she was honest, she didn't give a damn about him. Neither did she care about the stewardesses who greeted her, though she was polite enough to them. She refused their offers of alcohol, settling on just water (though how her taste-buds ached when she saw the vintages on the drinks menu. Blame her father for raising her on good wine). Alcohol was something she could rarely afford to drink now Loki was intrigued.

Although, the flight was around five hours long…

Fuck it.

"Actually, could I have a glass of the 1982 Chateau Latour?"

If Loki was going to host her – keep her prisoner, more like – he better make it worth her while.

And she figured, at over £9,000 a case – and quite frankly, she was amazed that this particular wine was even on the plane – this was pretty damn worth it.

For starters.

The plane touched down five and a half hours later, and Eva made her way out of the door and down the staircase, where – surprise, surprise – another black car awaited her, a Mercedes. She slid inside without a word, feeling on edge and irritated. Tiredness could hit her soon. It would be ten o' clock at night back in England; it was only five in the afternoon here.

"How long until we get there?" she asked the driver.

"Should be about half an hour if the traffic's good, miss. If not, double that," he replied, eyes never straying from the road.

Half an hour.

All concept of being tired flew out the window as adrenaline spiked.

"And he lives where, exactly?"

"You don't know?" The driver couldn't hide his incredulity, professional as he was wont to be. She fought the blush on her cheeks.

"I'm British, sir. Never been to America before. Plus I've been avoiding anything to do with that so-called 'King'. So yes, I don't know."

"Well, you'll recognise it when you see it. You know much about the skyscrapers here?"

"I know a few."

"A few's all you need."

An incredulous look spread over her face.

"Wait. Are you telling me he's taken one of the skyscrapers?"

"He has."

"Jesus fucking Christ." She sat back in her seat. "As long as it isn't the Empire State."

It wasn't, as it turned out. The car drove towards a particular district, and her eyebrows shot up. Anyone would recognise it, even if they'd never been to New York before.

"Business District. Huh."

Her eyes settled on a tall skyscraper, the tallest she could see in her line of vision, and they widened as gut instinct told her exactly what the driver did in that same second.

"We're here, miss."

The Chrysler Building. One of the most spectacular skyscrapers in the world, with a beautiful Art Deco design.

"Art Deco." She rolled her eyes. "Figures."

"You know him personally?"

"Yes. Not that I like it." Her tone was curt as the door was opened.

"Be careful, miss."

"I will. Thank you." She shot the kindly driver a small smile, before taking the hand held out to her and stepping from the Mercedes. The hand belonged to another gentleman, dressed in dark grey. He inclined his head.

"Ms Manning. His Grace is expecting you."

His Grace. She almost laughed aloud at that. How absurd it sounded! But she had no time to show her mirth, for the gentleman bid her follow him. She did so, walking beside him, and the doormen tipped their caps to her as she passed.

A tip of respect? Or a tip of 'I'm sorry'?

She barely knew.

Her attention was swallowed by the sheer beauty of the hall before her. She inhaled, and her eyes shone. Art Deco. Everywhere. From the walls to the windows to the doors. And it was absolutely exquisite.

No wonder Loki chose this place. I would.

She was led to an elevator, and the doors closed behind the two of them.

"Exactly how many floors does this building have?" she asked, glancing at him.

"Seventy-seven, ma'am."

Wow.

"And where are you taking me?"

"His Grace has requested that you be taken to your suite before meeting with him."

Suite. What in God's name is that madman planning?

The ride up was quiet after that – Eva had nothing further to say, and the man didn't seem inclined to idle chitchat. Which she was grateful for; any small talk would make her irritation rise tenfold. It seemed an age before the elevator halted and the doors slid open. The man signalled with his hand.

"After you, ma'am."

She made her way out, and was met by a tall girl dressed in soft gold, her brunette curls glossy, her makeup perfect. The girl smiled amiably, and Eva instantly felt a little easier.

"The King bids you welcome, miss. He wishes that you might refresh yourself before dinner."

Eva's eyebrows shot up.

"Dinner?"

"Of course. He requests that you join him to dine privately; a guard will show you the way when you are ready to meet him. If you will follow me, please."

Eva took a good look at the girl as they began to walk. She was younger than Eva by a few years, taller, with a meek air. Eva almost felt sorry for the girl when she briefly saw into her eyes. Loki had clearly frightened her, so much so that she couldn't hide it, even when the rest of her façade was perfect. Eva did not say a word on it until they reached a double-door entrance, and two guards opened the doors for them. The girl ushered Eva inside – and if Eva had so been inclined, her jaw would have dropped.

She was standing in an opulent lounge, with period pieces of furniture – oh yes, honest to god period pieces – and gleaming walls. She slowly spun around, eyes wide. She had never seen anything like it, and when her gaze settled back on the girl, the younger one cracked a smile.

"He really doesn't do things by half, does he?" Eva remarked dryly. The girl bit her lip to keep from laughing, and warmth filled Eva's heart. Gently, she reached forwards and grasped the girl's shoulder.

"Don't let him hurt you," Eva said softly, her gaze locking with the younger's. "Don't."

The girl's mask cracked, just for a second, betraying her shock and fear, before it re-sealed itself, and she swallowed.

"Dinner will be in two hours, miss," she whispered, before backing out of the room. The doors closed, and Eva sighed. She sat in the nearest chair, contemplating her surroundings. They were, in a word, lavish; she wouldn't want for comfort here. Loki obviously cared not for money, had spared no expenses – the wine on the plane alone had proved that.

Well, when you are Supreme Ruler of Earth, money is no object, she mused. But why is he going to so much trouble?

She couldn't make sense of it. She was neither his queen nor his mistress – thank god. Yet he would never treat his so-called 'whores' like this. So what is he playing at?

Rubbing her temples, she rose from the chair, and headed towards another pair of doors. Pushing them open, she was once again overwhelmed by the sheer decadence of the room. The largest bed she had ever seen dominated the room, a four poster clothed in red and black. The furniture was perfect, and when she turned to the side, her eyes widened. A walk-in wardrobe the size of her bedroom back in England. And it was full with not only her clothes, but others. Dresses of every colour that flattered her, buttery-soft leathers, embroidered coats, lightweight blouses…

It was when she checked various compartments that a blush stormed her cheeks, a shocked gasp sounding without her even being aware of it.

The lingerie provided was both gorgeous and sinful. From demure cream French lace to sophisticated dark satin red, every design one could wish for was there.

But it unnerved her. The underwear was not meant for practical, everyday use (though she did discover a drawer of that, later). It was loaded with insinuations, and she quickly closed the compartments, feeling apprehensive. She walked rapidly away to another door across the bedchamber.

The en-suite bathroom was the cherry on top. The bath was more like a jacuzzi, large enough for four. And the shower? She was pretty damn sure she'd never seen any shower quite that size. Excitement bubbled in her, despite her forebodings about dinner, and she shut herself in the bathroom. Hoping to high heaven he wasn't inside with her, she stripped and stepped into the sizeable shower, She turned the dials, and steaming water gushed from all directions, bathing her in luscious, instant warmth. She stretched her aching muscles, and quickly soaped up, wishing that the cleansing was only for her benefit.

She really, really didn't want to join him for dinner. Dinner meant wordplay. Dinner meant seduction. And she wanted to stay away, as far away from him as was possible. His smile unnerved her. His eyes sent shivers through her. And his words made her think things that she hadn't even known her mind could conjure up.

Eva emerged from the bathroom, and her eyes widened as they fell upon the dress lying on the bed. Dark green, silk, with a low neckline and ruches on the hip. She rolled her eyes; she had not missed the symbolism of such a colour. She was sorely tempted to disregard the garment, beautiful though it was, and wear something of her own choosing.

Yet then an idea sparked.

With a devious smile, she slipped into simple black-lace lingerie, leaving the brassiere behind. The dress was low-cut and backless; wearing such an undergarment would detract from its beauty. Smoothing the dress, she sat on the stool in front of the dressing table, and attended to her hair, makeup, accessories. All her jewellery had been unpacked, all her toiletries placed in cupboards. She knew just the perfume to wear, the accoutrements to set off the gown, the heels to complement the whole ensemble.

Oh, she'd play his game alright.

But she was damned if she wasn't going to bend the rules.

Exactly two hours after the girl had left, there was a knock.

"Come in," Eva called. The doors opened to reveal a tall, armoured guard. Mortal, not Chitauri – and for that she was grateful. His eyes widened a little at the sight before him, but he swiftly regained composure.

"Will you come this way, ma'am?" he said steadily, though his eyes still roved. She smiled, and walked to the doorway, pausing inches from where he stood.

"Of course. I'd be delighted."

Less than five minutes later, and they arrived at yet another double-door entrance, grander than hers. The guards either side stood to attention, and the sentinel who had guided her bowed and left.

"Enter," came Loki's smooth, authoritative tone, though how it could have sounded so clear and carried so well through the doors was a complete mystery to her. The guards opened said doors, and, taking a breath, she walked in.

The room was spacious, adorned in sleek black and metal, glass at every turn. It was beautiful, aesthetically pleasing – but she had never expected anything less from him.

The god himself was standing by the window, looking out onto his broken city. A slight smile graced his lips, and he slowly revolved. His eyes drank her in, and she raised an eyebrow.

"You approve, I take it?"

He laughed softly, and gestured elegantly with his hand.

"Turn."

She gradually spun. His gaze never wavered, taking in her flawless alabaster skin, perfectly coiffed golden curls, her subtle makeup and the figure encased in that slip of a dress, with the jewels at her neck and ear lobes. Any mortal man would have been on their knees before her. But Loki was not inclined to be so adoring. Besides, she was the one who deserved to kneel, not him. He merely nodded.

"It is an improvement on our last meeting," he remarked indifferently. Amusement toyed with her mouth, crept into her eyes. He was dressed in what she gathered was Asgardian clothing, black leather and green robes, his long dark hair framing his chiselled countenance. No armour, though that didn't surprise her. She knew she was no more a threat to Loki than Jane Foster was.

"No, but you are of considerably more interest to me than she," he spoke, the mirth lacing his tone, almost lazy in its cadence, though his diction was, as always, perfect. "Jane Foster is far too innocent to prove much of a challenge."

"Ah, you prefer a little teasing, then. How predictable."

His mouth twitched and he strode towards her, calm, measured.

"Might I offer you something to drink, my dear?"

"Just water, thank you."

He tilted his head. "No wine?"

"It's better to have all your wits about you when sparring with the enemy, is it not?" she coolly retorted.

Ah, there is my little lioness, he thought gleefully. An appropriate title, for she is so very fierce. How I shall enjoy bringing her to heel.

"As you wish," he replied, conjuring a goblet and holding it out to her. She walked forwards and took it from him, careful not to brush her fingers against his. This did not escape his notice, and his eyes flickered, though he did not comment on it. She raised the chalice to her mouth and sipped. He watched as she swallowed, and she licked her lips. Her gaze had never faltered, and she nodded.

"For once, you actually saw fit to be a gentleman and not drug me."

"My lady, you wound me. If I wanted to seduce you, I would have already begun, without the aid of narcotics."

She raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me, but I do believe you have already begun. Your attempt, that is. The lingerie in my suite is not just for a practical purpose now, is it?"

"Ah, but I do not hear you protesting."

"You are lucky. I almost wore a different dress."

"You would have chosen the red silk, in an endeavour to taunt me," he responded evenly. "Alas, it would have been futile, my dear. Your efforts to declare yourself your own woman are becoming increasingly meaningless. The fact that you are here, and attired in a garment of my choosing, suggests you have little control, if at all."

She eyed him warily. "Why are you doing this? I could understand it if it were a cell, with a board for a bed and no windows. But a three-room suite? With luxurious Art Deco furnishings? Really?"

He took the goblet from her, placing it on a table, and his finger traced her bottom lip. If he had been mortal, he would not have heard the faint intake of breath before she pulled his hand from her mouth as if it burned her.

But he wasn't, and he heard it quite clearly. Satisfaction seeped through his being, and he chuckled at the outrage on her visage.

"And yet, I don't recall you enquiring about the wine," he whispered, as if to a lover. "You seemed to enjoy my hospitality a great deal then."

"Exactly how did you manage to find a bottle?" she asked cynically. He smiled darkly.

"A King has his ways. Now, would you like to dine? You must be ravenous, particularly after your flight."

Without waiting for her reply, he placed his hand at the small of her back – her nerves tingling at the barely-there contact – and led her to the next room, where there was a good-sized table and luxurious-looking chairs. She took her seat, graceful as always, and he sat opposite her. With a finger, Loki beckoned a servant to him, his eyes still fixed upon Eva.

"Bring the dishes," he said calmly. "But before you do – Eva, I insist you drink something other than that dull liquid."

His tone made it quite clear that she could not refuse, and inwardly her skin crawled. Yet then mischief sparked in her eyes, and a slight smile toyed with her mouth.

"So be it. I will have a Sex on the Beach. Oh, and a jug of sparkling water, if you please."

His eyes had flickered ever so slightly at her words, and her smile widened, her eyebrow lifting in amusement. Two could play at this game. And she intended to play him, in every, single, way.

"As the lady wishes," Loki replied, and the servant bowed, departing the chamber. The god's gaze was still on her, and she canted her head.

"It's a cocktail, Loki."

His expression did not change nor falter.

"Your teasing will prove fruitless, Eva. Engaging one who means to bed you regardless is never a wise idea. Particularly when you are trying to remain untouched by them."

"So you do intend to have sex with me. Is that how you will break me? Do tell, I'm intrigued."

"Patience, Eva," he answered, eyes glittering. "Do not presume. You do have a habit of doing that, it seems. A habit I shall have to break."

"You'll not break a thing, Silvertongue." The name fell easily from her lips, and Loki found that he did not abhor it as much as he had suspected he would.

"It depends on what 'thing' you are referring to."

He was saved from her biting retort by the arrival of her food, and the servants set the plate down before her, her cocktail and the jug of sparkling water swiftly following. The cloche was removed from the plate, and instantly her eyes lingered on the meal before her. Soft white fish, cooked in parsley butter. Creamy mashed potatoes. Steamed green beans. She murmured her thanks to the servants, who bowed and left the room. She looked at Loki accusingly.

"Should I ask how you knew?"

"I know a great deal more about you than you realise," he responded dryly. "Now please, eat."

She frowned slightly as he poured her a small goblet of water; he had no meal set before him, only a chalice of what looked like wine.

"Will you not dine as well?"

His lips quirked as he placed the jug back upon the table.

"I am afraid not. I hope you do not think badly of me."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry. The first impressions were made months ago," she countered sardonically, cutting a piece of fish and placing it delicately in her mouth. Delicious. She chewed thoughtfully and swallowed. "I doubt they'll change much."

He steepled his fingers, watching her as she continued to eat. She was elegant even then, and it pleased him to a ridiculous degree. Her manners were impeccable, and if she had been an Asgardian, he would have thought her highborn. Her family background was no such thing; she had been born to a very young couple, only twenty at the time, and they had raised her while simultaneously finishing their higher studies. However, they had raised their daughter well: beautiful, educated, skilled with speech. And a mistress of wit, it seemed; that he relished.

"I find it interesting that you do not have any blood siblings," he said casually, sipping his wine. "Your parents had you at quite a young age."

Her eyes narrowed. "You know exactly why I don't. You know everything about my background, so don't act as if you do not. It's childish. As if you expect me to lose it the more you taunt and push."

"Interesting choice of words," he replied dryly. "And the more I push, the more you will lose. Piece… by… piece."

"And knowing you, you will ensure that the edges are as sharp and as jagged as possible."

He smiled, and sat back in his chair. She ate a little more, seemingly undisturbed by her own words, but he could see the shape of her shoulders, the tension that lay in knots beneath her soft white skin. No matter what façade she might wear, he would always know her true feelings, even without skimming her thoughts.

"I did say I would break you. And I cannot do that without inflicting a little pain, can I?"

"I have a high pain threshold, I'll warn you now."

"Physically, perhaps. But mentally? You were shaken by the single image of your brother bleeding." His voice was calculating, and his stare was utterly cold. "I wonder how long it would take for me to reduce you to a quivering mess of a woman, weeping on the floor, begging me to stop the agony. I do not imagine the waiting time would be particularly lengthy."

Eva set down her cutlery, and fixed her gaze upon him, icy blue. God, she loathed him. His words, his smile, the looks in his eyes. Every inch of him, she abhorred. And he knew it. Loki suddenly rose from his seat, and walked around the table to where she sat. Her posture instinctively became wary, and he leant down to peruse her eyes with his own. His hand cupped her cheek, despite her efforts to flinch away from him, and his words were like the smoothest velvet imaginable.

"So defensive," he whispered. "But have no fear; I will make those defences of yours crumble to ash." His fingertips ghosted along her skin, and the faintest of blushes stained her cheeks. Noticeable to his keen eyesight, however, and he leant close enough for their lips to almost brush.

"I will leave you trembling, líttein. The pleasure will blur with the pain, and you will not care which is bestowed upon you. You will only crave my touch."

"No." It was no more than a choked rasp, and he chuckled darkly.

"You do not have a choice, Eva. You are at the mercy of your King… and he is in no mood to be merciful tonight."

She suddenly felt extremely tired, and Loki tilted her head up with a long finger, his eyes searching hers.

"Your biological rhythms have been disturbed, I see."

"It's two in the morning in England," she pointed out wearily. "Of course they've been goddamn disturbed."

He smiled almost tenderly, but his words were like poison.

"Go to bed, and your dreams will be your nightmares. You will toss and turn and scream and weep and I shall be watching all the while."

"I'll take my chances," she hissed, and she stood up, pushing him away. A sharp pain erupted through her scalp as he casually gripped her hair, and she gasped as he yanked her back against his chest.

"You do not push me. Is that understood?" His voice was soft, dangerous as it lingered in her ear, and she tensed.

"And you do not speak to me so," she replied coldly. "Let go of my hair, and let me go to my bed."

He threw her forwards, and she almost lost her balance, her breath catching as adrenaline surged.

"Go, then. Go and have your rest. But I will not be so kind in the future, little one."

"Consider myself warned," she retorted sarcastically, and, slipping her high heels off her feet, she dangled them in one hand and walked away, never once turning back to look at him as she left the chambers.

Loki watched her leave, and his eyes travelled up her slender, lithe form. He tilted his head, and a soft laugh sounded.

"Oh, my dear. That was not a warning…"

With a sinister smile, he melted into the shadows, and planted his consciousness inside her mind. Imperceptible to her mortal mind, but when she slept… he would make sure she never wanted to slumber again.

And how delicious that would be.

A/N: I do hope this lives up to your expectations, darlings. A little unsure, but oh well. Let me know what you think!

Lightning xoxo