A/N: My earnest apologies for the wait. Life... happened. School's deadline for uni applications is tomorrow. Sigh.

Anywho, I shall leave you with this :)

Two weeks before

"Agent Hill is back from Paris, sir."

"Good. Bring her in; I need to know everything she knows."

Maria Hill entered, and Fury gestured to the seat in front of him.

"Take a seat, Agent."

She did, placing the file on the table-top, and Fury leant forwards, interlocking his fingers on the desk.

"Tell me everything you know."

"He hasn't harmed her, at least physically. She looked remarkably… healthy for someone who is supposedly the prisoner of a megalomaniac."

"Where did you find her?"

"The Louvre. It seems she has a penchant for art." Hill flicked the file open and removed two photographs. "I took these when she was visiting there. It's her, all right."

Fury studied the images, and he looked at Hill.

"His next move?"

"Concerning her? It's hard to say. He hasn't let the press loose on her yet. His motives – aside from maybe keeping her as some sort of amusement – are difficult to determine…" Her gaze slid from the pictures to Fury, who looked less than pleased.

"Amusement?"

There was a weighty silence between them, and a trace of worry could be seen in Hill's eyes.

"I wouldn't put it past him," she said quietly. Fury's eye flickered.

"We need to find her. If Loki has told her anything –"

"Doubtful, sir."

"You've read her file, Agent Hill, you know she can speak his language. That alone was enough to interest him… and perhaps it was a mistake on our part, recruiting her for that reason." Fury glanced away. "We underestimated him."

"And the Avengers?"

Fury's lips thinned.

"Wherever he's put them, we'll find them. Thor is currently in Norway with Miss Foster. I believe they are still trying to mend the Bifrost somehow. Intelligence would suggest that the Avengers are still in New York City. I'm willing to bet he's keeping them close to the chest."

Hill raised an eyebrow.

"The Chrysler?"

"It's possible," Fury admitted. "It wouldn't surprise me."

A shadow crossed Hill's face as a thought, a hideous idea, settled in her mind, and the words felt like a shot of fresh panic.

"Unless he's executed them…"

"No. He hasn't." Fury's conviction eased a little of her alarm, and the adrenaline lessened. "He's the kind that likes to flaunt his success – if that's what you could call this. That's why he chose Stark Tower to open the first portal. Laughing in the face of the man who 'privatised world peace'. The Avengers are alive. And Loki will be mocking them, that's for certain."

Hill nodded. "What would you have me do, sir?"

Fury steepled his hands, his expression calculating.

"We need a distraction."

Eva sipped at the cup of hot chocolate in her hands. Spiced with a little chili powder, it was perfect, and she sighed as she sat at the table. She flipped the butter knife between her fingers, mulling over her thoughts.

"Troubled?"

The knife was thrown straight towards him, without a moment's hesitation – but, as always, he caught it, an inch from his face, and his lips twitched.

"Your aim is excellent. Your speed… is lacking."

"Not all of us have godly strength and reflexes," she retorted. The twitch turned into a smile, and he set the knife down upon the table.

"Are you still so determined to injure me, lítteinn?"

"Did that determination ever falter?" She looked at him, outwardly calm, though the sight of him in a sleek black suit that simply screamed Armani had her heart thudding. "You threatened my family, dragged me from my home, prevented me from even letting my family know I am alive – I think that should give you your answer."

"Your family know you live; the media alone would tell them that."

"That's not the point and you know it. What the hell are my parents supposed to tell my brother? Less than ten years old – how do you explain that you don't even know if he'll see his sister again?" Disgust rippled across her face. "I'm starting to think you truly are psychopathic. I see a distinct lack of empathy there." She drained the cup, stood and walked around the table. "Whether you ever had any is questionable."

She made to leave the room, but halted. "Oh, and by the way," she said, slowly turning and raising a finger, "if you ever try to use the Tesseract's power on me… the knife will be faster next time, and I will not miss."

He cocked an eyebrow at the abrupt change of subject.

"Why the sudden defence?"

"You think I'm naïve enough to not believe you're capable and willing to do that? Had you thought I'd forgotten about it?"

He was standing before her in a second, and he ran a fingertip along her jaw.

"My little lioness… why would I do something that takes away the very thing I relish in you?" he murmured. "You would no longer be the biting, spirited creature I so enjoy tormenting."

Loathing mingled with arousal painted her face, and he laughed as she turned away.

"I will ruin you," she said quietly. "I will not stop until you have fallen. Whether figuratively or literally, I care not. But you do not belong here. You are not welcome here. And I will be damned if I don't see you lose. My race is nothing if not tenacious. You may think you've won, but subjugation does not mean acceptance. Just as having a woman climax on your lap does not mean she's completely under your thumb."

She turned on her heel and walked from the room. Loki watched her, a faint smile upon his lips.

"And why would I want my queen to be so spellbound?"

She froze.

"No." The single word was hard on her tongue, a vehement refusal – or was it denial?

Had she turned around, she would have seen the mischief glinting in Loki's eyes. He was toying with her, pushing and pushing. He wondered briefly if he would regret the day he pushed too much. It would be a shame, he decided. Eva Manning was a worthy opponent in terms of verbal fencing. He hadn't had a decent challenger in… well, ever. Asgardians were not noted for their appreciation of intellect, and though Sif had been intelligent, with a tongue like a whip, she preferred physical means of battle. Not that Loki could fault her for that; it was what Asgardian society valued on a whole.

"No?" The mirth in his tone was blatant, and irritation crawled over her.

"You heard me. No. I refuse. I will not stand by you, not when I oppose everything you stand for."

"Oh, but Eva, you cannot refuse the wish of your King."

"Only a mere wish? Or a desire that you would turn into a command?"

He laughed. "Touché."

"Fencing, are we?"

"Did we ever cease to?"

She rolled her eyes, hating the faint curve that shaped her mouth. She might loathe him, but he sated her hunger for wit and clever conversation. The times she gained the upper hand were the ones she relished most, naturally, however few they were.

"You're teasing me."

He chuckled, and she tensed as she felt his hand on the small of her back.

"Am I?"

"You're too arrogant to want a queen. Mistress, concubine, whore, yes. But not a woman who would be considered your equal."

His chuckle became a full laugh, and she found herself pressed back against him, his hand on her stomach. Her brow furrowed; it was unusually… affectionate.

Very unfamiliar territory. She could deal with angry sex, slaps, verbal spats, but this? An embrace?

No.

She was near- relieved when his mouth descended on her neck and left a mark which would bruise. She almost welcomed the slight pain of it. Almost. It was still Loki's handiwork.

"Did you think I was going to be tender with you?" he murmured. His hand closed on her throat, sending jolts of panic through her spine. "Oh, no, no, no. No. One cannot be tender when taming a lioness."

His fingers flexed, and then he released her. She shot forwards, desperate to be out of his reach, though she did not rub her throat. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction. Instead, she walked away from him.

If only it was for the last time.

She stood in the conference room, adorned in soft gold, sipping her glass of champagne. Icy cold. Much like her demeanour towards the pretender standing with delegates and politicians. Not that she had spoken much with him. She was conversing with a German diplomat – who had been surprised and genuinely pleased when he began in flawless English and she replied equally fluently in his native tongue. She knew most – like in New York – were expecting her to be a pretty face and nothing more – and she could not deny she relished the opportunity to set them straight. After all, she thought to herself, Loki possesses extreme intelligence; why then would he choose a mindless Barbie to accompany him?

Eva had no real idea about the politics involved with Geneva, hadn't had a chance to acquaint herself with them. Neither did she really care. It wouldn't help her escape or run from Loki. It was not as if she could run from him, after all. She knew he was a telepath, and she loathed the invasion of her privacy. Her thoughts were no longer her own, and it rattled her. She could bite back for all she was worth, but he was always two steps ahead of her.

"They say he will make you Queen."

The words were so softly spoken that for a moment she couldn't be sure the diplomat had said them. But one look at the man's eyes, and she knew he had. This one wasn't a believer in Loki's rule. He was risking his life by conversing about this – especially when the god himself was in the room. Loki may have initially known little about Earth's languages, but he had picked up several in less than a year - and German was one of them. The god was also unpredictable, volatile, and was as likely to be charming as he was menacing when meeting any dissenters. Keeping a pleasant smile on her face to alleviate any suspicion, and monitoring her thoughts, Eva spoke, keeping her tone low.

"Impossible. I will refuse. Besides, I am only for show. And he is too arrogant to need a woman like that." She took a sip of champagne. "And I'm not submissive enough. I'd sooner stab him than slip a ring on my finger."

"Hold that thought, Eva Manning. You'll need it," the man spoke, and surprise hit her as she realised his accent was not German at all, but entirely English.

American.

It was then the room exploded.

Screams, cries, breaking of glass, the lights were dead, and she felt herself being lifted by someone. Someone whose touch and scent she didn't recognise. It's not Loki. It's not him. Get off me! She struggled, yelling and swearing, but her captor was strong and easily kept hold of her. And then they were moving. Fast. But someone had blindfolded her, and she inwardly cursed. Where the fuck are they taking me?

Suddenly there was an inhuman roar which chilled her to the bone, raising hairs on her body, and she froze in her fear. Run. Move. Anything, just get out. A second later adrenaline kicked in. She fought hard against her abductor, unable to see anything or guess at where she was being taken, and she hissed as she felt a sharp jab to her neck.

Shit. No. Don't. Don't you… dare…

Eva fell into oblivion.

Word spread quickly.

The Palais des Nations, attacked. Injuries were certain. Deaths were likely. Some hoped for the death of the King, but anyone who had sense knew that Lord Loki would not be brought down by a simple explosion - and as predicted, he emerged unscathed.

So what had been the intention?

The guesses spread just as rapidly. And when Loki returned to New York without Eva Manning by his side, the guesses became truths.

His lady had been taken. The media fell into a collective frenzy, and the newspapers screamed their shock. Loki tolerated their madness the way an adult would a petulant child. After all, he knew who had stolen her away. It did not surprise him in the least. And he let them take her. He was curious about their plans, not concerned, and he knew that he could find Eva in a single second if he wished. Quite what they intended to do with her, however, intrigued and amused him. She knew next to nothing, and unless they wished to gain a detailed account of the times he'd fucked her… His lips twitched, and he turned from the window. His bed would be cold tonight… but there was plenty of time for her to return to it. Plenty of time to make her crave the being who slept in it.

Loki was not by nature a carnal creature. He ruled with his head, kept his baser instincts behind a lock. He had seen the attitudes of the Asgardians, with their hearty drinking, bawdy jests and easy ways. He had never been like that. Of the choice few he had wooed - and wooed well - none of them had been particularly prone to loud and wild habits. Except, of course, when he let go of the leash in the bedchamber. None of these mortal whores had been able to satisfy him – being either too tentative or too brash. And he had no taste for forcing the unwilling. If Eva had not wanted him so – and oh how she'd wanted him; he could smell her desire from a mile away, even hidden behind those carefully crafted guards of hers – he would not have had her.

He might be a monster, but he was a gentleman. Even in his fractured, tangled consciousness, his princely upbringing still held sway.

Most of the time.

A/N: I'm sorry if you were expecting something a little longer. This chapter took ages to write, and I didn't want to make you lovely people wait forever. I hope it lives up to your expectations.

Lightning xoxo