She stirs, her closed eyes fluttering lightly as she faintly jerks her head. Warmth soaks her body and she sinks into it, the air she's breathing in and the atmosphere evenly warm.
Her eyes open slowly and she blinks, her vision clearing she takes in her surroundings.
She's in the safehouse.
Her mission is completed.
Her hand instantly feels for her GLOCK gun in her thigh holster and her recent memories come back to her in a rush.
Wood.
Outside.
Snow. Forest.
Strange man.
She immediately sits up from the bed and pounces fast, standing with her GLOCK gun snatched out of the thigh holster as she looks at the closed door of the small bedroom with a small scowl on her face.
She breathes in and out hard, before turning her head around.
She looks through the window behind her, to see that it is already nighttime. She can hear the howling whistling of the snow storm outside. Her face scrunches in confusion, expecting herself to tremble or shake. Expecting the cold to bite her.
But it doesn't, not the slightest. Not even a chill.
She swallows hard, her suspicions going high and her instincts screaming at her that something is happening. Something that shouldn't be happening.
She walks slowly to the door, trying to be quiet but the wooden floorboard squeaks beneath her heeled boots. She carefully twists the doorknob, opens the door, and looks both sides to find that the hallway is empty, then she fully steps out.
She begins walking through the hallway with measured quiet steps, both hands holding her GLOCK gun. It's awfully quiet in the house, too quiet. Her nerves are high hard to ignore.
The empty small interior room is her front vision as she walks through the hallway, and once she reaches the end of it, raising her GLOCK gun in hand, the weapon suddenly melts into blue dust that smoothly seeps through her fingers, falling onto the floorboard and turns to nothing.
Her eyes widen. "Kakiye?" She gasps in utter shock.
"That is no way to make a proper introductory, my dear." A teasing sultry English voice startles her.
Her eyes snap to the man who has oddly emerged before her and is leaning against the wall behind the couch with his arms crossed over his chest. A small smirk on his face.
His face.
She blinks hard.
Last time she remembers seeing him for the first time, his face had small scratches and bruises on it.
And now it's flawless, and he's standing upright. Not at all appearing like the wounded man she stumbled across in the woods.
She hardens her face.
She remembers blacking out. He must have carried her back in here, finding the cabin house himself.
She eyes him sharply.
He's wearing some sort of green cloak and an odd rich attire. His black shoulder-length hair spikey on the ends. She wonders how it'd feel like if she sinks her fingers through his locks. Maybe silky. It certainly has an interesting texture to it.
"Who are you?" She demands, the distrust apparent in her deep shamrock eyes. She crosses her arms over her chest and coldly glares at him.
She should be worried how her gun turned to dust, and how he suddenly appeared in the place he's standing now from nowhere.
"Apparently saving a maiden doesn't get you the gratitude you'd deserve." He chuckles softly. "I could've just left you out there to freeze into ice, but I need someone to show me around." He says, his small smirk unwavering under her unmoving impassive gaze.
She doesn't reply, instead pinning him with her sharp eyes.
"I am Loki Laufeyson, banished by my fake father from my home."
Natalia quirks up an eyebrow.
"I need a companion through this realm, and you will help me." His voice is smooth and icy. "But what realm is this? Answer me that."
Natalia coolly regards him before answering with a tight voice. "I'm not certain of the name of this forest. All I can say is somewhere in Russia, if it's any obvious."
Loki frowns lightly. "I have not heard of such a name. But alright." He seems confused.
Natalia raises both eyebrows. "You've never heard of Russia?"
"None of the nine realms have a name of that." He answers.
Natalia quirks an eyebrow again. She isn't sure if he's referring to the continents of the world but she's certain that there are seven.
"You're lost." She says.
He raises an eyebrow. "I don't need to be found."
Natalia suppresses a sigh and stares at him blankly.
He can't know who she is, but he hasn't asked anything. Nor has he shown to be a threat to her. But the cool arrogant aroma coming from him unsettles her. And there is something cunning or perhaps dark about his eyes. She cannot trust him, but she does need to get rid of him. Maybe she can drop him off to Moscow before they go their separate ways.
"Why is it not cold in here?" She asks instead.
"You're welcome by the way." He smirks.
She briefly grits her teeth together. "What are you?"
"A demigod." His smirk widens. "A prince. Your future king. Soon you will kneel before my feet." He says with a soft growl.
Natalia tries not to blink or cringe. She doesn't know if he is mocking her or just being a smug asshole. She narrows her eyes at him and glowers. "I will have my gun back."
"I can't let that happen, darling. You should know your place. It is dark, take your rest for this late hour. Tomorrow morning we will start."
Start what?
She tries not to flinch.
This man thinks he is so entitled.
She doesn't know where he comes from or who he really is, but she will not be ordered around like that by some stranger. She doesn't have to do anything for him.
She takes dangerous steps closer, dropping her arms to her sides. "You will give me my gun." She repeats calmly, stopping just before the couch that's between them.
He smoothly leans off the wall, his smirk dropping. "I told you to go get rest. You do not demand things from me. Obey me and I won't make you slumber on the floor with the warmth-spell dropped. You should be thanking me, little woman. I am giving you a favour."
Natalia coolly smirks, the first uplift of her thick lips, but it's cold and of cruel intentions. The Black Widow's smug stare means danger.
She steps back and turns her back to him, walking to the chair in the corner that has her weapons duffel bag on it. She unzips it and picks a gun, planning to get rid of the certain nuisance in this room. Her smirk widens when she handles the berretta pistol in her hand, before she promptly turns and sends a few bullets his way.
She watches the look of confusion and shock on his frowning face. His jaw drops and he slowly looks down to his chest that has three bloodless bullet holes, his rich attire now ruined.
She blinks, waiting for him to collapse and die. But she is only met with a dark look when he lifts his head to her.
Her eyebrow twitches, staring at his chest that is supposedly not bleeding like it should be.
She raises the berreta pistol again but it goes flying out of her hand before she can even shoot. She widens her eyes and looks at him outrageously. Then he vanishes from her sight, making her blink with disbelief. All her training is thrown out the window, she does not know how to handle a situation such as this, was never taught any of this. She's handled a supersoldier before, Alexei Shostakov, but that's where the line of strangeness ends. She doesn't know what this is. She panics, and begins to turn her head to find him. When she does so she gasps, almost bumping noses with him. She steps back, all her instincts thrown out the window, and he steps closer. She won't fight this one. Not when she doesn't know what she's dealing with here. So she let's him have control, for now
"You, my darling, are in trouble." He says in his silky icy voice. For every step she takes back, he mimics coming closer to her. He watches the look of what seems to be slight terror in her eyes but he isn't sure if he can place it as such, though he is certain that she is nervous.
He looks angry, dangerously so. "I will make you pay for that." He growls, grabbing her by her arm and presses her to him. She darkens her glare when he takes out a sharp dagger and he brings it closer to her neck. "A peasant who shows disrespect and disobedience to their royal superiors shall be served with retribution." He darkly smirks as he watches her jerk her head back from the dagger nearing her neck. He grabs a fistful of her hair tightly and brings her closer to the tip of the blade, making her gasp. "I can make you bleed." He snarls. She struggles against his grip, realizing with a grunt that her strength is no match to his. "I can snap your neck like a twig and watch your body collapse like a puppet with cut strings." He lets go of her hair and puts his dagger away, but then his hand curls on her neck and he tightens it slightly. "But I won't. Although I should." His eyes narrow. "Consider yourself lucky, little woman. So, for your own pathetic life my patience, listen to me."