The Lakes ⭒ Druig

1 : THE MOON IS WATCHING

Norway, 2024

⭒⭒⭒

     She was a creature of dusk and moonlight, breathing in the cool and crisp air of a Norwegian night. The stars were already in full bloom, diamond-cut points in the ocean of the dark sky. And they had Artemis Lane's full attention, just as they always had.

     The frostbite in the air nipped at her nose and ears, turning her steady breath into a cloud, uncurling from her mouth, lips tipped in a nostalgic smile. She shouldn't be so sentimental, shouldn't let the sweet and sour feeling clasp so tightly at her heart. Ajak would scold her like a doting mother. That isn't the Purpose, little huntress, she'd say, cowboy boots echoing on the wooden floorboards of her farmhouse.

     It was hard, though, not to be drowned under the cresting wave of nostalgia. It dumped her under a tangy surface of rust and salt, often leaving her with the taste of blood on her tongue. It was a pity Artemis was so familiar with the taste of blood.

     The heavy tread of Torbjørn sounded on the dirt and snow caked gravel outside of the neon-lit diner on some backroad in Norway.

     "They saying anything good?" he quipped in his thick Norwegian drawl. His shoulders were hunched underneath his jacket, chin dug into his zipped collar.

     Torbjørn was a strapping and scruffy truckdriver that often stopped at the Snow Spoon when he needed warmth and a cup of black coffee with three sugars when the long, icy roads became too grim and too hard. He was a good listener and a sweet lover. Though he could be selfish some nights when his stomach was ripe with beer, pawing at her thighs and hips as he sought only his pleasure from her. Some nights she minded, others she didn't for she only needed the sweat and pressure of someone against her skin.

     "Nothing for your ears," she teased, shivering underneath her coat and the waitress uniform wrapped around her rathe and lithe body—the body of a warrior, limbs carved with meat and muscle.

     Torbjørn laughed, the sound deep in his throat. He kicked some frozen gravel loose. "Want me to stay out here with you?" There was a hidden plea in his words. They hadn't shared pleasure in a little while, but Artemis's ache laid elsewhere, deep within the privacy and seclusion of the Amazon rainforest.

     Still, she didn't need company tonight, the night sky was enough for her with the clear moon and the stars shuddering with their rainbow-gold light that was out of Artemis's reach. For now, she was full and wistful, and she could ignore the ache between her thighs well enough, an ache she nor Torbjørn could fix.

     She shook her head. "Noora just popped on a fresh pot of coffee." The neon light of the tiny, greasy diner shone dully against her hair. Torbjørn lingered unsurely, waiting for her to relent.

     Artemis only relented for her family, like when Apollo wanted to teach her how to surf in Pearl Harbour after they'd watched an entire fleet sink in early December during the Second World War—far from the world's actual second world war and definitely not Artemis's second war. Or when Kingo wanted her to star in one of his early Bollywood movies. Two of her scenes had to be cut because she was too wooden on camera, but he'd been delighted to have her around for a few months.

     She gestured towards the diner with fogged windows and only a litter of customers. "Go on," she ordered, all gentle teasing gone in the next breath. "I'll be in a few, and I'll bring you a slice of blotkake," she promised. Blotkake was a traditional Norwegian layered sponge cake covered with drifts of whipped cream and fruit, and it was something Art had become fond of rather quickly in her three years in Norway.