A dual pov narrative from both main characters-Loki and Annalise. If you enjoy slow burn, immersive stories, with a good plot and the long awaited spice, then stop your search. Here is the story for you!
As the newly crowned king of Jotunheim, Loki...
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Growing increasingly impatient while confined to my new lavish prison, I hurry over to the door and call out to the guards, "What's happening? Shouldn't the meeting be finished by now?"
I ball my hands into fists and pound on the wood, but the stationed guards remain silent, my desperate plea for information going unacknowledged.
A distant noise catches my attention, and I press my ear to the door, straining to discern it. But my action proves unnecessary, as the noise quickly escalates into a loud bang followed by the nervous shuffle of guards now roused into action.
A sudden dread washes over me. This is it—the moment I've been anticipating. Tarryd is coming for me.
Rushing to Leon's side, I swiftly disconnect all the machines he is attached to, unwilling to leave him exposed to the storm of evil that will soon break through the door.
After a tense struggle to secure Leon as best I can, the noise outside grows louder, and heavy footsteps thud ominously toward my door.
I brace myself, gripping the dagger I swiped from Thor tightly in both hands, holding it out in front of me. My hands tremble with fear, the blade quivering, but no matter how many reassuring words I whisper to myself, I can't still the nervous shakes rattling through my bones.
The sudden fling of the door nearly causes me to drop my only source of protection, and I involuntarily let out a terrified scream. I breathe in rapid gasps as I stare at Frigga and Thor rushing into the room, a palpable sense of relief washing over me when I see that it's them and not Tarryd.
But the way they frantically bolt the door closed, their chests heaving with exertion, sends my pulse skyrocketing again, my brief moment of relief evaporating.
"What's going on?" I hesitantly ask.
Thor doesn't answer, too focused on dragging a heavy desk across the floor with a loud screech, wedging it firmly against the door. Only after he's successfully barricaded the only exit does he lean against it, catching his breath.
With growing apprehension, I ask again, "What is going on?"
Thor finally looks at me, but his eyes narrow when he notices the familiar weapon in my hands. "So that's where it went!" he barks, clearly enraged. "What happened to the three weapons you took from me earlier?"
"I... I left them in the healer's ward," I stammer, a hint of guilt creeping into my voice.
Thor's expression hardens with disappointment, and something inside me snaps. "You'd be forgetful too if you knew what evil hunts me!" I retort, my frustration bubbling over.
Thor exhales deeply, his anger fading. "If you needed a weapon, I would have gladly given you one," his tone softens. "I just really needed that blade."
His words confirm my worst fears—that the planned meeting with Tarryd hadn't gone smoothly at all. Why else would Thor need his weapon?
