Chapter 13

9.1K 272 20
                                    

He watched her, his glare burning into her back as she turned on her heel and stalked off into the trees. With a bellow of frustration, he flung the unfinished breakfast before him to the ground and began to pace back and forth, frantically.

Thoughts tumbled through his mind. Possessiveness was in his very nature and neither was he a stranger to the competitiveness of sibling rivalry. But this... this was something else. Something unknown that flared in him. That brought tightness to his chest and tension to his stomach.

It almost felt like hate. Almost like regret.

He sank to sit on the steps of the carrier, head resting in his hands. Bringing her was a mistake. He must concentrate now. He had to shield them from the gaze of the ever-watchful Heimdall. The guards would surely have been alerted to their escape by now and the Guardian's eyes would soon be turned on the Nine Worlds, searching for the fugitives.

A noise roused him from his reflections. A soft sound of disorder, disturbance.

Not too far away.

His body tensed, listening hard.

There.

A cry of pain. Feminine.

Rebecca.

He was on his feet immediately, sword conjured to his grasp, running at full speed.

The trees bit at his face. The ground under his feet doing everything it could to trip him, slow his progress. Where was she?! She couldn't have gone far!

And then, without warning, he was engaged in battle.

Alfheim warriors?

But they were a peaceful race, immune to wars, remaining neutral until it became impossible for them to be so. There was only one reason their forces would have been mobilised.

Him.

Heimdall worked swiftly.

He fought, slashing at his attackers with impeccable technique. Their obvious lack of battle experience showed and they fell effortlessly at his hand. He was quite enjoying himself. A good fight was something he had missed, though he hadn't expected to engage in one quite so soon.

Loki dispatched the last of the assailants that surrounded him and turned.

She was just feet away, back against a tree.

She had acquired an Alfheim bow and quiver and was deftly loading and firing arrows at a small group of archers that had cornered her. He was momentarily transfixed by her skill before moving to conceal himself.

She was very close to emptying the quiver at her back. Soon, they would be able to advance on her.

Rebecca knew this.

Her body coursed with fear and adrenalin. She could do nothing now but try and make every shot count. Gods, how could she have been so stupid?! Foolish she, to think they were out of danger, that no-one would be looking for them here.

Drawing back her arm, she took aim at the nearest archer, silently cursing herself and wishing, wishing that Loki were by her side.

But the bolt never left her hand.

Before she could release it, a wall of green flame flared up in front of her, separating her from her foes.

Then a strong, careful hand at her waist, pulling her close, the other enveloping her against his chest as the blood rushed to her head and her vision faded to blackness.

Adverse EffectsWhere stories live. Discover now