by Evie Kent
“Because when our time is up, you go home.” Simple as that, really. As much as I used my consorts for my own selfish desires, kept them here to break up the tormenting monotony, I was always jealous of them when it came time to leave. Always. Preferring not to think about that, about my pathetic personal failings, I scooped a forkful of scrambled eggs in my mouth, then reached for the saltshaker to season it more to my liking while my other hand went for my piping hot coffee. After a noisy slurp, I set everything back down on the table to find Nora still staring at me—like my statement just wasn’t enough.
“Right, so, my companions have never been with me for more than a month—maybe six weeks. You and I have only just begun the fun, but the time will come for us to part ways.” It always did. Hardly fair to trap a pretty songbird inside a cage for all its short life. “The villagers will arrange transportation for you. We’ll kiss goodbye at the gate. I’ll tell you not to miss me too much, and then… off to live the rest of your life without the pleasure of my company.”
Without this place. Without shackles and darkness—only memories. More good than bad, or so I foolishly hoped.
Nora blinked once, twice, then burst out laughing as I had never heard before. Whole body jiggling, eyes watering, forehead crinkling, howling laughter exploded all over me—grated on me. With a hand over her mouth, she seemed to struggle to contain herself, while I failed to see what the fuck was so funny.
“What?”
“Y-you think…” She wiped away the tears as her giggles slowly fizzled. “Oh my god, you think they let us leave? Just go back to our lives after a sexcation with a god? Are you for fucking real?”
While sexcation was a completely foreign term to me, I could deduce its meaning. Fixing her with an unimpressed look, heat gathering at the nape of my neck as she continued tittering to herself, I snapped up another piece of bacon, which immediately crumbled into pieces between my fingers.
“That’s what I told them to do—”
“You know, for a smart guy, you really are dumb,” Nora told me, finally grabbing her toast and taking a huge bite out of it. She shook her head, chuckling and chewing, then started to fill her plate. Anger flashed at the thought of her possibly knowing something I didn’t about this whole situation.
“What makes you think—”
“When that Oskar asshole was walking me to the town hall, where they had the fucking box waiting—” She flicked her eyes my way, accusation in every syllable. “—there was this woman who looked like me.”
I wiped my greasy fingers with my thumb, then nudged my plate aside and threaded my hands together on the table; she had my full attention, even as annoyance warmed my ears, a quiet but pitchy whine stretching from one side of my skull to the other.
“She was way older,” Nora mused, plopping a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto her plate, followed by two pancakes, “but same hair, bright eyes… We probably had a similar build when she was my age. And she was just out there, watering her plants, until she saw me.” A few strawberry halves joined the steadily growing heap of food. “She saw me, and she just… froze. Dropped her watering can. Pointed at me. Did this horrible silent scream thing… I had nightmares about it the first week, the look on her face, like she knew where I was going, what I was in for. Then two men grabbed her and dragged her into the house.”
That… couldn’t be right.
It had to be a villager that she had seen, not…
Lucille.
My gut twisted, and the intuition that had steered me left and right throughout my very long life told me to believe her—trust her.
But no. No. Not Lucille. She had been so sweet and pliant, only ever chatty like Nora when it came time to go home to Italy. Then she had told me all about her village, her life there, her friends and family and goats, her ancestral olive groves…
In an age gone by, when my villagers had first started bringing me human consorts, I had issued a very clear directive to the jarl: they all go home after. They were not my slaves, nor were they to be kept and acquired by the locals. These women—they were special. Different. Elevated above their fucking peers.
I had been so clear—
“The world doesn’t know the supernatural exists,” Nora remarked after a dainty sip of her juice, motioning to me with her chin, “and you’re proof that it does. You are proof that those assholes out there aren’t brilliant, or miracle farmers, or genius stock guys who breed these high-IQ kids—it’s all you. They’re cheating the system because they have a god who gives them everything so long as they feed him and buy him whatever he asks for. They lucked into this life, and if you think they’re going to let some whore—” We both seemed to bristle at the word, her voice catching and my chest tightening. “—ruin that for them by telling the world what’s going on, you’re fucking deluded.”
My mouth dried and my appetite vanished.
Could I really have been so stupid, so naïve? I was a god, and my acolytes were to obey my every word.
But I could hardly go around checking on them. My influence stretched far. I blessed them with the basics left at my disposal. In return, they fetched me anything I desired.
Had they played me for a fool all these centuries?
Had I become complacent and miserable, a shell of my former self in every way imaginable?
I pushed my plate away, scowling at the oak.
“Syrup?”
Not bothering to look up, I hooked a finger through the handle on the glass bottle and passed it over to her. Nora took it without a word, but seconds later there was the little pop of the jar opening, followed by the telltale scent of sugary, sticky maple.
If Lucille was still in the village, manhandled and contained, what had happened to all the others? Imprisoned for all their lives—just like me?
I had never wanted that for them, desperate as I was to keep all my pretty birds just so I wouldn’t be so fucking alone.
And all this time in their absence, I had been terribly alone, horribly lonely—and they had been, what, just down the hill in the village?
My coffee mug cracked as my eyes narrowed. Across the table, Nora inhaled sharply.
I would root out the truth in all this.
They couldn’t have fooled me all these years…
No.
Conflict soured in my belly, clouded my ever-working mind.
No one tricks a trickster.
During the next food delivery, I would find my answers—one way or another.
And whether the unfortunate messenger lived to tell the others that I knew…
Well, that was still to be decided.
18
Nora
Lightning split a black, miserable sky.
Crack-boom. Thunder answered, shaking the mountain down to its foundations. My skin prickled with another rush of goose bumps, and I tugged my knees in tighter to my chest as a fresh gust of cold wind ripped through the little nook I’d recently discovered. Forty-six days inside this place and I thought I had found everything there was to find—but not so.
Way, way into the mountain, the wall sloped up, its surface nowhere near as smooth as the well-traveled paths closer to our living quarters. The first time I’d stumbled onto it, sunlight screamed through, illuminating the corridor and turning the darkness golden. Up I’d climbed, frantic, only to discover like every little wormhole in here, the fall out the other side would kill me. Hundreds of feet stood between the nook’s sharp edge and the ground below, the mountain’s face slanting inward. Dangerous, even for experienced climbers—especially without a rope and hooks and whatever the fuck else those daredevils used.
Even Loki had deemed it impossible for me to tackle without the right gear and years of experience. We hadn’t touched back on what we had chatted about at the breakfast table after I’d finally given in to him, but he entertained the idea of my escape without a snarl or a sneer these days. All the sex probably had something to do with it, but whatever. Killer orgasms and a
god who gave me his honest opinion on whether a fall would break every bone in my body? I’d take it.
A wall of rain had steadily hammered us all day, sucking all the June heat out of the air and replacing it with a summer chill that made me shiver in my jeans and T-shirt. Apparently giving in to panty-melting sex meant I could finally ditch that dress; the week after our first time, a whole new wardrobe had shown up alongside the food delivery in a crate all its own. I’d picked out what I liked, what made the most sense for the environment. Loki had demanded a demonstration—a fashion show, because what the hell else did we have to do?
I’d agreed on the stipulation that he try on the clothes I didn’t want. Tit for tat.
And he did.
Because he was a good sport—and probably because there was no one else around to judge him, to make him feel ridiculous when he acted like a fool for me.
To his credit, he had really committed to the part. I mean. The guy could rock a leather miniskirt, even with thighs like tree trunks and a dick an inch away from poking out the bottom.
That had been a fun day.
One of the few that we had, both of us weighed down by this place—him more than me, but I was catching up fast and we both knew it.
Another streak of lightning slashed the sky, stretching across the horizon and scattering violently in a dozen different directions. Thunder followed immediately after, the storm on top of us. Over the roar of rain, I heard it: a soft throat clear to my left.
Loki had found me.
I’d been here since lunch, watching the storm. Since we’d first consummated whatever the fuck we were—consort and god—it had taken him less and less time to come looking for me when I went wandering.
And not because I couldn’t wander, but because he seemed to… need my company.
Deep down, when sadness spiked and sharpened in my own chest, I probably needed his company in here, too.
Seconds later, his head popped up in the nook’s opening, followed by his handsome—albeit somewhat dour—face. Wordlessly, Loki climbed in, cramped and ducked low. While I could kneel comfortably without knocking my head, the nook was less accommodating for a man who was half-giant. But he made it work, shifting about with a frown until he eventually mirrored my posture: knees up, arms wrapped around them, dressed in all black on the other end of the eight-foot gap in the mountainside.
While he studied the raging storm, the wind ruffled his cropped, dark auburn hair, lightning catching in his ever-changing gaze, I studied him. Definitely a sad day, his shoulders slumped—and not because of the space issue—and his mouth in a thin line.
I knew the feeling well, the flat affect of depression, the numbness that swelled inside until you felt like you were just going to pop.
“Do gods make the rain?” I asked, throat thick after hours of silence. Loki’s eyes flitted my way briefly, then back out to the wall of grey rain, droplets splattering the first few feet of stone inside the nook. A gust of wind brought them deeper, and I tucked my chin into my crossed arms, bracing against it.
“Not always,” he croaked back, using his shoulder to wipe the rainwater from his cheek. “But some can.”
Batshit insane to think about, what these creatures could do. How they could influence every little thing we knew in this world, all the stuff we chalked up to science and nature. Yeah, it rained because of, you know, reasons, but the idea of a lone figure snapping his fingers and boom, downpour, still boggled my mind.
“So…” I wiggled side to side to get the blood flowing through my ass cheeks again, stiff and uncomfortable but in no hurry to get out of here anytime soon. “The curse mutes your powers?”
Loki’s gaze swept across the landscape hungrily, mapping every detail. “Hmm. Yes.”
Even crazier to consider all that he possessed outside of this mountain. He already had so much ability at his disposal in here, gifts leaps and bounds beyond my own. Despite the muzzle, Loki was so fucking powerful; now that we were having regular sex and he showed no signs of kicking me out anytime soon, I could accept that the power was hot as hell.
Beyond healing me and creating objects out of thin air just by looking at them once in a picture, he had done so much for the villagers over the centuries. I’d rooted around the topic during pillow talk one night, demanding to know them—my real enemy—as best I could. What had started as a poor, backwater community had become a thriving force in the country, in the world. Their produce was considered the best Norway had to offer, and they grew it deep in the forest, in land no one had thought useable. Their lumber exports were prized and coveted. Their kids got into all the best universities, advancing deep into politics and influential spheres—all because Loki willed it, gifted them with luck and opportunity. These guys had gotten rich and powerful off him…
And it just didn’t seem right.
Trapped in here, he wasn’t exactly drowning in worshippers. He didn’t choose them; it was circumstantial, their codependent relationship, and it was sick.
Like showing off a beautiful tiger for a paying crowd, then raking in the profits while this wild thing lived in a squalid cage.
It was bullshit.
And it made me hate them so much more than I already did.
“Which one do you miss the most?” He had mentioned something about changing forms once—that was probably a handy power to have in your back pocket.
Loki stared out into the storm for a beat, then leaned over and extended a finger at the nook’s opening. My eyes widened when his fingertip suddenly bent backward, the nail going from pink to white like it had met a formidable barrier.
“I miss free air.” He withdrew, folding in on himself, and let his head thunk back against the stone. “I miss going where I please, when I please… Traveling between realms on a whim, scaling Yggdrasil with my own two hands—”
“Scaling what?”
“The world tree,” Loki muttered as he glowered at his finger, flexing it up and down, his nail pinkish again. “All the nine realms rest upon its branches. It connects this world to the next and beyond… I miss that most of all. I would give it all away, all my power, to walk out of here and roam again.”
I nibbled my lower lip, heart sinking—aching—for him. Definitely a sad day, that raging storm a black mirror for both of us. We fought a lot less lately, and I had a theory it was because we understood each other a bit better. Sure, sex bonded two people if they let it. Broke down barriers, upped the intimacy. Made you vulnerable. But if the villagers were keeping consorts against his wishes, Loki couldn’t just kick me out. It wasn’t really about me, but more the fact that they weren’t listening to him—weren’t following orders. I was stuck here, really stuck, just like him.
Trapped. Lonely. Forgotten as the rest of the world carried on without us.
Acknowledging that, this horribly depressing experience we shared, bonded us more than awesome sex ever could.
Swallowing hard, I tipped forward and crawled across the nook. As soon as I settled beside him, my back nestling into the stone, rooting out a comfortable position, Loki stretched his long legs, arms limp on his lap.
“You shouldn’t wish that,” I told him softly, adjusting my snug faded jeans, the rips purposeful to the design at the knees and near my hips. The bland white tee, loose and scoop-neck, stood in sharp contrast to his rigid black button-down.
“And why not?” He grinned as lightning snared in his eyes again, all of it seeming hollow.
“Because if you ever got out, your powers could do so much for the world. Don’t give them away. They really are a gift—”
“And who would want me?” he mused, chuckling coolly with a sidelong glance. “Who would desire Loki as their savior? Stories have made me the villain—evil.”
I shrugged, unfazed by that tone, the one he used to bait me when he was feeling insecure. “I dunno… It’s been a while.” Distantly, a hundred feet down, ancient pines bent to the will of the storm. “You can always change the narrati
ve.”
I mean, could he cure cancer? His healing abilities alone were enough to make him a globally-worshipped deity—with the right PR backing him, maybe. Not that he had an obligation to fix humanity, even if he did somehow get out of here. Loki had spent all this miserable time tending to a bunch of village assholes who were just using him. He missed free air. If he got out, I’d expect him to wander again. A lot had changed in eight hundred years, and he didn’t exist just to be mankind’s shepherd.
Still. He could do so much for us.
We had never discussed other supernatural creatures—if they existed today, what they were capable of doing. But if they were around and possessed even a tenth of Loki’s muted power, maybe they could pick up the slack for a while.
Another gust of wind dragged in the rain, and I crouched behind Loki, using him as my god-shield against the elements. Peering down at me, expression unreadable, he took the brunt of the cold and the wet, turning his back on the outside world to create a wider barrier. When the breeze died down, thunder shaking the mountain again, he wiped the damp from my cheeks, then ghosted a lone finger over my lips, plucking at the bottom, and down to my chin, along my jaw, over my pulse until he reached the hollow of my throat.
I swallowed hard, still unsure how to react when the full weight of his attention rested squarely on me. His eyes traced the lines of my face, lingering on my lips, then plunged to my neck, to his finger resting in the sizeable dip. If he applied even a little pressure, it was like a ton of bricks crushing my windpipe; he had done it before.
And I’d liked it more than I should have.
Nibbling my lower lip, I wrapped a hand around his finger, easing it away from my throat, then pushed up to kiss him. I had fought this so hard—for weeks and weeks, I had denied both of us intimacy and companionship. Connection. My fears had been totally valid, especially after seeing Loki’s reaction to just the idea that the villagers didn’t send his consorts on their merry way when he was done with them… But that was still one long month of descending into darkness totally alone.