Fragments of your Soul (The Mirror Worlds Book 1)

by Erbsland, E. S.

  Loke seemed to share her desire, for he suddenly sat up and pressed her down on the soft skins of the bed and onto the white cloth that was lying there. With gentle force he pressed her legs apart and ran his big hand between them. Arvid let out a loud, surprised, but no less pleasurable moan as Loke slid one of his long, cold fingers inside her. She was so wet, it happened almost without resistance, and Arvid greedily pressed against him.

  “Loke, please,” she gasped pleadingly, “please take me! Please… I can’t wait any longer.”

  Loke smiled almost imperceptibly. “It’s much nicer, if you wait,” he whispered, then he pushed his finger deeper and began to move it in small, circular motions. Arvid moaned and clung to Loke’s shoulders.

  “Look at me,” demanded Loke.

  Arvid forced herself to open her eyes and look at Loke. There was lust in his eyes, but also curiosity and a deep fascination. He ran his thumb over her slick opening, then he began to rub her clit with gentle pressure, watching her spellbound. Arvid closed her eyes again. His fingers felt so good. She felt that she soon wouldn’t be able to control herself.

  “Look at me!” Loke repeated firmly.

  It took all Arvid’s willpower to obey him. When she met his gaze, he increased the pressure of his fingers, but just as she thought she couldn’t hold back any longer, he paused.

  With a frustrated sound Arvid stretched toward him, but Loke removed his wet fingers from her. “Careful,” he said softly. “We wouldn’t want it to become too much for you.”

  “Oh, Loke…” moaned Arvid.

  “I know,” he muttered, then he pressed a quick kiss on her lips. “But after all we have to get something done.”

  He grasped Arvid with his huge arms, knelt down with knees slightly apart and pulled her onto his lap. Arvid gave a little gasp as she felt his hard member between her legs. She knew it was big, but only now did she realize how small she was compared to it.

  “Relax,” whispered Loke. “It’s easier then.”

  Arvid tried to and nodded, breathing heavily.

  “There’re a few things I want to tell you,” Loke breathed into her ear while Arvid felt the tip of his cock pushing into her.

  “Now?” she gasped in disbelief.

  “Yes,” murmured Loke, gently pressing his chin against her hair. “You should know that… my first wife was a giantess named Angarboda. She’s… Hel’s mother… but I have three more children… Fenrir, Jorundt and Sleipner.”

  Arvid felt a mild pain when Loke entered her. In small, firm thrusts he began to press himself deeper into her. It still hurt, but it was not an unpleasant pain, but on the contrary an incredibly exciting feeling.

  “I’m king Farbaute’s eldest son,” Loke whispered in her ear. “My brother Byleist… became heir to Isvirndjellen’s throne when I… joined Asgard. I became Odin’s blood brother… and so… part of his family.”

  Loke’s cold penis dug deeper into her and filled her bit by bit. The feeling was so arousing that Arvid lustfully pushed against him, and Loke also increased his pressure now. Hot, tingling excitement spread through her like a gushing wave.

  “I was… born on the sixth day of the Month… of Storms,” Loke uttered, panting, now thrusting faster and harder into her, “in the year seven hundred and eighty… in the era of giants.”

  Arvid groaned when she felt Loke reach her deepest point. He was so big, he stretched and filled her up completely. With a moan, he rammed his cock so deep into her that Arvid cried out in pain and pleasure and clutched him convulsively. Loke paused, panting heavily, but Arvid wanted more.

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please, Loke… don’t stop.”

  “As you wish.”

  Again he pushed deep inside her and began to take her with ever faster and more violent strokes. Arvid was overwhelmed at feeling Loke so deep inside her body, feeling his huge cock ramming against her innermost point, harder and harder. Each thrust hurt, but the pleasure that came with it was a thousand times greater.

  Loke now fell in with her moans and hugged her tightly, while his movements became more rapid and erratic. Then suddenly, almost without warning, Arvid felt herself reaching climax. It was of such overwhelming intensity that she reared up and pressed her head hard against Loke. Her muscles tightened around him in spasmodic waves, and for a moment she was thoroughly filled by an intoxicating happiness.

  I love you, Loke, flashed through her head, but not a word came from her lips.

  A moment later Loke came. His moan became a rapid, intermittent panting, as he once again thrust into her with all his might. Deep inside Arvid could feel his penis twitch and pulsate, and she wished he would stay like this forever.

  Breathing hard, they clung to each other, then Arvid exhaustedly slumped against Loke’s body. Now that the heady pleasure and the excitement slowly began to subside, she suddenly realized how worn out she was. It had been an eventful day, which had drained her physically and mentally, and after this last act her power reserves simply were at an end.

  When their breathing had calmed down a bit, Loke leaned forward and gently put her down on the bed. His limp member slipped out of Arvid, leaving a sensation of something cool and wet. She was so exhausted she simply sprawled on the soft furs and closed her eyes.

  Everything felt so unreal. Had it not been for the pain in her body, she could almost believe that all this was just a particularly long and confusing dream. The muscles in her arms and thighs hurt, and the cuts on her left arm slowly started to burn and throb again. Between her legs she felt wet and sore, and deep inside her body sat a dull pain where Loke had hit her over and over again. Nevertheless, it had been wonderful. Arvid couldn’t remember ever having felt so happy.

  Although the air was cold, a pleasantly warm sensation spread over Arvid’s body. She felt tired, so tired, and her limbs suddenly seemed heavy as lead. She felt something soft, and when she painfully forced her eyes open again, she saw Loke, who spread a large fur blanket over her.

  Shortly afterward, she fell asleep.

  Arvid awoke so gently that she didn’t understand where she was at first. She felt rested and unusually happy, but after she had lain there with closed eyes for a while, slowly more and more impressions came through to her. First, she noticed the dull pain in her left arm. The memories of the bloody ceremony the day before returned with shocking clarity, letting her open her eyes quickly.

  It took a moment, but then she recognized the cave into which the Njema and the Njorkma had led her. She was lying in the midst of the huge bed, firmly covered with furs, and a thin, woven blanket.

  Carefully, she sat up. The cold air of the room tingled on her bare shoulders and on her back. Now she clearly remembered all that had happened after the ceremony. The celebration, the many guests—Loke’s mother had not shown up—the sight of her cut arm, the white cloth… Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of what had happened next.

  But where was Loke?

  She looked around. Finally she spotted him in one of the niches, half leaning against the wall, apparently asleep. Arvid couldn’t remember ever having seen Loke sleep, and somehow the sight was troubling.

  She freed herself from her blankets and stood up, although it was freezing and the chilly stone floor beneath her feet made her shudder. She washed carefully and combed her tousled and matted hair as well as it was possible. When she was fully dressed, she cautiously walked over to Loke and looked at him.

  He really was asleep. He was only wearing a pair of light pants, breathing shallowly and calmly. On his lap there was a large white piece of cloth—an unfinished embroidery, Arvid realized. It had been a while since she had last seen him at this task, the last time probably a few days before they left his house in the mountains. His face looked peaceful and relaxed, and the sight sparked a warm feeling of happine
ss in her.

  She sat down next to him and looked at the fabric on his lap. The picture’s details were still hard to distinguish, but in the middle she saw a house at a river or stream. In the background the unfinished outline of a kind of tower could be seen, and in one spot was a bridge. At this point, Loke had probably fallen asleep.

  Arvid leaned gently against him and rested her head on his cold belly. It was perhaps one of the last opportunities to be close to him. Who knew what would happen with them now. Arvid’s love for Loke was like a horrible, sickly-sweet curse that had become stronger and even more cruel after the events of last night.

  Suddenly Arvid felt a touch on her hair and jumped in terror, then she realized it was Loke’s hand. When she looked up at him, she met his attentive, black-gray eyes.

  “Good morning,” he murmured.

  “Good morning,” Arvid said, somewhat embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I… didn’t want to wake you.”

  “No?” Loke asked with raised eyebrows. “You do know this feels as if I’d put my hand on your belly without warning?”

  Arvid felt herself blushing. “I have not exactly been thinking. Why are you sleeping here?”

  Loke slipped into a more comfortable position, shook out the fabric and then picked up the needle that had fallen out. “You could have caught cold,” he said, “and your heat would have gotten to me after a few hours.”

  Arvid nodded thoughtfully, then looked back to the embroidery in Loke’s big hands. “What does this image show? I thought giants don’t have houses like this.”

  “So giants may only paint and embroider caves?”

  “No. But I would love to know the story behind this house.”

  “I came across it once,” Loke replied tersely.

  “In other words, this is none of my business.”

  “Arvid, the curious,” Loke said mockingly. “I see we have already found a title for you.”

  “Why are you constantly making fun of me? Are even the motifs of your pictures secret?”

  Loke put the fabric down. “No,” he said, rose and gently pushed Arvid aside. “But your constant questions are abundantly irritating. Let’s eat something. I was about to do that before I fell asleep.”

  After breakfast they had eleven hours left until the fortieth hour. Loke had retreated to his corner, while Arvid tried to focus on the books on a shelf in a small niche. Although some of them would normally have aroused her interest, she simply didn’t seem to be in the right mood at the moment.

  Eventually a specific title caught her attention, although she didn’t know why exactly this one. The book was called “The Year of Storms.” Although Arvid had no idea what was going on in it, it seemed to touch something in her, a feeling, a memory—it was too vague for her to grasp it properly. She briefly scrolled through the tome, but then returned to the cover and brooded.

  The Year of Storms. Her eyes wandered over to Loke, and all of a sudden she knew what it reminded her of: The Month of Storms. Absently she put the book back, crossed the room and sat down at the edge of the alcove next to Loke.

  “Yes?” he asked, without looking up from his embroidery.

  “What year is it?” said Arvid after a brief hesitation. “In the era of giants.”

  Now Loke paused for a moment, though still focused on the fabric in his hands. “Eleven hundred and eighty-eight,” he said then, and continued to embroider. “But even the giants use the new era today.”

  Arvid thought. “You’re… four hundred and eight years old,” she realized, stunned.

  “So you did listen.”

  “I… well… yes. Last night was… an exceptional time to tell me your birthday.”

  Loke chuckled. “It was the best time I could choose. But it was probably not good enough.”

  “I don’t understand you.”

  “I was obliged to tell you these things. But I thought that you wouldn’t remember later.”

  Now Arvid understood. Perhaps she should feel offended because Loke still didn’t trust her, but at the moment she just felt privileged to know so much about him—even though it in reality was precious little.

  “Can I stay here and watch you?” she asked finally. “I can’t concentrate on reading.”

  Loke lowered the needle. “Do you know what I like about embroidering?” he asked.

  Arvid thought for a moment, then she shook her head.

  “One is left in peace,” Loke answered his own question. “If you just stand or sit somewhere, people think it’s a good idea to ask why you’re just sitting or standing there. They think it’s a reasonable opportunity to engage in conversation, but in reality they get on your nerves, disturb the peace of the moment and interrupt important thoughts.”

  Arvid took a moment to understand what he meant.

  “I’m… getting on your nerves?”

  “Yes, you are,” Loke replied coolly. “Pretty often, to be honest, but at the moment quite in particular.”

  His answer hurt. It pained Arvid that he obviously considered her presence a nuisance, but she tried to tell herself that she should never have expected anything else. Her affection for Loke made her forget time and again that to him, she was nothing more than a human goddess, whose help he needed to implement his plan.

  “I… understand,” she said softly. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.” She got up and aimlessly crossed the room. Her eyes filled with tears, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  Exactly when the fortieth hour started, the Njema and the Njorkma arrived, along with two human servants who Arvid had never seen before. While the giants cleaned their wounds and covered them with fresh bandages, the two humans took care of their hair.

  The Njema again explained what they should do at which point of the ceremony, but Arvid scarcely listened. There was still a dull ache sitting in her heart, but she knew it was her own fault. She had imagined Loke’s feelings toward her would have changed because of what had happened last night. How could she have been so foolish? “We have to get something done,” Loke had said and made clear what it had meant to him. And still Arvid didn’t seem to be able to stop hoping.

  A little later she and Loke followed the two runemasters back the corridor they had come from the evening before. The Njema carried the white cloth. It was a strange feeling, since Arvid was well aware that the fabric bore clear traces of their lovemaking.

  As they stepped into the Hall of Runes, Arvid was overwhelmed by the number of guests who had come. The entire ring around the altar was filled with giants and dwarves; in the back stood figures in brown. On the podium Arvid saw three unknown giants, Loke’s siblings and his mother Naal. As their eyes met, Arvid looked away quickly. The old giantess might have consented to their marriage, but she didn’t look as though her feelings toward her had changed.

  The babble of voices around them got lower as they approached the altar. As Arvid climbed the stone steps, there was a tense silence in the hall. Arvid felt two hundred pairs of eyes resting on her. Her heart pounded hard in her chest, although she knew that there were no bloody cuts waiting today.

  “Welcome!” the Njorkma finally said with a loud voice, as Arvid reached the required height and stopped. “All of you are here today to witness the legal closing of the marriage between Loke, son of Farbaute, and Arvid, daughter of Carl.” He pointed to the Njema, who held up the white cloth. “The last part of the ritual is complete. It only remains for us to permanently seal the band of life.”

  A servant handed him a knife. With practiced movements the Njorkma cut a long strip from the middle of the cloth. The Njema was handed a bulbous bottle with a milky, glittering liquid by a second servant.

  Loke now stepped up to Arvid, while the Njorkma and the Njema took positions to their left and right. Arvid couldn’t bring herself to loo
k at Loke. She held out her bandaged arm, and he put his own firmly against it.

  “So shall this cloth imbue the runes of life with might,” said the Njorkma and wrapped the strip around their arms. “It shall connect them and close the band of life, so that their lives may be one forever.” When he was done, he took a step back, and the Njema approached. “The water of life,” she said aloud and poured the contents of the bottle over Arvid and Loke’s arms and the fabric around them. The liquid ran down in a thin, glittering stream, penetrated the white cloth, and then the bandage. As the water touched the cuts on Arvid’s skin, they began to burn and throb again, but she gritted her teeth and concentrated on how the whitish drops fell to the ground with a bright splash.

  Finally the bottle was empty. A strange feeling came over Arvid as she watched the last bit of water drip to the ground, where a glistening puddle had formed. She raised her head and looked at Loke, who returned her gaze calmly. The love she felt for him hurt. Why did he have to torment her so?

  The Njorkma now removed the cloth from her arms, then a servant handed the Njema a wooden box. She opened it and held it out for Arvid. “The ones on your side, Your Highness,” she said with a smile. Arvid frantically forced herself to return the smile. She took out one of the blue hair beads and turned to Loke, who stepped closer now. Her hands trembled as she fastened one pearl after another in his dark gray hair. When she was done, Loke carefully released the three felted hair strands from the knot at the back of Arvid’s head. He was so close to her now that she could smell his body odor.

  “Why did you cry?” he suddenly asked in her native language, while he firmly fastened the first of the blue beads in her hair. He spoke so softly that only Arvid and the two runemasters could hear his words.

  “I… I didn’t cry,” Arvid said, just as quietly.

  “You haven’t gotten any better at lying,” said Loke and picked up the second bead. “You can see the traces on your face.”