HONEYMOON
Samantha MacLeod
HONEYMOONⓒ 2016. An electronic short story by Samantha MacLeod.
All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please do not support or participate in the piracy of copyrighted materials.
e ISBN 978-0-9976898-2-2
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This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and locations are either fictional or are used in a fictional context.
This story is meant for an adult audience and contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and violence. Readers should be 18 years of age.
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For my grandmother, who told me to keep writing.
Thank you.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER ONE
“I can’t do this,” I said, hanging up the phone.
The Norse god of fire and lies was sitting on my couch, reading the New York Times.
His flaming red hair caught the rich light of late afternoon slanting through the windows. He raised his eyebrow.
“That was forty-five minutes,” I said, shaking my head. “Forty-five minutes! Talking about one goddamn dinner!”
Loki stood and walked to the table, putting his cool hands on my shoulders. My curving, elegant cherrywood dining table was covered with flyers and brochures from reception halls across San Diego. My mom had toured every single one. She’d sent me all the information, from rates to occupancy levels to menus. And she’d made notes. Copious, copious notes. Now she was calling every day to see if Loki and I had gotten a chance to read those notes and make a decision. Because, after all, it’s our day.
I put my head in my hands. “I can’t do it,” I said.
Loki bent and kissed me on the neck, and I leaned back against him, offering him more. “You,” he whispered, “are the mortal who walked the Bifröst. Who demanded the Trial of Ӕsìlynd from the All-Father himself.”
I smiled and pushed away from the table, rising to wrap my arms around his waist.
“You saved the Nine Realms,” he said, reaching for my face, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m sure you can survive a few hours wearing a dress that matches the wedding cake.”
I laughed and shook my head. “I don’t know. It all just seems so stupid. I just want—” I looked up at him, his high cheekbones and dancing blue eyes. “I just want it to be done. I just want to be your wife.”
His eyes sparkled. “Well, technically…”
“Oh, I knew it!” I pulled out of his embrace, stepping back. “My driver’s license…I fucking knew it!”
Loki grabbed my hands, pulling them to his chest. My driver’s license still read Caroline Laufeyiarson. My last name was Capello. His was Laufeyiarson. My license changed the night before we saved the world. All the worlds. The night he whispered strange words in my ear, in a language I didn’t understand, and I repeated them back to him.
“Yes and no,” he said, his voice low. “You said the words, but you didn’t understand. It doesn’t count unless the intention is there.”
I could feel the faint, thudding vibrations of his heartbeat under the soft material of his shirt. I met his gaze, my handsome, inhuman fiancé. His face was perfectly composed, but his eyes were dark.
I remembered the words; he’d told me what they meant. They weren’t the kind of thing you could forget.
“I am bound to you,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and level while my heart thudded wildly. “You are a part of me.”
The air thickened slightly, like a thunderstorm. His hands held mine against his chest, so hard it hurt. “My wife,” he whispered.
“My husband,” I said, smiling at him.
He picked me up and carried me over the bedroom threshold, and we did what husbands and wives do.
* * * * * * *
“Come away with me,” he said.
I raised myself on one elbow, staring at his smile. I think he’s serious. “I don’t know,” I said, my hand tracing the rise and fall of his chest. “I’ve got that interview with Stanford. And the publisher wants my revisions by next week, plus I’ve got that article to finish with Loncovic.”
“Come away with me anyway,” he said, his eyes dancing. “Let’s have a honeymoon.”
“We are going to have a honeymoon. We’ve already booked the resort in Norway…”
My words trailed off as I watched his eyes darken. He is serious. “Yes,” I said, reaching for his hand, lacing our fingers together. “Yes, I would very much like a honeymoon. With my husband.”
His lips curved into a smile as I kissed him—
—and then I felt the brush of wind on my arms and face, and I opened my eyes.
We were standing in a field.
It was almost, but not quite, a normal field. The colors were a shade too vivid, the air a breath too soft against my skin. It was like we’d stepped into a painting, smeared with the golden hues of late summer. A distant pine forest murmured in the breeze and delicate, shell-like flowers nodded toward the sun.
I looked down and was immensely relieved to find I was not naked. I wore a soft black and gold dress, the cut similar to what I’d worn in Asgard. It matches his armor, I realized. My husband’s armor. I smiled as I felt my cheeks flush.
“Matching outfits?” I asked.
“Honeymoon,” he said.
“Where are we?”
“Álfheim.” He smiled at me. “Home of the Light-elves.”
There was a sudden gust of air, a sick, heavy twack. Loki’s body shuddered against mine. An arrow shaft thick as a ruler was embedded in his shoulder. I screamed.
“Oh, good,” he said, sinking to his knees. “They remember me.”
A tall figure materialized in front of me. It was not human. “Make one move, Lie-Smith, and it will be your death,” the Light-elf said.
Loki smiled at him, eyes sparkling. “Lovely to see you again, Asador, Lord of the Dawn.”
The Lord of the Dawn frowned at us. More accurately, he frowned at Loki and ignored me.
He’s not Ӕsir, I thought. The Ӕsir can pass for human. Loki, Thor, even Óðinn; they could walk the streets of Midgard, the human realm, and look like unusually tall, unrealistically attractive humans. This Light-elf could not. He was too tall, his face too severe. He had long, curving ears, swept back like wings. His hands curled around a wooden staff; his fingers appeared to have an extra joint.
And he was glowing.
Meeting his gaze, Loki calmly came to his feet. He did not wince. I could see blood running down his shirt. “Where are my manners?” Loki said, turning to Asador and then gesturing toward me. The arrow shaft swung in the gentle air. “King Asador of Álfheim, Lord of the Dawn, this is Dr. Caroline Laufeyiarson, of Midgard. My wife.”
The elf’s gaze turned to me for the first time. His expression did not change. He lifted a four-jointed hand and waved it gently, hypnotically, in front of my face. I felt a slight tingle of electricity as his hand dropped.
The elf raised an eyebrow and turned to Loki. “She’s not been enchanted,” he said.
“She’s my wife,” said Loki, his voice carrying the faintest trace of a growl.
Asador turned back to me, his eyes traveling my body with cool disdain.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said, digging my nails into my hand to force the tremble out of my voice.
The Light-elf’s eyes flicker
ed with a bare hint of amusement before his attention moved back to Loki.
“My scouts tell me Asgard stands empty,” Asador said, his voice commanding. “They tell me the Ӕsir have vanished. And now Loki the Lie-smith, the agent of chaos, arrives at my doorstep with a...” His eyes flickered over me for a brief moment, “...wife.”
Loki shrugged. A single drop of blood trembled on the arrow shaft, then fell to the grass below.
Asador leaned close to Loki. He was so tall he had to bend to put his face to Loki’s ear. “I know what you’re up to, you son of a bitch,” he whispered. “But you’re not the only one to eye that particular prize.”
He pulled himself back to standing, towering over me. The top of my head barely reached his chest. “I expect I know where you were headed,” he said.
Loki said nothing.
Asador turned, his eyes sweeping the distant pine forest. “You have three days,” he said. “That should be more than enough.”
His glittering fingers swept toward the forest, and again the air tingled briefly. “I will see you at my palace. Sundown of the third day. And Loki,” he turned his fierce eyes on us again, “if you attempt to leave my realm before then, I will kill you. Both of you.”
“Your hospitality is as generous as ever, Lord of the Dawn,” Loki said, his voice magnanimous. “Perhaps you forget the price I paid.”
Asador stiffened for a heartbeat. “I will kill you, Lie-smith,” he said.
“Promises, promises,” said Loki, his eyes glinting fiercely in the golden light.
For a heartbeat the air in the field grew thicker. And then Asador turned his back to us, striding across the flower-studded grass as if he had entirely dismissed us from his mind. He reached the pine forest and vanished.
Loki scowled after him for a moment before collapsing to his knees on the grass. I followed him, my hands on his chest, noting the pool of blood on the ground with some alarm.
“Are you—”
He smiled, but his face was pale. “Be a dear, and pull this goddamn arrow out, please.”
I wrapped my hands around the arrow shaft. “On the count of three?”
He nodded, his face perfectly composed.
“One…two…”
I yanked back, hard. Loki screamed. The arrow barely moved.
“Three, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow at me. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
“I lied,” I said, tightening my hands on the smooth shaft of the arrow.
He smiled at me, weakly, and I yanked back again, throwing the weight of my entire body against the arrow. He screamed and I fell backward, the arrow heavy in my hands and slick with blood. The arrowhead winked a wicked red-streaked black.
His shoulders slumped. I tossed the arrow to the ground and turned to him, holding my hands against the open hole in his shoulder.
“Charming people, the Light-elves,” he muttered.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Not here,” he hissed, watching the edge of the pine forest through gritted teeth.
I offered my hand and helped him come to his feet.
“We’d better walk,” he whispered. “Their arrowheads dampen magic. And where we’re going is warded anyway.”
I took his arm and we crossed the field of colors too bright to be part of the human realm, entering the velvet shade of the pine forest. It was easy walking, and I wrapped my arm around his waist, wanting to look like we were so desperately in love we needed to be close, needed to be touching. Not that he was stumbling.
I heard the waterfall before I saw it.
“Almost there,” Loki said, and then we emerged from the forest and onto the banks of a wide, sparkling river. “The River of Light,” he whispered.
The water was translucent, falling in foam-rimmed waves from the lip of a cliff far above us. Rainbows danced in the air. I gasped.
“Do you see it?” Loki asked, smiling even as he leaned heavily against me.
I looked again. The forest was thinner, here, and the grass leading to the water was dotted with the same vividly colored flowers. The river pooled below the waterfall and then clattered downstream in sheets spread shallow over dark slate. I heard birds calling over the constant purring rustle of the waterfall. The late afternoon sun was low in the sky, slanting through the pine boughs and catching golden specks of pollen.
I followed the misty curve of the waterfall upward, toward the top of the cliffs. Hidden in the mist at the very mouth of the waterfall something shimmered, reflecting the sunlight.
“That?” I asked, pointing.
He just smiled.
“And how exactly are we going to get up there?”
“There’s a trick.”
I stared at him, waiting, but he said nothing further. So I turned back to the waterfall. There were rough, uneven stones at the base, but no hint of an entrance. The trees bowed and swayed in the gentle breeze. I didn’t recognize them. The conifers looked almost like redwoods, but their needles were too blue; the deciduous trees had huge, flat leaves, swaying as they caught the sunlight. But—I squinted. Yes, there was one tree I could recognize. One tree I would recognize anywhere.
“There’s an ash,” I said. “There’s one ash tree.”
“Very good.”
Loki pulled me close, resting his head against my shoulder for a heartbeat before we walked together to the ash tree. We put our hands against the warm bark—
—And we were at the top of the waterfall.
A small building perched on the ridge next to the waterfall. It was round, with a high, peaked roof. Huge windows sparkled and shimmered in the light behind a great curving, covered porch.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
Loki just smiled and grabbed my waist, turning me around. I gasped, brought my hand to cover my mouth.
I could see the realm of Álfheim spread before me, the colors brilliant in the golden light. The River of Light curved before us, cutting a wide path through the pine forest before unfurling on a great, golden beach. The sun hung low over the ocean, and the waves were topped with foam.
Loki trembled against me, and I turned to him. His face was disturbingly pale. I glanced down and shuddered as I noticed a steady trickle of blood dripping from his fingertips.
“Oh! Loki! What do I do?” I asked, the words tumbling out of my mouth.
He groaned and stumbled backward, collapsing on the porch. “Just…give me a minute,” he panted, waving his hand dismissively.
I looked at the cabin, trying not to panic. “Is there a...first aid kit? Bandages?”
Loki laughed, his voice rattling in his chest.
“Hang on,” I said. “I’ll find something.”
The door to the cabin was unlocked, and it swung open soundlessly. The interior was light and open, reminding me instantly of Nowhere, the place Loki called his, “hole in the bark of the World Tree.” There was an enormous, round bed, bookshelves overflowing with paperbacks, a scattering of friendly chairs.
And a small, round table. A table set with a familiar wooden goblet.
I sighed in relief. The mead of Val-Hall. It cures war wounds. I grabbed the goblet and carried it to Loki. He was sitting on the porch, his blue eyes unusually dark against his pale skin. His brow furrowed when he saw me.
“That shouldn’t be here,” he said.
Panic shot through me, instantaneous and cold. “Do you think it won’t work?”
He shrugged and took the mead from me, bringing it to his lips. He drank silently, then set the empty goblet on the polished wood of the porch. For a long, still minute he said nothing. Then he moved his shoulder, hesitantly, and I put my hand against the blood-stained tear in his armor.
“Did it…?” I asked.
He smiled and his armor disappeared, revealing his smooth, muscular chest. His shoulder was unmarred. He moved his arm in a wide circle without wincing.
“No, really,” I said, rocking back on my knees. “Did it work?�
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He gave me a small, apologetic smile as his skin flickered and his illusions vanished, revealing his true form. His chest was a patchwork of scar tissue; white lines radiated from his blue eyes and thick, white bands crossed his lips.
“See for yourself,” he said.
I touched his shoulder, running my hands delicately over his rough skin. There was a small circle of angry, red scar tissue where the arrow had pierced him. I exhaled. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath.
“It worked,” I whispered.
He shrugged, his skin once again pale and smooth as his illusions returned. “Yes, it worked. But this shouldn’t be here. The food, the mead...if Asgard is empty—”
“If Asgard is empty, who’s doing the cooking?”
“Exactly.”
I leaned against his shoulders on the sun-warmed wood of the porch and breathed him in, enjoying his smell, his cool, naked skin in my arms. It was very difficult to feel worried about Asgard this close to Loki’s bare chest. I kissed the concave hollow of his collarbone, bringing my lips up to trace his neck, feeling his pulse flicker under his skin.
“Enjoying the view?” he muttered.
I met his laughing eyes, felt his chest rise and fall in my arms. “Immensely,” I whispered, leaning toward him until our lips met. His mouth opened against mine, and we kissed for a long time as his fingers traced the curve of my back. My body was flush with heat when he pulled away.
“It is a very nice view,” he said. “But it could be better…”
I felt a gust of wind and looked down. I was naked.
“Much better,” Loki growled.
“Oh, not fair,” I cried, running my fingertips along the waist of his dark leather pants. “Now we don’t match!”
He laughed, his hungry eyes tracing the curve of my breasts. I felt my nipples tighten under his gaze. There was another small, gentle gust of wind, and the rest of his clothing vanished. Our eyes met and we smiled at each other. My fingers trailed along the cool skin of his thighs, and I heard his breath catch in response. I kissed him again, his hungry tongue filling my mouth. I moaned as he pulled away, climbing to my knees to straddle him.
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