The Lokistone

Lokistone 2

CHAPTER TWO

"A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it."

-Jean de La Fontaine

Jane took five steps back before she knew what she was doing. The echo of his quick, jagged breathing filled the room—she watched his chest rise and fall. He gulped, and his gray eyes searched the ceiling. Jane kept completely still, clamping her jaw shut.

His face twisted in a grimace, he held his breath—and he lifted his head. Brick dust tumbled from his black hair. Slowly, he eased his shoulders up out of the broken ground. Small pieces of rubble slid off and clattered as they fell from between the pieces of his armor. He braced his white, scuffed hands on the floor to either side and pushed himself up to a sitting position. When he had attained that, he slumped forward and gasped in a desperate breath.

Jane watched him, trapped between a fluttering urge to step forward and a powerful instinct to turn and run.

He pulled his legs toward him, bending his knees. He winced, and let out a short grunt. For a moment, his breathing hitched, then slowed as his pale face smoothed and his eyes closed again. He shifted sideways, using his arms to bear his weight, and lifted himself out of the small crater, leaving only his feet inside. For a moment, he sat that way, breathing evenly, his eyes shut.

Then, he opened them and glanced around.

Jane's heartbeat sped up.

He looked at the spray of shattered glass on the floor to his right, then past that at the brick wall. His gaze wandered toward his left, unfocused...

Swept past her. Meandered across the marble bar for a moment, then...

Flashed back to Jane.

Met her eyes.

Her heart stopped.

For just an instant, neither of them moved.

His hawkish eyebrows drew together in a slow, delicate frown. His gray eyes brightened, glimmered with color...

Then, his right eyebrow lifted, minutely.

"What are you doing here?"

His voice was soft, hoarse. Intent.

Real, and stunningly close.

Jane's mouth opened. For a moment, her thoughts scrambled—

Then she said the first thing that came to her mind that didn't sound completely ridiculous.

"I'm working. I just..." She gestured aimlessly. "I came up here to see what all the noise was."

The eyebrow raised further.

"Really," he said flatly. "And what does..." He took a deep breath, and pressed his left hand to his lower ribs. "What does Stark Industries need with a woman who studies the stars?"

Jane stared at him. Her pulse thundered.

"How did you...?" she tried.

"I recognize you," he muttered, never taking his eyes off her. "My brother came to visit you some time ago—perhaps you remember. Spent three days of his banishment in your company." The skin around his eyes tightened and he drew his legs out from the indentation, the heels of his boots scraping the rocks. "As acting king of Asgard, I took it upon myself to watch him in his exile. Closely." He brought his legs around and got up onto his knees, then rested back on his haunches, letting his eyelids drift shut. The edge of his mouth quirked. "I stood beside you one evening while you sat by the fire, and he regaled you with stories about the majesty of the nine realms." His small smile grew. "You had no way of knowing I was there, of course."