Son of Mischief (Loki/Asgard Fanfiction - Selig's Story)

Chapter Eight

It was almost midnight by the time Celia pulled into her parking space. Selig dozed in the passenger seat, snoring softly, which made her laugh. Demigods weren't supposed to snore, unless he snored now because he was just an ordinary man.

An ordinary man. Nothing could be further from the truth. There was nothing ordinary about Selig Lokison. Nothing at all.

She reached over to poke him lightly in the shoulder. "Sel, come on. We're home."

"Wha-?" He sat up, grimacing as he rubbed the side of his neck. "Ugh, I think I ate too many funnel cakes."

"I told you the third one would push you over the edge. But did you listen? No. No, you did not."

He flashed her a sleepy grin as he climbed out of the Jeep. "You sound like my mom talking to my dad. He overdoes it every time we come to the Jersey shore."

"Why doesn't that surprise me? Like father, like son, I guess." She dug out her keys and flipped through them until she found the right one and inserted it into the door.

Inside, she flipped on the overhead light, and Selig groaned, shading his eyes. "Ow."

"Sorry. I forgot to leave a lamp on when we left."

He stumbled by her. "It's okay. Where am I sleeping tonight?"

"I have a guest room. Come on." She locked the front door and stretched into the kitchen to toss her keys and wristlet on the table, then she gestured for him to follow her up the stairs. At the top, she point to the room on her right. "The bed should already be made up. Make yourself at home."

"Thanks, Ce." He stepped around her, into the doorway of the spare room, where he paused and said, "Are you sure you don't want any company?"

Celia hesitated. It would be so easy to say yes, to just fall into bed with him and let whatever could happen, happen. So. Easy.

But she'd probably regret it come morning.

She crossed over to him, braced one hand on his chest, and pushed up onto her toes to brush his cheek with a kiss. "Good night, Selig."

"'Night, Ce."

She was halfway across the hallway, but paused to smile at him over her shoulder. "Lia."

He winked and stepped into his room, closing the door behind him. With a soft sigh, she went into her room, pushing the door by. She changed from her shorts and tank top into her faded black camisole, then went in to brush her teeth and take off her makeup.

As she slid beneath the sheet, she sighed softly. Maybe she should've taken him up on his offer. Sometimes she really hated sleeping alone.

***

When she opened her eyes, it was to the sunlight streaming in through her bedroom window. With a low sigh, she rolled over to squint at the clock, only to find it wasn't on her nightstand. She'd never picked it up off the floor yesterday morning.

"Damn it," she muttered, stretching into the dark recess beneath her bed. Then she yanked her arm back. A childhood fear of something grabbing her and dragging her under the bed just wouldn't go away, no matter how many birthdays passed. She blamed Steven Spielberg and the evil clown from Poltergeist for her irrational fear of monsters under the bed. And clowns.

"Fuck it. I'll get it later," she muttered, rolling onto her back to stare up at the white ceiling. The ceiling fan spun on the medium setting, keeping the room cool enough that she didn't need to set the AC much lower than seventy-two degrees at night, which her checkbook appreciated.