Twisted Fate || Loki Odinson

2.

The crackling of a fire fills my ears and pulls me from the edge of unconsciousness. My eyelids flutter open, heavy with confusion. The dim light of a flickering fireplace dances on the walls, casting eerie shadows. I struggle to sit up, my mind racing to make sense of where I am.

Did I make it home?

Memories flood back-- a crash, darkness, then... nothing. Panic rises in my chest, its cold grip tightening around my heart.

How am I here? 

Cautiously, I rise from the couch, my muscles tense. The living room around me feels foreign, a sanctuary turned sinister by my paranoia.

My gun is in my bedroom.

Silently, I tread through the shadows of the darkened kitchen and my eyes dart to the knife block. I slip a blade from its sheath, holding it with a grip that trembles slightly. Pressing my back against the cold wall, I peek around the corner, senses sharp and adrenaline surging.

Maybe I should go for my gun. 

My gaze darts to the bedroom door, faint light seeping from beneath. Without a second thought, I sprint across the living room. A sudden noise echoes from within the room and instinct takes over. 

I burst through the door, with the knife poised, ready to defend myself against the unknown threat. The figure inside moves too fast for my eyes to track and evades my strike with a grace that speaks of practiced skill.

"Wait--"

"Who the hell are you?" I snap, knife aimed at his throat.

He catches my wrist, twisting it with surprising strength. Pain shoots up my arm, and the knife slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor. "If you would stop for one--"

I retaliate, sweeping his legs out from under him with a fierce kick. He hits the floor with a grunt, but I've already reclaimed the knife, its cold its cold blade pressing against his skin. "Why the hell are you in my house?"

"I found you injured in your vehicle," he explains calmly, his eyes locked with mine.

"How did you know where to bring me?" I ask, my pulse pounding in my ears.

"I found your address on your identification card," he replies evenly. "You're welcome, by the way."

Suspicion burns hot in my chest. "What exactly am I supposed to thank you for? Abducting me from my truck?"

"I saved you from another who could have worse intentions," he points out, his voice steady and almost soothing.

"My hero," I mutter, bitterness lacing my words.

His eyes flicker to the knife at his throat before meeting mine again, a silent challenge in his gaze. "Can you remove the knife from my neck?"

"Why? So you can kill me?" I counter, my grip tightening on the handle, my knuckles turning white.

In a swift motion, he disarms me, his hand wrapping around my throat with an unnerving gentleness. "I don't intend to harm you, but I can't promise that I won't," he warns, his tone low and dangerous.

Slowly standing, he towers over me. His tall, lean form exudes an air of quiet power and every inch of him commands attention. His pale skin contrasts sharply with the sleek, dark hair that falls back smoothly, framing a face that is both striking and unsettling. Those piercing green eyes, vibrant and sharp, seem to see through everything, holding cold calculation and something deeper-- something almost magnetic

"What do you want?" I demand, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"What do I want?" he echoes as he casually tosses the knife aside. "There are many things I desire."