Revenge| Book 6| A novel in the Blue Moon series| An Avengers fan fiction series |

~Prologue~

*says I won't start Revenge for "a couple weeks"*

*laughs*

IN MY DEFENSE, I'D WRITTEN THIS PROLOGUE IN JUNE.

And quite frankly, it's one of the most favorite things I've ever written in this entire series. It's also very long, so be prepared to sit down, maybe drink some tea, maybe grab a couple tissues, because we're about to go back, way back eight years from the start of Blue Moon.

Get used to more flashbacks, because there will be five more in the actual book.

Ready?

Take a breath.

This is the last book.

Let's go.

*

Prologue

NEW YORK CITY- JANUARY 8, 2005

It's around nine o'clock on a stormy Saturday night. From an alleyway, a third floor apartment is lit up from the soft glow of lights, with curtains up in the window, fluttering gently in the cold January wind. A dog barks, and from down the street, sounds of a football game between the New York Jets and the San Diego Chargers and the subsequent cheers can be heard from a diner, despite the constant thunder and lightning.

    A man walks silently up the stairs in the dark apartment building, a very tall, very slender man. He is wearing dark clothes, but his hair is darker still, black and thick, hanging to his shoulders. His face is angular, his lips thin. But his eyes are the most striking; bright green eyes that seem to almost glow in the low light.

    He reaches the third floor of the complex and finds what he is looking for- the left apartment at the end of the hallway. The door is a dark wood, plain, with none of the gaudy Jets paraphernalia of its neighbors. He tilts his head, and through his sharp ears, he can hear the sounds of a soft television and the gentle stream of sink water. Reaching forward, he knocks three times, loudly.

    The television is turned down, and the water stops flowing. The man waits.

    A few moments later, he hears the rattle of the lock on the other side of the door and slowly, it opens to reveal a woman in her early thirties. She has long blonde hair that hangs in short waves, and blue eyes that have a dull glaze to them, like a light that's been blown out from something once beautiful.

    Her voice trembling, she whispers, "R-Loki?"

    "Annabelle," he says, his voice like a caress, deep, husky, and accented.

    "What...what are you doing here?" Annabelle's hand grasps the door as if not able to decide what to do with all her limbs.

    "I came to see you."

    Annabelle bites her lip. The sounds of the television break up the silence between them, but not the awkwardness. Finally, she swallows and opens the door a little bit, then whispers, "Okay."

    Loki walks through the door, his tall frame towering over Annabelle. His eyes dart around the room, taking in the small kitchen, where a tabby cat is pacing, and the living room, with the modern decor juxtaposed by the pile of old books in the corner. His gaze rests on the living room, where a young boy wearing Cookie Monster pajamas is looking right at him, not at the television. He is holding a bundle, a whimpering bundle. It's a baby, a baby girl.

    "Who's he?" asks the boy bluntly.

    "Bryce," says Annabelle, "This is Loki. He's a...a friend of Mommy's." She smiles encouragingly.