Fever

4

When he woke the next morning the woman had already gone. She'd left him the water and some food on a clean scrap of leather.

He felt better today. Much stronger. Sitting up was easy--his wound hardly protested at all and the scar was already beginning to shrink.

Standing was a bit of a challenge though. His legs were weak from disuse. But he did it, leaning heavily against the rough stone wall until he felt steady.

The woman returned to find him standing at the mouth of the cave, shirtless and smiling smugly.

The sun was just breaking away from the horizon and the heat was incredible already. The woman had come walking along the strip of shade still clinging to the edge of the cliff. She carried the canvas bag and a bundle of dry wood.

She started when she saw him, dropping some of the wood.

"Loki!" she cried, half pleasure and half worry.

"Hi," he said, grinning. Hoping she couldn't see the fine tremble in his legs.

She scrambled to pick up the fallen wood and then hurried across the sand to him.

The world beyond their little hideaway was stark and dry. Flat, dusty grey earth broken only by the occasional cactus, a jutting ridge of rock, or the sun-bleached corpse of a tree.

In the distance, there were low mountains capped with what looked like snow, but it was probably only naked white rock.

The woman ushered him back from the cave mouth as she neared, dropping her burden and coming to touch his chest, checking his wound.

"I'm fine," he said, looking down. It felt strange to be standing next to her. She was smaller than he'd thought. The top of her head only reached his shoulder. For some reason, it sparked the hunger again and he found himself tingling with arousal.

She tilted her face up to look at him and that tingle solidified into a slow burn. It was the first time he'd seen her in broad daylight. Her coloring was richer than he'd realized. Her eyes paler, brighter. Light, coppery skin and hair a vibrant, burnished bronze. Plump, peachy lips.

"You are beautiful," he said huskily.

To his surprise, she flushed.

By the Fates. "You understood that, didn't you?"

"Beautiful," she said quietly, touching his chest again, watching her hand.

"Yes. You are."

She shook her head, splayed her fingers over his heart. "Loki."

"What?"

But she didn't answer. Instead, she leaned forward and rested her forehead against his chest.

"What's your name?" he asked, hands rising to her shoulders, desire curling in his belly.

She sighed. Shook her head again and stood back, pointing into the cave.

"Alright. It is getting rather hot."

She gathered the wood and watched him closely as they fell into step.

"I'm fine," he said, "Just a little slow." But the walk out had drained him. They had to stop halfway back to the camp so that he could rest.

She sat beside him against the cave wall and pulled a small gourd out of her bag. "Water," she said, smiling a little.

Loki was impressed. "Two words in one day. You're making progress." He took the gourd and lifted it for a drink.

When he returned it to her, she said, "Thank you."