Adverse Effects

Chapter 15

Rain hammered at the thatch above them. The weather had turned a week ago, as Rebecca had begun to rise and regain her mobility. She stood now, at the small window, gazing out at the deluge.

Loki sat in front of the fire, absent-mindedly conjuring miniature figures that danced for his amusement. Her sigh made him look up at her.

She had finally gained the strength to change days ago, his back turned to respect her decency. His chest had constricted as she tossed the ripped, bloodied corset into the fire, blushing as she joked at it's uselessness. The prison uniform was worthless now, shirt torn and bloody, only the leggings had survived but were bloodstained even after cleaning.

She had dressed in the only thing that fit her. One of his over-shirts that fell just above her knee. Her hair shone with the light from the fire, she had surprised him by rushing out into the rainfall to wash it. Her blue eyes reflected the dull light from the miserable afternoon outside, making it's greyness beautiful.

She turned to him, aware of his eyes on her, a half-smile on her lips.

“Why does the gentleman scrutinise me so?” she teased.

He laughed; “I was wondering where your thoughts had led you. There is nothing outside that window but rain and yet, you seemed to see more.”

Her smile faded and she turned back to the daylight.

“I was thinking about my sister. I shouldn't have left without her.”

Loki tensed. He had not accounted for her sister in his selfish bid to escape. He searched for the words to comfort her but, too late, she had broken the silence with a soft laugh and had padded over to sit by his side.

“What occupies your time, sir?”

The dancers before him diffused into the air. A little fun was in order.

“Now? Your conversation, lady. I was raised a Prince after all, and all gentlemen are taught attentiveness to the... fairer sex.”

His expression brought a blush to her face and she averted her eyes. There was the Prankster she had heard so much about. She had begun to wonder where he had gone in the face of the past fortnight's kindnesses.

“I see.” she breathed. “Aren't I the lucky one?”

Was it her imagination, or was he closer as she turned back to him?

He wasn't looking at her face, instead choosing to be intrigued by the dip of her collarbone and shoulder that had become bared as the too-big shirt had slid treacherously to the side.

“Oh, I don't know about that...” He murmured, “I'm feeling rather lucky myself...”

His breath ebbed and flowed over her exposed skin, goose-flesh betraying her body's involuntary reactions to his closeness.

His lips were so close, grazing up her neck, just, just, touching her. Her breathing was laboured, heavy with lust. It took all her strength to speak, quietly, through her need.

“Luck has nothing to do with it. Royalty, such as yourself, may simply take what they want.”

Something snapped in him.

Her back slammed against the fur that lay along the hearth, his lips crashing down on hers as she gasped into his mouth.