Chapter 1
Maggie stood at the railing. Everywhere she looked, there were shelves and shelves full of books: biographies, fantasy novels, romance novels, horror novels…books of any description that came to mind. There were long highly polished tables of mahogany, oak, pine with chairs pulled up to them. More than enough room to spread out work for any project, be it a book report or a thesis. Sprawling velvet couches were peppered among the levels: the perfect place to lounge and read.
This was her library. It had many levels, and long spiraling golden stairs that allowed access between them. There were no windows, only wall to wall books…although, there were two huge intricately carved oak doors that gave entrance to the library. She’d gotten the idea for it from a Disney movie, and hadn’t regretted building it ever since. In her heart of hearts, it was her most favorite place. She walked to the mahogany table in the Young Adult section, the table with the mockingjay symbol emblazoned on it, sat down, and propped her feet up on the table as she tilted her chair back, and enjoyed the smell of old books and coffee that pervaded the library.
Those oak doors opened, and he stalked in.
“You’re back!” Maggie beamed at her visitor; her chair crashing to the floor, then winced inwardly. It was insane how excited she was that he had returned, especially given the fact that he wasn’t even real. She had friends who talked about finding their dream love, but they really didn’t have a clue. They were looking for an ideal. She had already found one.
He was in his “human clothes”, as she liked to call them: patent black leather dress shoes that clicked as he made his way across the tiled floor, dark charcoal gray suit and overcoat, snow white shirt with black tie, and a scarf of green and white with a pattern of black circles. He walked straight to her, his frown melding into his habitual mocking smile. “Did you miss me?”
Her smile was genuine. “I did,” she affirmed, watching as he pulled a chair and sat beside her. His shoulder length black hair was slightly disheveled, and there were shadows under his eyes. She wondered what put them there. She knew better than to ask, but she could tell there was something wrong…add to the fact that she hadn’t seen him for about a month... “What’s wrong?”
He ignored her question, as she knew he would. He copied her previous pose, propping his feet on the table and kicking the chair back slightly as his gaze flicked over the shelves. “I must admit, I still cannot fathom your attraction for some of the books you choose to house here.”
“You like Shakespeare,” she pointed out, turning in the chair and tucking one leg under her as she looked at him.
“’Would you have me false to my nature? Rather say I play the man I am,’” he quoted, mocking grin still in place.
Maggie sighed, “Always the tragedies with you, my lord.”
“Know you something better, pet?” One dark brow cocked in question.
“’I woo’d thee with my sword, and won thy love doing thee injuries; but I will wed thee in another key, with pomp, and triumph, and with reveling,” she quoted, a grin of her own on her lips.
His brought his chair to the floor with a thump and rose. In a few steps, his human clothes were gone, and his usual warrior garb had returned, including his horned helmet. “You wish to woo a warrior?” he asked, towering over her.
She dropped to her knees, and with her eyes on the tips of his boots, another quote tumbled from her lips, “If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended, that you have but slumber’d here while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding than a dream, gentles, do not reprehend: if you pardon, we will mend…”
His hands on her shoulders brought her to her feet, and she lifted her face to his. The warrior garb was gone. The clothes now were not his human clothes, and she’d never seen them before. All earthtones, and they…suited him, she thought: boots…always boots…dark pants, dark green shirt that seemed to wrap around his chest, and an overcoat reminiscent of his warrior garb except it had no sleeves. His throat was open and bare, and she had the insane urge to press her lips there.
“You read too many romances,” he chided gently, and a blush rose in her cheeks. He knew her every thought, as always. His large hand gently embraced the new warmth on her cheek, and her eyes slid shut. “Same my name, pet,” he said softly.
Her voice barely a breath, she whispered, “my lord.”
He slowly shook his head, a soft smile now on his lips. His hand slid along her cheek into her hair, and he tugged lightly, just enough for her to raise her dark eyes to his. “Say…my…name.”
“Loki.”
His mouth crashed down on hers, and she shuddered, melting against him. A low growl built in his throat, and his hand tightened in her hair. His other hand was around her waist, pulling her hard against him. There was no mistaking his need of her. The next instant, she felt the table at her back, when she pulled free to suck air into her lungs, she had time to note a fragment of the mockingjay emblem on the table. Loki gave her a moment, settling himself against her. He leaned close so his mouth was a breath from hers. “Say my name,” he said soflty.
“Lo…” the rest faded into a harsh cry as pain ripped through her chest. “No!” she clung to him, “not again!”
“Maggie,” his hand gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “I will come for you. Remember!”
“But this isn’t real,” she whimpered, the pain getting stronger.
“Hear me, woman!” he commanded, his grip tightening. “I. Will. Come. For. You. Remember!”
The pain ripped through her, and before the blackness claimed her, she wasn’t sure if the scream was hers or his.