Chapter 61 Danica
Danica
Sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, painting the pristine room in gold.
I surface from sleep wrapped around Rhyland like a clingy octopus, my cheek pressed against the warm expanse of his chest. My fingers trace lazy patterns over his ribs, mapping the ridges of muscle I know by heart.
"Mmm..." I nuzzle closer, voice still thick with sleep. "Morning, Thunder Buns."
"Good morning, baby." His deep rumble vibrates through my body, sending delicious shivers down my spine. His hand finds my hip, squeezing possessively.
My leg is already draped over his naked waist, and there's no missing the impressive tent he's making in the sheets. "Well, well..." I smirk against his chest. "Looks like someone's ready to raid and pillage."
Rhyland chuckles, the sound dark and sinful. "I'm always ready to conquer your body, Angel."
Before I can fire back a sassy retort, Rhyland's mouth is on my skin, trailing scorching kisses down my throat. His teeth graze my collarbone, his tongue soothing the sting. Lower and lower he goes, mapping my curves with his lips until he reaches my breasts.
He takes one aching nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. I arch into him, a needy moan escaping my lips. Heat pools between my thighs as he lavishes attention on my breasts, stoking the fire in my veins.
Lost in sensation, it takes me a moment to realize his touch feels different. The way his hands skim my sides, the pressure of his mouth—it's not quite right. Not quite...him.
Rhyland kisses his way back up my body, claiming my lips in a searing kiss. But the wrongness of it hits me like a bucket of ice water. This kiss...it's too practiced, too polished. Nothing like the raw, hungry way my Viking devours me.
I break away, my heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. My eyes search his face as a chilling realization settles in my gut.
This isn't my Viking.
"Rhyland, what's going on?" My voice trembles, confusion and fear warring in my chest. "Something's not right."
He cocks his head, a too-perfect smile curving his lips. "What are you talking about, baby? Everything's perfect." He reaches for me, but I flinch back.
"No, it's not. You're not...you." I search his face, desperate for some flicker of recognition. "Please, talk to me."
But he just shakes his head, that unsettling smile never wavering. "It's okay, Angel." His hands find my hips, dragging me beneath him again. "Just relax and let me make you feel good."
Before I can protest, he's kissing his way down my body again, his mouth hot and insistent against my skin. He nips at my hipbone, his tongue soothing the sting—until he's settling between my thighs.
"Rhy, wait—" But my words dissolve into a gasp as his mouth finds my core, his tongue delving deep. Pleasure sparks through me, my body responding even as my mind screams that this is wrong, wrong, wrong.
He licks and sucks, stoking the fire in my veins even as panic claws at my throat. My hands fist in his hair, torn between pulling him closer and shoving him away.
"Stop," I pant, my head spinning. "Rhyland, please..."
But he ignores me, his mouth relentless against my aching clit. His hands pin my hips, holding me in place as he drives me closer to the edge.
Tears burn my eyes as I struggle against him. This isn't my Rhyland. My Viking would never ignore my pleas, never force his touch on me.
Am I losing my mind? Is this some kind of nightmare?
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to will myself awake. But when I open them again, he's still there, his eyes dark and hungry as he looks up at me from between my thighs.
"Just let go, baby," he coaxes, his voice a sinful purr. "I'll catch you."
But all I can think as he lowers his mouth to my core once more is that this isn't the man I love.
This is a monster wearing his face.
I wrench away from him, scrambling off the bed. My legs shake as I snatch up clothes—his shirt, my pants, anything to cover myself.
"Stop. Just fucking stop." My voice cracks as I yank the shirt over my head. "What did you do with him?"
"Baby, you're being ridiculous." He lounges on the bed, all predatory grace, watching me with eyes that are both familiar and foreign. "Come back to bed."
"No." I back toward the door, my heart thundering against my ribs. "My Rhyland would never—" I swallow hard. "He doesn't kiss like that. Doesn't touch like that. And he sure as hell doesn't ignore me when I say stop."
Something dark flickers across his face, there and gone so fast I almost miss it. "Perhaps I'm just in a different mood today." His smile is all wrong—too smooth, too practiced. "You're overthinking things, Angel."
That pet name on his lips makes my skin crawl. Because it's not right, nothing about this is right.
And then it hits me—a wave of dread so powerful it nearly brings me to my knees—that gnawing emptiness in my chest where our bond should be pulsing strong and steady. The wrongness I've been feeling isn't just about his touch or his kiss.
I can't feel him.
Can't feel our connection at all.
"Where is he?" Ice spreads through my veins as panic claws up my throat. "What have you done with him?"
He rises from the bed, stalking toward me. "Dani—"
"Don't!" I throw up my hands, light warming at my fingertips. "Don't you dare come near me. Where. Is. Rhyland?"
Something's happened to him. Something terrible. I can feel it in my bones, in that hollow space where our bond should be singing.
Rhyland is in danger. And this thing wearing his face is the reason why.
"Fine." His lips curve into a cruel smile that looks grotesque on Rhyland's face. "Let's drop the charade, shall we?"
The air shimmers like a heat wave, reality-bending as Rhyland's form melts away.
My stomach lurches as his bulk stretches taller and leaner.
Black hair spills past broad shoulders, and a crown of twisted metal sprouts from his head, two huge horns curling toward the ceiling like polished obsidian.
When he opens his eyes, they're a piercing glacial blue that burns with ancient mischief.
"Holy shit." The words slip out as I stumble back, my shoulders hitting the wall.
"Now, now, little savior." He tsks, spreading his arms wide. His leather armor gleams like oil in the sunlight. "Is that any way to greet a god?"
"Who—" My voice cracks. I swallow hard, trying again. "Who the fuck are you?"
His laugh is like serrated knives. "Oh, you mortals are always so entertaining with your profanity.
" He sweeps into an elegant bow, all fluid grace and deadly intent.
"Loki, God of Mischief, at your service.
" He straightens, those frost-blue eyes dancing.
"I must say, I'm impressed. I thought I could fool you longer, but.
.." His tongue darts out to wet his lips.
"You know your mate's touch quite intimately, don't you?
Every..." He takes a step closer. "Single. .." Another step. "Detail."
My power pulses beneath my skin, desperate to lash out. "Where is he?"
"Rhyland?" Loki's smile is sharp as a blade. "Oh, he's taking a lovely swim. Though I doubt he's enjoying it much—chains tend to make swimming rather difficult."
Bile coats my throat—burning it's way up. I swallow it down. The horror of what he's done—what he might still do to Rhyland—makes my stomach twist.
Loki's lip curls in disgust. He grabs my hair, yanking my head back. "Such weakness. And here I thought the savior would have more... fortitude."
"Why?" I spit the word at him, trying to wrench away. "What do you want?"
He rolls his eyes, releasing me with a shove. "Isn't it obvious? I want the Air Stone. And your dear mate would have been quite the inconvenient obstacle." His smile turns razor-sharp. "Can't have the Commander of Dark Skies raining on my parade, now can I?"
"You're insane."
"No, I'm practical. You'll retrieve the stone—it's your destiny after all—and then you'll hand it over to me." He spreads his arms wide. "Simple."
Odin's words echo in my head: The Soul Stone... Loki's interference... shattered and scattered across three realms...
Now he wants this one, too.
"Why?" I growl, fury burning away my fear. "Because you're the god of daddy issues and cheap tricks?"
"Because I can." He shrugs, all casual arrogance. "It's my right as the God of Mischief. And..." His eyes glitter with malice. "I do so love watching Odin's precious plans crumble."
His smile turns predatory as he stalks closer. "Speaking of watching... I must say, that show against the wall the other night was quite... stimulating. The way your man took you from behind, claiming that tight little—"
"Stop." My stomach heaves again.
"Oh, but why?" He licks his lips, frost-blue eyes burning.
"Left me hard for hours. I enjoyed every moment.
Almost as much as I enjoyed tasting you this morning.
" His fingers ghost over his mouth. "We could continue where we left off.
I could even wear his face again, since you seemed to enjoy that so—"
"Fuck you, you twisted piece of shit." My teeth clench. "Touch me again and I'll show you exactly how much 'fortitude' I have."
"Feisty. I do love when they fight back."
"How long? How long have you been lurking in the shadows like a cockroach?"
"Oh, you have no idea how long I've waited." His eyes spark with dark mischief. "Then your Viking put on that spectacular light show in the forest—lightning ripping apart the sky as he fought Azrael." He shivers with theatrical pleasure. "Like a beacon calling me home."
His smile turns predatory. "And when that fool Heimdall opened the Bifrost..." He spreads his arms wide. "Well, what better chance to return than alongside the miraculous Godborn everyone thought dead?"
The truth hits me. "You've been trapped there. All this time."
"Trapped is such an ugly word." Frost spreads from his feet as he paces. "Let's say I've been... entertaining myself. Midgard has so many delightful toys to play with." His eyes dance with cruel memories. "Wars, plagues, the occasional genocide—humans really do make the most wonderful chaos."
My blood runs cold as centuries of human history flash through my mind—every war, every conflict, the whispers of chaos that sparked civilizations into flames.
"That was you? All of it. The wars, the famines—"
"Fun, wasn't it?" His grin stretches impossibly wide. "Humans are so delightfully easy to manipulate. A whispered word here, a planted seed of doubt there..." He waves his hand like a conductor. "And boom! Centuries of chaos."
My stomach lurches again as the horror of it all crashes over me. The emptiness where our bond should be screams in my chest. Every calculated move—slipping into ásgard, centuries of earthly chaos, and now Rhyland... trapped somewhere beyond my reach, beyond our connection.
"What I didn't anticipate was you." Loki's boots click against marble as he stalks back and forth. "When the war ended, watching Nyx's soul bind to that stone..." His eyes gleam with remembered malice. "Well, opportunity knocked."
"To what? Prove you're an even bigger piece of shit?"
His laugh echoes off the walls. "To add a little... spice to the realms." Frost trails in his wake as he moves. "Breaking that stone, scattering the pieces across the realms before your dear daddy sealed them—" He spreads his arms wide. "Can't have everyone living in tedious harmony, can we?"
Rage burns in my chest. This twisted bastard, playing his games across centuries—across realms, destroying lives for his own entertainment.
"You though..." He wags a finger at me like I'm a misbehaving child. "Elysium's little contingency plan. His precious backup savior." His smile turns cruel. "And your mate—that troublesome Viking who just wouldn't stay dead when he should have."
"Funny thing about my Viking—" Power surges through my veins, making the air crackle. "He's really fucking hard to kill. And when I find him? He's going to show you exactly why the God of Lies should be afraid of the dark."
"Adorable. Such spirit." His form shimmers, and suddenly Baldr stands before me—golden, perfect, pristine. "Though I must say, this face has opened so many new possibilities."
"Baldr." My knees threaten to buckle. "This whole fucking time, you were—"
"Playing the dutiful son?" He shifts back to his true form, those frost-blue eyes dancing. "It was almost too easy. Though I suppose you're wondering where the real golden boy is?"
"Where is he?" The words tear from my throat.
"Poor, precious Baldr." He leans in close, his breath like winter against my ear. "Let's just say he won't be attending any more family dinners."
His eyes glitter with sadistic glee. "I can't wait to see Odin's face when he finally realizes his one true heir, his last living son, lies cold and dead within his own realm." His laugh rings off the walls, sharp. "And now...I'll take his precious Zephyrite Stone, too."
"You're out of your fucking mind." I spit the words at him.
"Such language." He catches my chin in an icy grip. "But you see, I need that stone. And more importantly—" His fingers tighten. "I need your little gift. These realm barriers are becoming quite... restrictive."
I wrench away from his touch. "You want me to open a portal? Go fuck yourself."
"Oh, but I think you will." His smile turns knowing. "Unless you want your precious Viking to remain where I left him." He smirks. "It's quite simple really—you get me the stone, open a portal, and I'll tell you where to find him. Everyone wins."
"Everyone except Rhyland."
"Details. But time isn't on his side, Lightborn."
Light blazes between my fingers as rage burns through my veins. "You forget who I am, asshole. I'm not just some little bitch you can manipulate. I'm the savior of the realms, and when I find Rhyland—" Power crackles around me. "I'm going to enjoy watching him tear you apart."
"If you find him." Loki's form begins to fade, his smile cruel as winter. "So much spirit. Let's see how long that lasts while your mate suffers in the dark."