A dual pov narrative from both main characters-Loki and Annalise. If you enjoy slow burn, immersive stories, with a good plot and the long awaited spice, then stop your search. Here is the story for you!
As the newly crowned king of Jotunheim, Loki...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I don't bother hiding anymore. There's no point.
Fear of being caught no longer gnaws at me.
I want to be found.
I crave a fight. I'm hungry to kill. I want to maim and mutilate, to peel the skin from that elf's body while his screams cry into the night. I want his blood to rain down, to ride on the wind as a fine crimson mist, so everyone of his soldiers can taste the metallic tang on their tongues.
And I will have that. I will make it happen.
Before this night ends, these hands of mine will not only reclaim Annalise, but they'll also deliver the gruesome fate that vile elf deserves.
"Loki, wait!" Thor's booming voice tries to pull me back as I rush forward, but my mind is consumed with vengeance, and I don't stop.
"Keep up!" Joben shouts over his shoulder, pushing Thor to stay close. He's on a warpath as fierce as mine, but he has more patience for those who straddle behind.
My brother—the mighty god of thunder, may be a master in strategic battles, one's that have had weeks of thorough planning. But with spontaneous fights, he's no Jotun.
He's not as merciless as my kind, not as willing to end it all. He may claim he'll fight to the death for Annalise, but I know deep down, there'll always be an obstacle pulling him back—the throne of Asgard, his duty.
It's what sets us apart. Even before I claimed Jotunheim, I never wanted to rule. I never longed to sit on a throne. All I ever wanted was to feel at home. And I only found that when I met Annalise.
The moment my eyes locked with hers, I knew within her arms was my peace, was my acceptance, my... home.
Now as I fight my way back to that home, may the gods help those who stand in my way. I am murderous—death itself. No one is safe from me this night.
No one.
Arrows slice through the air, whistling past with deadly accuracy. But I see them coming before they even leave the bowstrings. I dodge and weave, cutting down anyone foolish enough to stand in my path. Bodies fall in heaps, left behind like slaughtered cattle, their blood staining the earth beneath me.
"Shut the palace doors!" the elves scream in desperation as I tear through their ranks.
I see the heavy gates beginning to close, and my fury ignites to an unstoppable blaze. With a roar, I charge, my body slamming into the massive doors with such force the elves behind them resemble ragdolls as they're flung back.
Their bodies hit the stone walls with sickening thuds. Some attempt to rise, but most lie still, playing dead in hopes of avoiding my wrath. But tonight, there's no room for mercy.
My dagger gleams under the low light as I move from one body to another, severing throats with ruthless precision. I sneer at the few who remain standing, frozen in horror, their faces unnaturally pale as they witness my brutality.
