Tyr

by JC Andrijeski

She agreed with that, too.

  She found herself thinking about Lia, Tyr’s sister-in-law.

  Somewhere, in watching all those videos and hearing Lia speak to Tyr in a worried, sincere voice, Marion decided she liked Lia. Marion liked her a lot, even though she didn’t know anything about her.

  She got a definite good vibe on Lia.

  Of course, she still couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the fact that Lia’s husband was Loki, God of Mischief… but that, like Thor knocking out those D.C. streetlights long distance, was something to think about on another day.

  Preferably a day where someone wasn’t actively trying to kill her.

  Sinking into the pale blue leather, which was amazingly comfortable, even more than it looked, Marion wrapped the fuzzy white blanket around her and sighed, looking at Tyr.

  “I’m not sure what to do now,” she admitted. “I have some thoughts. Like, if the private number that’s supposed to go straight to my dad won’t work, I’m thinking calling the F.B.I. or the Secret Service… or the Pentagon, or the Department of Justice… probably isn’t going to work, either.”

  “Agreed,” Tyr said, taking another long swallow of beer.

  Exhaling, adjusting her head on the back of the couch, Marion added,

  “Going in person will likely be dangerous, too. Maybe even more dangerous. Clearly, they know we’re in D.C. They would be idiots not to know why we’re here, and from everything you’ve told me and shown me, they’re not idiots.”

  Tyr nodded, leaning deeper into the couch himself, resting his weight on an arm thrown over the back of the blue leather.

  She saw the focus of his dark eyes turn inward as he gazed up at the ceiling.

  The news continued to play in the background, but the sound was turned low.

  She watched him think.

  Then he turned to her, those dark eyes sharp.

  “I wanted to talk,” he said. “About the possibility of flying you to the White House. If I did that, there is some chance you will be recognized on surveillance, since I assume security is extremely tight all over that part of D.C., and I can’t change your appearance. But I thought, if we did it late enough at night… or early enough in the morning, before the sun rises… the risk might be less. I will take out any cameras I see, and you could perhaps hide your face. It would still be safer for you… physically, at least… than trying to go through the usual routes.”

  He paused, clearing his throat.

  “…Which are likely to be guarded by Syndicate operatives, as you said.”

  There was a silence.

  Tyr seemed to be waiting for her to answer.

  Thinking, Marion cleared her own throat.

  “I think that would be okay,” she said, fighting past the part of her that still couldn’t quite believe she hadn’t hallucinated his wings in the first place, or that he’d actually flown them both here. “About those security measures, though… isn’t there a whole ‘no fly’ space around the White House? I don’t exactly want to experience us getting shot down by Airforce pilots. Or taken out by military drones… or just shot… or whatever.”

  Tyr nodded to her words.

  Even so, she got the impression he wasn’t overly worried.

  “I’m not a plane,” he said after a pause. “Or a drone. I can transform myself back to an acceptable facsimile of a human male… and rather quickly. I think if we are close enough when I transform, and if you were willing to carry clothing for me to wear, we could get over the fence quickly, Marion. Too quickly for an anti-aircraft response.”

  There was a silence.

  Somehow, that silence felt pregnant, like Tyr wasn’t done.

  For the same reason, Marion waited, not speaking, for him to go on.

  Eventually, the god cleared his throat.

  “There is another alternative,” he said. “I am not sure how you’ll feel about it.” He paused, his eyes and voice thoughtful. “Then again, I’m not sure how you think about the flying plan, either. So perhaps this is no stranger than that.”

  There was another silence.

  That time, Marion got the impression he was waiting for her to speak.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “Inter-dimensional jumping,” Tyr said promptly, reinforcing her impression that he’d been waiting for her to ask. “We could jump to Asgard… to any of the other worlds, really… then I could jump us back. Only on the jump back, I could target the White House.”

  Pausing, he added,

  “Unfortunately, it is very difficult to hit with accuracy any place I have never been before… meaning a place I have not visited in the form suited to a particular world. I traveled this way to reach you in St. Barts, but I had visited the island once before. I have never visited the White House. There is some chance I could miss. Or I could cause us to materialize via the Bifrost in a…”

  He hesitated, meeting her gaze directly.

  “…in an inconvenient manner,” he finished carefully.

  Marion’s lips pursed. “Inconvenient?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does that mean? Like we wouldn’t look human? We’d be turned inside-out? What?”

  Tyr looked faintly alarmed at that.

  Then he blinked.

  “No,” he said, his voice holding a tinge of incredulity. “No. I don’t mean that. I mean… we could appear in your father’s bedroom while he is asleep. Or in a room filled with his staff. Or on the front lawn, surrounded by armed guards.”

  Pausing, he seemed to be thinking again.

  His voice grew more apologetic.

  “…Or,” he admitted. “Possibly embedded in a wall. Partly. It is more likely, due to the nature of the Bifrost, that we would simply burn a hole in the wall and we would be in the center of that hole. Which would be difficult to explain. To your father. To the people who work for your father. They might be upset.”

  Marion blinked, still wrapped in the fuzzy blanket.

  Then, after she replayed his words…

  …she chuckled.

  She couldn’t help it.

  Grinning at him, she laughed again, and that time, Tyr smiled with her.

  “This is funny to you?” he queried, quirking an eyebrow.

  “Your insane knack for understatement?” Marion said, grinning wider. “Yes. It is funny to me. It’s damned funny. It would be even funnier if we weren’t having to talk life or death stuff right now, and could just be talking about… I don’t know… the circus-animal-sized meal we just demolished together. Or the latest action movie.”

  Tyr nodded, a faint smile toying at his lips. “I see. You would rather laugh at me under more casual circumstances. Like the date I proposed.”

  “Precisely.”

  She sat up, smiling back at him as she threw the blanket off her.

  “I think we’d better fly,” she announced, rising from the couch. “In which case, I think we have time for a movie, and at least part of one of the six or seven desserts I ordered. And possibly even a nap… before we go to talk to my father.”

  She was rising to her feet, when Tyr caught her arm.

  He tugged her down to him.

  There was nothing rough or violent about the pull, but she found herself pulled down to where he was before she could take a full breath. She was halfway to standing, and then she was on the couch next to him, one of her legs halfway over his.

  She met his gaze as his fingers wrapped around that same leg, pulling it further into his lap. He massaged her thigh, without looking away from her face.

  “There are ways I would rather spend that time,” he said, studying her eyes. “There are other things I would rather talk about, too.”

  Pausing, he added,

  “But perhaps you are right about the second part. We should wait on the casual talk until later. When your life is no longer in danger.”

  He continued massaging her thigh as he spoke.

  Looking up at those dark eyes, Marion blinked.
<
br />   For a few seconds, her mind went utterly blank.

  18

  Marked

  He lowered his face to hers, even as his other arm, the one that had been resting on the back of the leather couch, snaked around her, pulling her to him effortlessly.

  Marion sucked in a breath––

  And then that mouth found hers, the mouth she’d been staring at, memorizing its perfect lines, fantasizing about how it would feel, for what felt like days.

  As it turned out, it felt absolutely incredible.

  Within seconds, Marion had an arm wrapped around his neck.

  He kissed her cautiously at first, like he was tasting her, or maybe just waiting to see how she might react. He coaxed her jaw open with stroking fingers, then his tongue explored her mouth, making her gasp as she kissed him back.

  Even then, he took his time.

  She didn’t know when it changed exactly, or how––if it was gradual, or something that happened all at once. All she knew was, her fingers were coiled into his thick black hair, her other hand massaging his chest, and they were kissing harder, right before he yanked on her, roughly that time, pulling her all the way into his lap.

  She found herself leaning on his chest, sliding her weight down to press deeper into his crotch, her hand tugging and pulling at the T-shirt he’d put on after he got out of the shower.

  Even as she did it, her fingers sought out his bare skin.

  She was caressing that velvety skin with a whole hand next, tracing ribs and muscles, exploring him up to his chest and shoulder under the shirt with her palm, watching his eyes.

  He startled her, letting out a low groan.

  It came from deep in his chest, like it pained him.

  She gripped him tighter, right before he caught hold of her around the waist and flipped her over to her back, so that she was looking up at him from the leather couch.

  He did it so quickly, she found herself panting, his weight pressing down on hers as she slid her legs wider to accommodate him. She watched his eyes close as she did it, his expression tightening as she wrapped her calves and thighs around his.

  Then he was staring down at her, gripping one of her wrists, his other arm and hand still around her waist.

  She felt something through him, a kind of pained longing, and gasped, writhing under his weight. Those obsidian-black eyes were pulling her inside him again, like they had the first time she’d seen him, at the bar on St. Barts, where she’d more or less done a strip tease for him.

  He might even have been thinking about the same thing.

  She watched him raise himself up on the hand that pinned her wrist, pulling his other hand and arm out from under her and pressing it into the couch so he could look at the rest of her. He was breathing harder, and she saw that harder longing in his eyes now, a near predatory look that drove her completely crazy on that normally expressionless face.

  His voice came out low, gruff, deeper than before.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  There was a silence.

  She let out a bewildered laugh. “Sorry?”

  “It was impulsive. I meant to talk to you first.”

  Marion’s legs tightened around him, one coiling halfway around his waist.

  “What did you want to talk about?” she said, half out of breath.

  “About this. About what I am. It’s not…” He hesitated. “I’m not a human male. I may look like one––”

  “Trust me,” Marion smiled. “You don’t. Well. You do. I guess. Technically. But only in the strictly technical sense…”

  Trailing, she looked up at him then, feeling her smile fade.

  “Wait. Are you trying to give me the ‘we’re from two worlds… this could never work’ speech? Because I wasn’t––”

  “No.” Tyr shook his head, his mouth hardening. “No. I wasn’t trying to tell you that.”

  There was a silence.

  In it, Marion stared up at him, feeling her cheeks warm.

  Being more turned on by him than she’d ever been turned on by another person in her life definitely wasn’t helping her think. She felt the part of herself that just wanted to touch him, to keep touching him until neither of them felt compelled to talk anymore.

  Some part of her couldn’t help thinking that would be rude, though.

  He was trying to talk to her.

  It would be wrong to stop him from that, wouldn’t it?

  Was she just afraid of what he might say?

  Then again, nothing he’d said so far made a lot of sense to her.

  What was he trying to tell her?

  “You’re bad at this, huh?” she said finally. “Communicating?”

  “Yes,” he said frankly, not returning her smile. “I am.”

  “Do you want me to stop this?” She bit her lip, but forced herself to go on. “I could. Stop this. We could go to sleep on the couch. Or watch a movie or something––”

  “No.” He shook his head. “This is not regret. It is not indecision, Marion. It is…”

  He hesitated, looking at her.

  There was another silence.

  Then his deep voice added,

  “…My brothers. Both of them. They are married to humans. Human women.”

  Marion stared at him.

  She had no idea what she was supposed to do with that.

  Clearing her throat, she forced herself to meet those dark eyes.

  Immediately, she was lost there again, somehow swimming in the fire she saw in the center of each black pupil. She had no idea how his eyes did that. She had no idea what it was about those eyes that drew her in, but they made her feel like she was falling into him.

  Something about that sensation, about seeing him behind that silence, caused her to stop dancing around what neither of them were saying.

  “Do you want to have sex?” she said, still holding his gaze.

  “Yes.” He nodded, pressing into her, his fingers curling into her hair. “Yes.”

  She let out an involuntary sound when his weight pressed into her again.

  She was touching his face then, like he was hers, stroking his hair, watching his eyes close as she traced his features. He bent down, kissing her throat, then her jaw, his fingers tightening on her.

  She felt that longing intensify, until she let out a heavy cry.

  She honestly couldn’t tell whose desire she was feeling, not anymore.

  “I can’t read minds here,” he said, raising his head.

  He looked down at her, breathing hard, his skin flushed. His eyes were glassy now, and she could see the desire there, not just feel it.

  “I can’t,” he added. “I know I can’t. But I can feel you. I don’t understand it. But it’s making me want to fuck so badly…”

  She felt her whole body flush at his words.

  Feeling something in him losing control, she gripped him tighter.

  Then she was pulling on his shirt, tugging it up his chest, up his shoulders and then his arms, pulling it over his head. He didn’t help her so much as let her do it, pulling his body off hers with obvious reluctance, but only long enough to let her yank the shirt over his head.

  Then he was pulling insistently on her shirt, taking it off her almost roughly, pulling it off her body and her arms, letting her untangle it from her hands and wrists while he slid his hands behind her, unfastening her bra.

  He was tugging that off her seconds later, then pulling his lower body off her, yanking down on the leggings she wore, then her underwear.

  The urgency in his hands, the heavier sounds coming from his chest… everything about it drove her out of her damned mind.

  She was staring at him then, watching as he yanked off the brand new, black sweatpants, pulling them off over an erection that had her gasping as soon as she saw it.

  She’d never wanted anyone so badly in her life.

  “Fuck,” she muttered, staring at him. “Please, please don’t change your mind about this.”

>   For the first time, he chuckled.

  He kicked off the rest of the sweats, then gripped her wrists, yanking her up the leather couch, forcing her legs apart with his. Those dark eyes looked even darker now, yet also more filled with that deeper, burning fire. She felt his muscles clench over her, every part of him tightening as he hung there, staring down at her face.

  His long jaw clenched as she watched, but he never took his eyes off hers.

  He was still staring at her when he lowered his weight, pushing her legs wider apart, his movements insistent as he watched her face, looking for a reaction, looking for her to match him in this… or else to pull back.

  She writhed, trying to get her hands free so she could touch him.

  At the same time, she coiled her legs back around his waist, closing her eyes to will him into her. She felt some part of her pulling on him as she did it, pulling so intensely…

  He groaned, louder that time.

  “Fuck,” he gasped, looking away from her for the first time.

  His eyes were on her again, right as he lowered his weight.

  “Now,” he growled, staring at her.

  It was barely a question.

  She could only nod, staring up at him.

  Then he slammed himself inside her, and she let out a broken cry.

  She heard herself talking to him, urging him harder, deeper, and he groaned again, that time so heavily, it was almost a lion’s purr.

  He ground her into the leather couch, and both of them were talking then, but Marion found she couldn’t make sense of either of their words. She felt like she was drowning in the feeling behind them, that sense of pulling and connection and knowing that somehow lived behind it. All of it, the words, his voice, those more intense, heartbreaking, almost disturbingly intimate feelings… all of it only made the sex more graphic, somehow more real.

  Nothing she said seemed to be enough.

  No physical sensation seemed to be enough either, even though she thought she was going to lose her mind somewhere in the middle of that––like really, truly lose it––especially when he gripped her hips in both of his hands, changing the angle of their bodies so he could go deeper.

  He found a sweet spot… for him, for her.