Chapter two:

She cried silently into the crook of her arm, containing her noisy weeping so as not to draw his attention, she didn't want him in her room, to see the sorry state that he had reduced her to.

Her mind was racing, her imagination working overtime in order to produce the most graphic images of violence that she could picture her kidnapper inflicting on her. She was never going to leave, he had said as much. There had been no promises of being returned home, no promises of being saved, no promises of being freed – she 'belonged' with him, and would stay with him.

He would enter her room at night, the darkness only lightened by the fire, and she would watch as his silhouette would close the door behind him, and slowly make its way over to where she lay.

He would remove his shirt, unbuttoning it and placing it on the chair in the corner. Next he would push his boots from his feet and then manoeuvre out of his trousers. The light glinting off of his chest, he would take careful steps towards the bed where she lay, her hand cuffed to the board, shaking in terror and clamping her legs together so tightly that the muscles on her thighs would burn.

Curled tightly into a ball, she would feel him slip between the sheets and the hot, hard planes of his chest would wrap around her back as his hands plied her arm from around her leg.

She expected him to force himself on her, to crush her with his weight and push himself into her, and most of her demonic thoughts revolved around images of him raping her whilst torturing her in some other way, before discarding her corpse in the woods someone, her body never to be found again.

He was mentally unwell, that she was sure of, and each and every night and he entered her room, her dread would spike and she would feel her heart slamming against her chest as she prepared herself. He's going to do it tonight, the voice in her head would quake.

Images of his large hands, roaming her body, settling on her neck, choking the life out of her made her stiffen, and her breathing speed up. But almost as suddenly as her anxiety would spike, it would relent and she would be overcome with a sense of contentment and security. It did not take her long to realise that it was the feel of him pressed against her, his arms pulling her back tightly to his chest, his fingers stroking her stomach ever so softly, which would quieten her fears.

Almost as if he could sense her anxiety spiking, he would pull her even closer, face nuzzling into her hair until her troubles ceased, then and only then would he loosen his grip – but only slightly.

She never once uttered a word about how she felt; she never once said 'I'm afraid'. Sometimes she would think too much, about how she had promised her mother that she'd be back within an hour – almost a week had passed since then. She would relive the moments leading up to her abduction, she had seen him walking towards her from his van, calling to her by name, and she had stopped and smiled, talking to him for a few moments. He was the handsome man who had made her acquaintance a few weeks before, the man who had carried her bags home for her. It had been against her wishes, but deep down she was flattered by the attention that this deep-voiced, blue eyed giant was paying her.

She thought nothing of stopping to talk to him that day, he was smiling kindly at her; he was a good guy. He was well-spoken, he seemed old fashioned, and she labelled him 'trustable'.

It was almost ten o'clock when she heard the bedroom door unlocking, and wiping her tears from her eyes, she quickly bolted upwards, knees to her chest and tucked her head inwards as she heard him enter and close the door behind him.

'Good morning Grace' he announced, and she could hear his smile 'I've brought you some breakfast. I believe you will be hungry this morning.'

She felt the bed dip, and his legs brushed her foot as he inched closer, and clasped her chin within his firm hand.

'You have been crying?' his voice broke and his eyes immediately saddened, making her eyes leak further. Pulling on the sleeve of his shirt, he dried her cheeks. 'You must not cry as it will weaken you. Nor have not been eating, you must do so.' he pointed to the last night's dinner tray.

'I don't want you becoming unwell, you must eat to keep up your strength' he reasoned, taking a small chunk of peach and pressing it to her lips. For a moment she tasted the sweetness and savoured it, but snapped her head away quickly before the morsel was pushed into her mouth. It might be drugged she thought to herself, why else would he have you here but to hurt you?

'Grace, please just eat this' she heard his soft voice, but rather than scaring her, his deep voice was comforting and against her wishes, she felt her body relax and her head turned towards him, her body feeling as if it was being drawn to him.

Wavy blonde hair framed his face, and fell in sharp uneven layers above his shoulders, he must cut his own hair, she thought, and then pictured him sitting at a barber with the cape around his neck, having his hair trimmed, and the image did not suit him. He was rugged, the type who kept his fingernails short, and who constantly had the stain of dirt on his face from working outside. Her eyes assessed him further; soft blue eyes highlighted by blond facial hair gave him a caveman look – he was very attractive, he looked like he was a nice guy, not someone who would do this to her, not an evil kidnapper.

'Do not be afraid, I will not harm you.' He spoke, and only then did she notice that she had been touching his forearm, a deep crease in her brow as she contemplated all the damage that he could do to her with his large, powerful frame. 'I do not wish to harm you Grace, I want to keep you well. I want you to be happy here.' he continued, brushing the fruit against her lips once more, plying them open and dropping the sweetness onto her tongue. She chewed with relish, a sudden pang of hunger hitting her deep in her stomach.

'I have a brother who was just like you' he smiled at her 'Stubborn, he would never eat as a child unless he was fed by our mother's own hand'

So this evil monster has a mother then? The voice in her head mocked.

He extended his hand to the bowl of fruit, and she watched him as she slipped slice after slice between her fluffy pink lips, his eyes flickering from her lips to her eyes before quirking his lips up slightly.

She could smell the outside on him, coupled with his own scent of sweat and manliness, the faint but potent smell stroked her insides as she inhaled deeply, taking in as much of him as she could.

'You are much like a child Grace, so small and pure.' He rubbed his fingers against the cloth of her dress, and she felt an even deeper sense of comfort envelope her. She pushed her legs into his hand, wanting more of his strength on her. 'You need to be cared for. I will care for you, I will make sure that you are kept safe.'

What are you doing? She chastised herself, he's got you captive! And her body responded in a knee jerk reaction by extending her hand and slapping him across the cheek.

His smile dropped immediately, and she decided that he was more outraged than hurt by her actions. A man of his size couldn't be hurt by someone as puny as her; a man of his size couldn't be hurt by anyone. But that flash of anger in his eyes sent a bolt of terror through her, momentarily.

'You have not finished eating, open' plying his fingers into her mouth he pushed in small pieces of bread, forcing her to eat, as she dug herself further into the headboard and away from him. Now out of arm-length, he responded by shuffling closer to her, trapping her against the wooden board, and clasping her face firmly in his hand, he looked down at her with anger in his eyes.

Her previous comfort in his presence now gone, she shuddered as she was trapped by the furious blue of his iris', and fear overtaking, she felt her bottom lip tremble despite her best efforts, and tears stinging her eyes.

'Why did you strike me?' he demanded, jerking her head towards him when she tried to look away. 'I have been nothing but gracious, how dare you strike–'

'I'm sorry' she interrupted, tears now wetting her cheeks. He started, as if he had been struck, and the crease between his brows softened as he looked into her weeping brown eyes. He sat staring at her, his eyes boring into hers for several minutes as a deafening silence descended around them. Nothing, not even the sounds of the birds outside, or the rustle of the trees penetrated the bubble of tension that had erupted within her room.

She could feel her heart pounding against her chest, the deafening journey of blood in her body loud in her ears. Her fear spiked when he shifted his thumb from her cheek, and ran it along her cupid's bow. It was rough, but not unpleasant. Lifting her gaze from his hand, she noted that his eyes were staring intently where his thumb traced her lips; back and forth, the calloused pad danced against her flesh until her throat grew dry and her heart was beating so fast that a sheen of sweat broke out at her temples.

'You should not fight me Grace, you will not be victorious. You will find your stay here with me pleasant in time; you will understand that I mean you no harm.' His eyes never left her face, and despite the fear that seemed to overwhelm her, a deep throb of pleasure descended between her legs, and once again, she felt comforted by his presence.

His pupils had dilated; he seemed to derive some pleasure from being this close to her. The thought shook her momentarily, but once again, a warm blanket of safety enveloped her, and her muscles relaxed.

Her mouth just centimetres from his, he tugged gently at her to have their mouths connect quicker. His hair, long and soft, brushed her cheeks as she felt the wet vapours of his exhalation and lost in the moment, she jumped in terror at the interruption.

What are you doing? The voice in her head screamed, making jerk away from him.

A look of confusion crossed his face.

'Did I hurt you Grace? What is the matter?' he asked, his breathing jagged. He reached to cup her face in his hand but she slapped it away. Pushing her hand away from covering her face, he once again tried to hold the softness of her cheek within his hand. She flinched at the roughness of his hands, pushing herself away from him.

'Go away…go away!' she shouted, her voice cracking. The trees swished loudly outside, and standing up, he took slow deliberate steps before turning back towards her cowering frame.

'Grace, I–'

'Just get out!' she screamed, and this time she was sobbing loudly, hugging her knees to her chest as he closed the door and she heard the click of the key. 'Let me go! Do you hear me! I want to go home! Home, home, home!' She pulled on her cuffed hand for good measure, a sharp stab of pain shooting through her arm and down her back.

What was happening to her? She felt like she was being invaded, from the inside out. No matter how angry, or upset, or terrified she would be, as she would look into his eyes, as soon as she would feel his skin against hers, she could feel a blanket of warmth and protection envelope her, forcing her to trust him, forcing her to relax, as if something were pulling her towards him.

As if some force was pushing her to trust him, a powerful force that was playing and tuning her emotions against her will.

From up above, Loki looked down on his brother, now on his knees, looking every bit the broken man as we wept in sadness at the response of his chosen companion.

It was the tug of remorse for having lied to his brother about the death of his father than had caused Loki to intervene for his brother. Isolated, trapped and alone in the mortal world, Loki had been manipulating the emotions of the young girl, Grace, but he had come up against some difficulty. Human will was powerful, and despite the power granted to him, Loki's powers over the hearts of the human-kind were limited.

Thor's choice to take a bride in this manner had been harsh, but to Loki, the choice had been understandable. The years of loneliness and pain had passed from Thor to Loki through a bond that only life-long companionship and brotherly-love could form. Unwilling to let his brother suffer unnecessarily in the mortal world, Loki had been willing to intervene if it provided his brother with the love and companionship that could cure him of his torments.