The God and the Siren (Loki Romance)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"I want him dead."

That's all I say—four magic words that have two different effects on the two people sitting across from me at the kitchen island. Only Loki seems the least bit bemused, and he offers me a grin in response—like he's happy to entertain my darker impulses. In the meantime, Thor seems more concerned than anything else.

Regardless of anyone's reactions, I know it in my heart of hearts—I want Alastair dead. Or locked up at the very least, where he might as well be dead.

"We never figured out why they took you in the first place," Thor says, leaning forward in one of the island bar stools. "It may not have been personal."

"It was personal to me," I respond earnestly, looking toward him from the center of the living room.

"Of course," he knits his brows together. "No one can deny the horror of what you endured, Cerys. But I believe that now is the time to be wise and strategic, rather than emotional and impulsive."

My cheeks tint a bit as I lower my chin, feeling the slightest bit embarrassed—I know he's right, but I can't help being emotional about it. I can't help wanting the man who tortured and experimented on me to be made sorry for it, in one way or another.

"Wisdom and strategy are well-employed in combat," Loki remarks, looking between us. "And she has no experience in it."

"Are you suggesting that we train her, brother?" Thor asks, looking over at him.

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting—I'll train her myself."

Thor sighs. "And where would you go about doing that? We've a recreational area on the first floor, but there isn't much space. I might suggest the roof, but she hasn't the same resistance to cold air that we do."

My eyes narrow as I look off into a corner, considering one particular idea. "Well," I murmur, and both pairs of eyes turn toward me. "I have a gym membership technically, I think... Assuming it hasn't expired, there are some rooms that I can reserve that would probably be great for that."

"Hm," Loki lets out a breath. "Well alright, then. Look into that for us."

I nod, "Will do."

***

Racquetball rooms. Apparently that's what those rooms are called, and it took me a while to navigate the gym website before I finally figured out which room I had in mind.

I smirk when I see Loki wander out of the men's locker room, sporting a pair of black sweatpants and a grey t-shirt—one of the same shirts he uses to sleep in. From where I'm sitting, in one of the rounded leather cushions just outside the locker rooms, I grin as I take a quick second to admire him. The toned arms and doubtlessly muscular stature hidden under his sleep/exercise apparel... I guess it's true what they say, sometimes less turns out to be more.

"What are you smiling at?" he muses, grinning warmly as he approaches me.

"Nothing," I say, shaking my head, trying to pull the corners of my mouth back down—trying and failing to control the impulse to smile, and the wandering thoughts that follow.

Especially the ones that ensued at the sight of the grey t-shirt. Since, during the past week or so, Loki's been known to sporadically wander into my room in the middle of the night—sometimes waking me up, other times, not. And whether or not he visits me seems to depend on who goes to bed sooner that particular night, or how tired we are.

I do enjoy it so much when he does, though. I don't even mind being woken up, really—not the way he does it. The creak of the door may or may not be enough to wake me up, but the mattress depressing behind me will surely get it done. Which isn't nearly as unpleasant as it might sound, considering the warm, soothing embrace that tends to follow.