Babysitter to the God of Mischief | Loki ✔

Chapter Eighteen

I danced on the toes of my feet, slowly jumping from one foot to the other as I tried to warm my body up. The tunic I was wearing had cropped sleeves, and though it stopped just above my knee, I could still feel the occasional ripple of the cold winter air, even if Loki had promised spring would be on its way in the next few weeks.

The loose trousers fitted me with a comfort I hadn't experienced before, the black contrasting nicely to the deep forest green of the tunic. The slightly chunky boots reminded me of the thick soled combat boots that I used to own on Earth. An odd pang of nostalgia hit me in the chest as I waited for some new soldiers to arrive.

Thor has already fought with three men, flinging them to the side after mere minutes of flying fists and swinging legs. Loki slumped on the bench next to me, his eyes watching Thor though he looked unfocused, as if his attention was wandering.

Mine most certainly was. The god next to me was making me crazy, and the way he had been so kind to me this morning only added to my clouded confusion. It had led from a relatively easy conversation, to a confession about my fathers sins, to Loki changing my colour from the gold to a striking black.

It was twisted in a plait, all strands neatly tucked behind my ears so I wouldn't be distracted. That was, at least, until I caught sight of Loki stood in the rows of hedge nearby. But it couldn't be him. I flinched a little, and spun my head to see the almost asleep Loki next to me.

I furrowed my brows, but relaxed down on my seat, only to see two more Loki's creep towards Thor's fight. One lifted his finger to his lips, his head gently tilting to the side, as if telling me to keep quiet.

I kept one eye focused on the man next to me, as Thor began tiring alongside his competitor. They were well matched - their swings and punches repeatedly hitting the intended target on their opponents.

One of the Loki's suddenly stuck his foot out, twisting Thor's body to flip and crumple in a heap. Their images flickered, forming a distracting swirl of attacks and threats, until Thor began grumbling about the 'stupid tricks he insisted on learning'.

I swung my arm out, in a less than professional manner, (though we had officially moved from the colleague to friend category), to gain Loki's attention, but jumped as my hand flew through his body to hit the wall behind him. My knuckle began throbbing as my eyes started watering, a short tear escaping before I had a chance to figure out what had happened.

There was a collection of Loki clones dancing around Thor, teasing and taunting him to get up and keep fighting. The men surrounding the group, positioned on the benches near me, stifled their laughs as the younger prince taunted the future king.

Just as I was beginning to enjoy myself, I felt an arm wrap around my waist, and a hand plant across my mouth. I was about to kick whoever it was off me, when a familiar voice tickled my ear. "Do you still want to learn how to throw knives?"

I shuddered at the intimacy, but nodded. Loki spun us around, but as we stopped I realised we'd moved more than just 180 degrees. We were now stood in an empty training area, not too far from the others, though a wall separated us.

His body lingered on mine, his grip around my waist lessening but not dropping. His hand lowered from my mouth, but trailed down my arm, his fingers brushing against the top of my hand. My stomach flipped as his head bowed to rest near my ear again, his breaths steady and cold against my neck.

Suddenly, he twisted around, yanking me off my feet as he did so, and threw five knives around us, all hitting targets that had appeared without my notice. My breath caught in my throat, my heart pounding a little harder, but I felt a chill wash over me as he stepped away. "And that's how you throw knives."