When he woke the next morning the woman had already gone. She'd left him the water and some food on a clean scrap of leather.

He felt better today. Much stronger. Sitting up was easy--his wound hardly protested at all and the scar was already beginning to shrink.

Standing was a bit of a challenge though. His legs were weak from disuse. But he did it, leaning heavily against the rough stone wall until he felt steady.

The woman returned to find him standing at the mouth of the cave, shirtless and smiling smugly.

The sun was just breaking away from the horizon and the heat was incredible already. The woman had come walking along the strip of shade still clinging to the edge of the cliff. She carried the canvas bag and a bundle of dry wood.

She started when she saw him, dropping some of the wood.

"Loki!" she cried, half pleasure and half worry.

"Hi," he said, grinning. Hoping she couldn't see the fine tremble in his legs.

She scrambled to pick up the fallen wood and then hurried across the sand to him.

The world beyond their little hideaway was stark and dry. Flat, dusty grey earth broken only by the occasional cactus, a jutting ridge of rock, or the sun-bleached corpse of a tree.

In the distance, there were low mountains capped with what looked like snow, but it was probably only naked white rock.

The woman ushered him back from the cave mouth as she neared, dropping her burden and coming to touch his chest, checking his wound.

"I'm fine," he said, looking down. It felt strange to be standing next to her. She was smaller than he'd thought. The top of her head only reached his shoulder. For some reason, it sparked the hunger again and he found himself tingling with arousal.

She tilted her face up to look at him and that tingle solidified into a slow burn. It was the first time he'd seen her in broad daylight. Her coloring was richer than he'd realized. Her eyes paler, brighter. Light, coppery skin and hair a vibrant, burnished bronze. Plump, peachy lips.

"You are beautiful," he said huskily.

To his surprise, she flushed.

By the Fates. "You understood that, didn't you?"

"Beautiful," she said quietly, touching his chest again, watching her hand.

"Yes. You are."

She shook her head, splayed her fingers over his heart. "Loki."

"What?"

But she didn't answer. Instead, she leaned forward and rested her forehead against his chest.

"What's your name?" he asked, hands rising to her shoulders, desire curling in his belly.

She sighed. Shook her head again and stood back, pointing into the cave.

"Alright. It is getting rather hot."

She gathered the wood and watched him closely as they fell into step.

"I'm fine," he said, "Just a little slow." But the walk out had drained him. They had to stop halfway back to the camp so that he could rest.

She sat beside him against the cave wall and pulled a small gourd out of her bag. "Water," she said, smiling a little.

Loki was impressed. "Two words in one day. You're making progress." He took the gourd and lifted it for a drink.

When he returned it to her, she said, "Thank you."

He grinned, "Well, well. You're welcome."

She smiled and leaned against his shoulder.

While he rested she gave him another healing. Some of the strength returned to his limbs. By the time they'd arrived back at the camp, however, he was exhausted again and his legs were cramping viciously.

Perhaps his recovery wasn't quite as far along as he'd thought.

The woman made him lie down and then pulled his legs across her lap, rubbing the spasms away with startling strength and expertise, beginning with his calves and working her way up.

It hurt like hell until she reached the uppermost part of his thighs, at which point it abruptly began to feel...good. When she started working her thumbs into the muscles where thigh and hip came together--slow and deeply--simple pleasure kindled into genuine arousal.

"You'd better stop that," he rasped after a few minutes, arms draped over his eyes, fever pulsing in his veins.

Her hands paused and he peeked down at her.

She was looking at the erection tenting the front of his trousers. And then she met his gaze.

Bloody hell. Memories or no, she did understand. The awareness was there in her eyes.

Her gaze was shuttered, though. Hesitant. Was that desire? Disgust?

Dammit all, he couldn't tell.

Frustrated and inflamed--and feeling an unexpected jab of humiliation--he covered his eyes again.

A moment later he felt her draw away and cross to the opposite side of the cave. Listened to her quiet footsteps returning.

She knelt beside him and touched his shoulder.

He pulled his arms down. "What is it?"

She didn't flinch at his brusqueness, just set a leather-wrapped bundle of cooked tubers at his shoulder and held up the now-empty water gourd.

"Fine," he grunted. "I'm going to sleep."

And then he put one arm over his face again, knowing he was being childish and not giving a damn.

"Loki..." she murmured.

"Get lost."

To his surprise, she took hold of his arm and peeled it back. He glared.

Unphased, she bent and kissed his cheek, right at the peak of his cheekbone. Very lightly. Lingeringly.

And then she kissed the other one just the same way. And then his eyebrows. And then his chin.

Lastly, his mouth, in a slow, feathery glide.

Frustration evaporated, heart pounding, he just looked at her.

She looked back.

And then she smiled. "Rest."

Loki watched her rise and disappear down the tunnel with that little ball of light at her shoulder, wondering what the hell had just happened.

... ... ...

He slept most of the afternoon, recovering from the morning's exertion. After nightfall, when they'd eaten and the woman had given him another healing, he rolled onto his side with his back to the fire.

He'd been surly and quiet all evening, but she took it in stride.

When she slipped beneath the covers, he lay very still as she fitted herself to his back.

Soft fingers touched his waist and he obediently lifted his arm so she could reach around him. Her hand found his belly, palm flat, fingers splayed. And then moved up to his chest, touching the Jotun ridges that marked his pectorals.

"I hope you understand that this is not platonic," he said very softly.

She stilled against him--no doubt confused by his tone. He was nearly growling.

"When I'm well again, don't expect me to lie here passively for all this cuddling and touching."

Her fingers flexed minutely against his skin. "Loki?"

He covered her hand with his and pushed it down over his belly to the edge of his trousers.

Her arm stiffened briefly--in denial or simply in surprise, he couldn't tell--but she let him do it.

Loki held her there for a moment and listened to her breathing; it was shallow now, a little fast.

Slowly, he guided her fingers to his sex, brushing over the head of it--just enough that she would know how hard he was.

"This is what you do to me."

He was beginning to ache with unresolved desire--hunger solidifying into painful frustration. He could still feel her feathery kiss on his lips: craved more with a force that hounded him mercilessly.

But he let her go, thinking that even if she didn't understand the words, the warning was clear enough.

Only she didn't move her hand away.

After a breathless moment of hesitation, her fingers slid lower, gliding over leather, following the shaft of his erection.

"Don't," he warned. "Don't start something you can't finish."

Slowly, slowly, she cupped him.

The breath left his body in a hissing gush.

"Loki..."

Those two whispered syllables hit him like a lightning bolt--sent him reeling.

They were heavy, helpless, laden with desire.

This wasn't some innocent exploration. It never had been. She knew exactly what she was doing.

She wanted him.

He lay there frozen with shock as her fingers tightened. Stroked him slowly.

Loki groaned low through his teeth, pushed her hand away and tore at the fastenings of his trousers in an impatient flurry.

The moment the leather parted her hand was there again, taking hold of his naked cock, measuring his length in a slow, silky caress.

But he didn't want slow and silky--he was desperate, wild for it. He took hold of her hand and fisted it around his shaft, pumping himself rapidly in her grip. Once, twice--half a dozen times--making deep, primitive sounds as the orgasm swelled and crackled along his nerve endings.

When he came she cried out with him, her soft, wordless exclamation muffled against his back, nearly drowned out by his guttural sob of release.

But Loki heard it--heard the pleasure she took in his pleasure.

No one had ever cried out for him like that before. It touched something deep inside him. Pushed him higher. Made him jerk and tremble helplessly in her grasp.

It made his heart burn with joy.

Afterward, as he lay panting and intoxicated, she pulled away and returned a moment later with a scrap of cloth in her hand.

Touch very gentle, she cleaned him up and then bent over his shoulder to kiss his face just the way she had before: softly, lingeringly.

His heart squeezed.

"Tell me your name," he whispered hoarsely. "Please."

It came out slow and heavy. The syllables felt clumsy in his mouth.

She settled against his back and sleep dragged powerfully at the edges of his consciousness.

"Rest," she murmured, touching his chest again. Tracing the ridges that marked him Jotun.

Helplessly, he did.

... ... ...

The next morning he woke well past sunrise and the woman was sitting against the wall near his legs, the Vanir agriculture book open in her lap.

She was frowning at the pages with great focus, turning them slowly. Clearly looking for something.

"Good morning," he said.

Her gaze snapped to him and he waited to see if there would be some sign of what they'd done last night--a flicker of shame, or desire, or even reticence--but there was none. She smiled openly in greeting, crawled up beside him, and pointed at something in the book.

Loki propped himself on his elbows and she held the pages up for him.

"It says 'Chapter Nine: Cultivating Eirflower.'" He looked at her questioningly. "Is that significant?"

"Eirflower," she repeated, brow furrowed in concentration.

She was trying furiously to remember something.

"Eirflower is a powerful healing herb. You must have worked with it on Vanaheim."

The woman shook her head. Not in denial, but in frustration. She was staring at the words in the book again, chewing her lower lip rather charmingly.

"Would you like me to read to you?"

She looked up, blinked, full lip popping free of her teeth.

"Or perhaps a kiss?" he suggested, looking at that lip, blood heating. "I wouldn't be opposed."

She tilted her head quizzically.

Loki sighed. "Nevermind."

Her gaze dipped to his chest and she touched the mark where his wound had been.

"Yes, it's healed up quite nicely," he murmured. "You've done an excellent job."

Her fingers circled the fading scar and he looked down, feeling the warm tingle of her magic.

Golden light spilled from her fingertips and flowed into his chest. The scar shrunk before his eyes. In a moment it was completely gone, replaced by smooth, unmarked azure skin.

When she took her hand away he could still feel the spell cycling through his veins, pouring strength into every muscle, all the way down to his bones.

"Better," she said softly, lips curving.

"Yes," he replied. "So are you."

Her smile widened and the pleasure in that look warmed him deeply.

"I believe I'd like a bath today," he murmured. "What do you think?"

"Bath?"

He nodded, gestured to the dark end of the cave. "Bath. With you."

She seemed to understand. Now there was a glitter of awareness in her eyes--a hint of the hunger he'd heard in her voice last night.

An answering hunger sizzled along his spine.

"Bath," she agreed softly.

******************************
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