Author's Note: So like everyone else, I've been infected with a love of Loki. I won't bore you to death, but I hope I do him justice here. But to warn you, in this fic he is a bit savage. Everything about him will be explained by chapter 4...(I have up to Chapter 5 written as of now!)

The Loki I always imagined was one that wanted to prove the world wrong. Wanted to prove to his father and brother that he would make a good ruler. A good king, one that his subjects would love. Because let's be real here. Loki would have obviously made a much better king than Thor in the events before Thor.

That's...fact. Not opinion.

PLAYLIST: Sons of Odin (Thor Soundtrack), Shadows (Rock-Violinist Lindsey Stirling)

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

Anyhow. Rated T-M. Not sure. Right now I have it as T, but some events in this chapter get a little scandalous. Not anything scaring, but (SPOILER!) if Loki giving Jane some attention bothers you, turn away!


May 2012

At first, Jane was furious that Thor didn't try to find her. But after a week of being sealed in the SHIELD bunker in Northern Canada, she understood why.

A week of watching her Thor fight his own brother was killing her. New York City was already torn apart by the fury of their battles. FEMA estimated about fifty thousand dead because of Loki's Chitauri army. The entire north eastern seaboard was under terror, destroyed. It was reminiscent of Nine Eleven, except on a scale about fifty times as large.

She did her part from the SHIELD bunker. She gave Fury her calculations, estimating based on climate change and weather patterns where Loki would open his next portals. She was correct on all accounts—she had predicted Boston and Miami, Dallas. Miami and Dallas were well prepared enough to have foiled his plans, but Boston was too late.

But even with all her predictions and her intelligence, it was too late.

Because within the next three months, it was clear Loki had won.


August 9 2012

"Miss Foster, we're moving you."

Jane looks up from her worktable at the SHIELD compound in Alberta. "Why?"

"We have intelligence," Agent Lewis begins slowly, "that Loki has an…interest in obtaining your person. He took over our Chicago office, and found records of your predictions. He now has everyone under his control searching the world for you, and we fear not every SHIELD agent is trustworthy."

Jane stands up and nods as she grabs her duffel bag. "Where are we going?"

"Utah."

"What? Utah? All of the US is under Loki's control."

"All of it, except for the desert states. He has no interest in Utah, Colorado, Nevada, etc. And the people aren't fighting. He won't expect you to be in the center of his domain. And, it's where the remaining Avengers have set up headquarters. You'll be better protected there."

Thor. "Thor's there, too?"

Agent Lewis takes her duffel bag as he leads her onto a helipad. "Yes. The remaining Avengers are there. And give or take a few of the mutants. Wolverine, Storm, and Warren Worthington, I think."

As Jane steps into the helicopter, she mentally counts the remaining Avengers. Thor, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Nick Fury. The Black Widow and Hawkeye were now working for Loki. And the Hulk had died within the first month.


Two hours of helicopter flight, and they were preparing to touch down just outside of the American-Canadian border. Lewis told her it was safer driving in the US than it was flying.

Four more hours of driving through Idaho, and Jane was surprised to see that life continued as it had decades before. The only pictures she had seen in the past three months were those of the destroyed Eastern cities. However…the western states appeared to be faring quite well under their new ruler.

She refused to acknowledge it might be a truth, even as she watched a rancher saddle up a pony for his daughter to ride in a corral.

"Stop," she says suddenly, seeing grey clouds suddenly manifest themselves on the horizon. "Lewis. Stop. Turn around. Turn around!"

Loki. Not a quarter mile away, in the road. In all his battle armor and glory.

Lewis slams on the brakes and the car skids. There's a blast of ice-blue light and the SUV takes a hit on its side. Jane screams as she feels the car roll onto its side, and then ducks down and covers her head as Lewis lets out a barrage of bullets.

Then suddenly, all is quiet. Jane unclenches her hands from her head long enough to glance up, and see that Lewis is dead. She gasps as the back doors of the SUV are ripped apart by a scepter that appears to have just melted the metal.

She covers her head again, repressing a scream.

Silence.

"Miss Foster."

She uncurls herself slightly and opens her eyes to see Loki crouching, gazing at her in the wreckage of the SUV.

He extends a hand to her. "With me, Miss Foster," he says in a surprisingly gentle manner. As though he were talking to a kitten. She stares back at him starkly. "You have no other option, Miss Foster."

"You…" she stammers, "you…you just killed Lewis!"

"A regretful action, I assure you, Miss Foster," he answers, beckoning to her with his fingers. "But he was a soldier, and he understands the consequences of his actions. I have no wish to harm a civilian such as yourself."

She looks back at him, as his strangely angelic face, glimmering emerald eyes framed by the gold of his helm. The infamous horns curved out of her view from inside the car.

"Come, Miss Foster," he repeats in not-so-gentle of a tone. It's a command. "I grow weary of your defiance."

She glances around. She's in the middle of nowhere. There is nowhere to run, no one to help. The rancher and his daughter ran back inside the house. She knows she has no chance against one such as Loki.

She takes his hand. His fingers close around hers as he pulls her out of the wreckage.

He stands a full foot taller than her. She tries to pull her hand out of his grasp, but he holds her tight against him as he stretches her hand upwards. She's forced against his chest. He smirks down at her.

"What are you going to do with me?" she whispers, unable this time to keep the fear out of her voice.

She feels his other hand find her neck, and his thumb presses into the hollow of her throat as it wraps around her shoulders, his slender fingertips pressing against the base of her skull. She hitches her breath, sure he's going to kill her. "Do it quickly," she gasps. "Please. Do it quickly." She's sure he's going to break her neck now. He furrows his eyebrows.

"I'll not kill you quite yet," he murmurs quietly into her ear, the metal of his helm cool against her heated cheek. "Sleep well, my lady." Suddenly, Jane feels herself go lax—and then, all is black. The last thing she feels is the sensation of falling into the arms of the one man she pledged to hate.


"What do you mean, Jane's missing?" Thor's voice quivers with restraint as he stares at Fury.

"Actually, she's not missing. We know exactly where she is, according to the eyewitness account of a rancher. Around noon time, a dark SUV was destroyed by someone the rancher identified as…as, well, Loki."

Thor roars in fury, and even the electric humming of Mjolnir is audible. "Do you understand what this means?!"

"Yes, Thor. We understand exactly what it means," Fury answers evenly. "You need to calm down. We're working on an extraction plan."

"I will not calm down!" And suddenly, the air is crackling with lightning.


Jane struggles out of unconsciousness. She hears someone rush to her and take her wrist, feeling her pulse point. She opens her eyes.

"Natasha?" she rasps softly. The redhead holds up a finger. One second.

"Pulse is still a little slow," she says briskly after about thirty seconds. She marks something down. "But that's to be expected."

"Natasha," she rasps again. "What's going on?"

"You are now under Lord Loki's possession," she answers quickly. "I don't know how, Jane, but he brought you to me in his arms and told me to watch you. And to inform you that you would be dining with him tonight if you had woken up in time, which, you did."

Jane blinks, struggling to remember. Then it all clicks into place. Lewis… She shakes her head, trying to forget now. "And you? Are you under his possession too?"

Natasha stares at Jane. "More of under his employ," she answers after a pause. "And before you judge, it wasn't for me. I had to save Clint. This was the only way."

"What?" Jane says, sitting up and rubbing her neck, still feeling the imprint of Loki's palm. "Working for the enemy was the only way to save your boyfriend?"

Natasha's eyes flare. "He would have torn Clint's mind apart. I know he's capable of it. Everything that was once private to Clint is no longer private. Our Lord knows everything. The only way to prevent that was to agree to work under his employ….which I did. I couldn't lose Clint, Jane, surely you understand."

"Where is Clint now?"

Natasha glances away, and reaches under Jane's hospital bed to retrieve a bottle of water. She hands it to Jane. "He's…on a mission for Our Lord."

"Your Lord," Jane corrects Natasha. "Not mine. I only know of one Lord, and last I checked, the Second Coming hasn't happened yet."

Natasha stares at Jane for a second, then bursts out laughing. "What?" Jane asks.

"Nothing," she chortles. "You just remind me of Captain Steve Rogers. He said nearly the same thing three months ago."

"So," Jane asks, swallowing the water thirstily. Her throat is completely parched. "What's the situation."

Natasha looks away angrily. "One thing you have to understand, Jane," she says after a pause. "As much as I hate it, I am completely under our new God's control. Clint's life is on the line. I can't risk that. And he—Loki—ordered me not to give you any information."

"So you're his lapdog now." Jane says harshly, standing up.

"Don't judge me," Natasha flares. "If Thor was being threatened, or Eric Selvig, wouldn't you do the same as me?"

Jane looks away in shame, knowing it's completely true.

Natasha puts a hand on Jane's shoulder and pushes her back down. "Loki will call for you shortly. I'll tell him you need two hours to clean up. Is that okay?"

"What do you mean?"

Natasha points to a bathroom Jane didn't notice before. "There's a suitable change of clothes in there. I also put some makeup in there. Lord Loki wants to meet with you before the night is over. Two hours, okay?"

"I can't put it off?"

The redhead shakes her head. "It wouldn't be wise. Two hours?"

After a pause, Jane nods her confirmation. Two hours. Two hours, and she would be face to face with the madman forcing her entire country—and possible world—to the ground.


An hour and forty-five minutes later, Natasha knocks on her door. Jane gives a start as Natasha walks in, looking at her appraisingly. "You look lovely," she says briskly. "He'll be very pleased."

"Why should I care if he's pleased or not?" Jane asks quietly, gazing at her reflection. Natasha had left her with a dark, hunter green pencil dress, with gold and emerald Swarovski crystals climbing up the sides. It looked like an emerald flame that threatened to consume her.

"Because," Natasha says patiently, picking up gold necklace. "He can kill you in a moment's notice."

The Black Widow sure doesn't sugarcoat things, Jane thinks wretchedly.

"Some things to be aware of," Natasha says quietly as she clips the necklace on. "He's very much a gentleman, despite your preconceived ideas of the man. Think back to the era of English royalty. That's how he treats women he considers to be his equal. But don't get me wrong. As much as he might appear to respect you, remember he has complete and utter control over your life. He still wants you to obey him without hesitation. Also, address him as My Lord. Never call him by his given name. Let him handle you as he will; he shouldn't hurt you, he hasn't even touched me yet besides to kiss the back of my hand or forehead."

"He kissed you?" Jane says, shocked.

"Not anywhere he shouldn't have. He's very…regal, very royal. He'll treat you like a lady so long as you act like one. So be demure, obedient, quiet—and he'll take care of you."

"How do you know all this?" Jane whispers under her breath as Natasha leads her out of her room. She suddenly recognizes the building she's in. It's Stark Tower.

"I've been under his employ for two months now. I've been around him long enough."

They're quiet now as they walk through the silver halls of Stark Tower. After a minute, Natasha stops and puts her hands on Jane's shoulders.

"Jane," she says seriously. "You need to be careful. I don't know what his intentions are towards you. But you need to keep your head down. You're his greatest enemy's long-rumored love. Just be careful, okay?"

Jane nods stiffly before turning to the gold-gilded door.

Jane opens the door quietly and slips in, quickly turning her back to the room as she shuts the door quietly.

There's a pause as she faces the door.

"Miss Foster," the man says quietly. She hears footsteps approach her, then stop. "Am I really so frightening?" She doesn't answer. "Turn around." She hesitates slightly before turning to face him.

No, he's really not so frightening. He's not wearing his armor or the horned helmet. Instead, he's wearing Ralph Lauren. Purple label. His hair isn't quite as slicked back…instead, it's more loose around his shoulders, feathery, almost. He's wearing a green and gold tie that he loosens around his neck even as she watches him.

He walks closer to her, and she steals herself to not flinch from him. He offers her his arm, and Jane remembers what Natasha said. He'll treat you like a lady so long as you act like one. She takes his offer, lightly placing her hand around the crook of his arm.

"Dinner, my lady?" he asks lightly, appraising her with his eyes. "I'm terribly sorry to have interfered with your lunch plans earlier today."

For the first time, she realizes how completely starving she is. "Yes," she answers stoically. "I…I would appreciate that."

He walks her around the sofa and for the first time, she notices the table set for two. She gives a cursory glance over the food placed out for them: crab and shrimp scampi, steamed vegetables and a bottle of wine.

She sits cautiously in the chair he pulls out for her before he sits opposite of her.

"Now, Miss Foster," he says casually, as though they had been companions for years. He lifts his head and gazes down at her through heavily lidded eyes as he loosens his tie around his neck completely and unbuttons the top button on his dress shirt. The tie hangs around his neck like a scarf. He looks remarkably relaxed in his domain. He reaches forward and opens the bottle of wine, stating, "I would offer you a glass, but from SHIELD's report of you it says that you do not drink alcohol any longer, correct?"

Her eyes widen. "Why do you know that?"

He smiles gently. "I made it my personal goal after my fall from Asgard to learn as much as possible about the Midgardian lady that so entranced my brother…the Midgardian scientist that caused even Thor, a god of over tens of thousands of Midgardian years of habit, to change over the course of three short days." He takes a sip of his wine, gazing at her innocently with brilliant emerald eyes. She freezes. "So, what, Miss Foster?"

There is a pause. "I'm sorry, Sir?" she asks hesitantly.

"So what, Miss Foster, is it about you that caused such a…transformation in my adopted brother?"

"I…I don't know." Her hands start shaking as she waits for his next move.

"Don't you?" he inquires innocently. "Then I suppose I might be so privileged to find out."

She stills. He's insinuating something. But before she could analyze his tone of voice, his expression, and his words, he changes demeanor again. "Forgive me, Miss Foster," he says, sincere. "I forget some Midgardian customs." He raises his wine glass to her, and after a second she raises her water to him, and they clink glasses.

"To my victory," he enthuses.

She shivers.


Surprisingly, Jane finds herself relaxed in his company. He's an excellent conversationalist, and is a complete gentleman in her company. The food is excellent, and he keeps to topics she's comfortable with—a lot of it focused on her past, but nothing of her private life. Mostly just questions about where she went to school, what she studies. He thankfully doesn't approach the topic of her family. She keeps very close to Natasha's advice to act demure, obedient, and tame. It's killing her, not to give the adversary of Thor a proper tongue-lashing, but she resists.

At the end of their dinner, he raises his hand over the table. In seconds, his scepter appears and Jane squeaks in fear, covering her head and closing her eyes. "Relax, Miss Foster," Loki murmurs. "Look." She opens her eyes slightly to see him wave the scepter over the table. The dishes and tablecloth vanish, to be replaced by a floral centerpiece.

"Come," he commands her, standing up, and not waiting to see if she'll follow his instructions. She does.

"Sit." He leads her out of the dining area and into the living room. She sits down on the edge of a loveseat, and he on a recliner perpendicular to it.

"Why the flinching, the fear, Miss Foster?" he asks, looking down at the scepter, and running his slender fingers over the blade.

"I would be…an idiot not to fear someone who could very well kill me in a matter of seconds," she answers quietly. "And I like to think of myself as smart."

"Certainly," he responds. "You are very intelligent. It is your intelligence I value, Miss Foster. But even so, your intelligence can get in the way of things."

She stares at him. "I'm not sure I understand, Sir," she says slowly.

"Firstly, Miss Foster," he answers, "you would be intelligent to address me as My Lord. Secondly, I understand that Miss Romanoff coached you in how to act around me. I do not want an actress, Miss Foster, I want you in all your fire, all that pent-up passion I know you possess." He leans forward, eyes bright.

She looks down, thinking over her options. He says he wants her, not the actress Nat had warned her to be. Fine. She was tired of playing the tame tigress anyways.

"Fine," she says shortly, staring him for the first time properly in the face. "Fine, Loki." His eyes widen slightly at her use of his name. "You should know that I do not acknowledge you as My Lord, therefore I have no reason to call you as such. I'm not going to come to your every beck and call, and I will never bow to you, kneel to you, the way you forced my race to."

"So you say," he answers immediately. "And yet here you are…wearing the dress I provided for you, and under that, the black lace undergarments with the gold and green trim I provided for you." His smirk widens as she blushes furiously. "And why, pray tell, would you choose to wear such…unpractical clothing? Unless you expected something to happen tonight. Expect it, and perhaps even want it…crave it." He narrows his eyes, focused on her expression.

She stares in shocked silence. "You really think that highly of yourself, Silvertongue?" she whispers. She hadn't intended to address him as Silvertongue, just Loki, but now that she said it, it was too late to take back. "Don't flatter yourself. I will not ever…sleep with you." She blushes slightly, almost like a-

He narrows his eyes. Is it possible? She's twenty-eight Midgardian years. It can't be possible. Loki stands up, and she scoots back on the loveseat as he sits down on the other side. She makes to stand up quickly to escape arm's reach, but his hands are suddenly around her wrists, binding them with the tie he had around his neck. She struggles to pull her wrists away, but he had tied them firmly together, and with his left hand holding onto the end of the tie, pulls her forward towards him.

She's forced to look up at him from her slightly prostrated position. A flicker of fear crosses her face, but she doesn't acknowledge it. His right hand tilts her face upwards to him, cupping her cheek.

"You say that as though I intend to bed you," he murmurs softly, his eyes searching her expression.

"I don't…I don't know your intentions," she rasps nervously as he brings his hand around the back of her head, sliding his fingers through her hair before pulling her forward even further. Her heartbeat speeds up, sure he means to kiss her or break her neck, but she is surprised when he merely moves her jaw over his shoulder. It's a strange embrace, and he whispers into her ear: "Right you are. You do not know my intentions. Would you like to be privy to them?"

She's completely at his mercy, and she freezes in shame. He's poison to her.

His lips ghost over the exposed skin of her neck, and she arches her face and head away from him, not realizing she's actually making it easier for him to access her pulse point.

"Yes," she whispers quietly as Loki closes his jaws over her pulse point lightly, scraping her fair skin with his sharp teeth.

"Mmmm?" he murmurs as he bites down, hard, on her neck, bruising the alabaster skin.

"Yes," she gasps louder, jerking her head away from him. She's just confirmed what he suspected in that action. He smiles inwardly, knowing exactly where he can get her. He let her escape his jaws, but his hand remained fastened tightly around her skull. "Yes," she repeats in a more even tone, but still panting. "I wish to be privy to your intentions. Silvertongue."

"That's what you were saying 'yes' to, my dear?" he asks suavely, removing his hand from the back of her head. She jerks her head and face away from him. "If I wasn't mistake, I would have thought you were answering 'yes' to my… silver tongue."

"Never," she spits out, glaring at him from hooded eyes as she struggles with freeing her wrists. He puts his hands over hers. But even as she glares at him, she's blushing and breathing heavily. He's completely certain now.

He smiles gently at her. "You have questions for me, my dear," he says, changing the subject abruptly. She stops fidgeting. "Ask them if you wish."

Her eyes flash with wariness. "Why…why are you doing this?" she asks slowly. "What do I possibly mean to you?"

He stands up and walks to the window. "Why am I doing this?" he repeats. "Because I can. Because I have the power to, and no one will stop me."

"Thor will. But I know better. You're not an idiot, Loki," she spits out. He whirls on her.

"You are not to use my given name, nor will you ever mention his name in my presence!" he replies angrily, raising his voice for the first time.

She ignores this and continues, "There's some tactical reason you took me. There's more to you than just being on a power trip," she reasons aloud, watching him pace the floor.

"Very astute, Miss Foster," he replies. "I took you because you are the one thing SHIELD could have used against me. You were able to predict my next targets with astonishing accuracy, and I could not have you interfering in my plans. Now, you should be grateful you are Thor's little mortal amusement," he adds. "Otherwise I would not be quite so hospitable, but as it is, you captivate me—" (Captivate? Now that's an interesting word to use, Jane thinks momentarily, then focuses her mind on his next words) "—and I am interested in hearing your opinions on my new regime."

"Why?" The word escapes her before she can snatch it back.

He laughs quietly, his raven black hair shaking around his face. He clicks his tongue at her. "Why not? You've already proven yourself everything I could have dreamed of."

"How so?" she asks.

"You've shown me that you aren't afraid to challenge me, something rather refreshing. You're also capable of tamping down your own opinions and obeying me, something you proved earlier this evening when Natasha coached you. You see, my dear Lady Jane," he says slowly, stretching her arms across his lap. He traces her forearms and she feels a strange flutter across her chest. "You have not disappointed your lord."

She breathes heavily, trying to calm down as he stands up now, pulling her up with him.

He brings his mouth back down to her pulse point, just under her jawline. "Ask it," he breaths, his breath hot on her throat, as he exhales after giving her another nip.

"Are…are you go-going to…kill me?" She gasps slightly as she feels his cool lips touch her throat for the second time.

He pauses in his answer, kissing her, then pulls back. "I wouldn't dream of it," he says sincerely, honesty in his eyes.

She lets out a sigh of relief, and relaxes slightly as the god puts his teeth against the skin beneath her jaw again. He's not going to kill her. She's not going to die. At least not right away.

But even so, she brings her fists up to his chest and pushes against him gently. "Please," she whispers, even though she is feeling some amount of pleasure from his caresses. "Please, please stop."

He scrapes her smooth skin one last time with his sharp teeth before stepping back, closing his hands over her tied ones. "I see another question," he rasps, and for the first time she notices his brilliant green eyes are darker, more cryptic. He desires her, she realizes. "Ask it."

"You wouldn't…force me…would you?" she asks, jerking backwards as he presses his palm to her cheek. He holds her head still, grasping her face with both of his hands as he gently tilts it to the side, sweeping her hair out of his way. His eyes fall at the bruise he marked her with, just beneath the angle of her jaw. Her breath hitches and she starts breathing rapidly.

He lets go of her face and she stumbles away from him. He lets her as she puts both hands on the table, trying to regain her composure.

"Such proper language. But no," she finally hears him say. "I don't believe in brutalizing women. Or drugging them. And you, Miss Foster, are more than a woman—you are a lady, and so long as you behave and please me, you have nothing to fear from me."

She can sense him stepping close to her. "So you say," she replies unevenly, flinching when he puts both hands on her shoulders and starts massaging her. She rolls her shoulders uncomfortably. "So you say," she repeats. "And yet you…bit me, abused me."

He leans down. "Ah yes, Miss Foster," he says silkily into her ear. "An experiment, I assure you. It shall not happen again. You merely confirmed my suspicions. But no matter. I assure you, I will not force you. I will not blackmail you or otherwise seduce you…unless you, also, desire it."

"Also?" she murmurs as he continues moving his perfect hands over her shoulders and neck, massaging her. She can't resist not relaxing under his soothing touch as she rolls her head back, feeling her vertebrae crack.

"I was raised an Asgardian, Miss Foster," he says softly, tracing her shoulder blades. "We are taught to appreciate beauty. And you, my dear, are very beautiful."

Did he really just compliment me?

He turns her around. "I think that will be all for tonight," he says slowly, his voice low. "Natasha is waiting outside this room. She will escort you to your bedroom. But before then-"

He crosses the room to an ornate gold-gilded desk, where he takes out something. A necklace. A short gold one, made up of interlocking Celtic knots.

"What is that, Lo-? My Prince?" she adds quickly at seeing his eyes flash at the beginning of his name. She's called him Silvertongue, and My Prince so far. Both are true; he's a silvertongued prince. But not a Lord…not a king. She refuses to address him as such.

"Better, Miss Foster," he answers. "Silvertongue or My Prince will do just fine until you acknowledge and realize I am your Lord."

"That shan't happen."

"Won't it?" he asks idly. He holds the necklace up. "Turn around."

"What is it?" she repeats.

"Turn around," he repeats, his voice dropping an octave.

"No."

Of all the things to take a stand for, this is the one. She won't accept the necklace. She feels like it's comparable to a collar, and refuses to wear something that would mark his control over her.

"This is non-negotiable, Miss Foster."

"I'm not negotiating. I'm flat-out telling you, no."

He puts the necklace down. "Very well then," he answers her. "If you refuse to wear the necklace, then you are forbidden from leaving your rooms."

"I—what?" she asks, stunned.

"I was going to grant you freedom in the building, along with a one mile radius of the Tower, but until you acquiesce and wear the necklace, you are confined to your room."

"You can't do that!"

"Behave, Miss Foster. You are treading dangerously close to the edge. You've pleased me up until now. Furthermore, because of your defiance, you will not be engaged in conversation. Natasha will be given clear orders not to speak with you. I will have the television and computer from your room removed, as will be the books and other entertainment. I will black out the windows. You will be well-provided for, but in prison."

"You've already marked me. You've already bruised me, in a place visible to everyone." Her cheeks redden with shame here. "Why are you doing this to me?!" she suddenly seems to lose her composure. "Why are you…why are you doing this to any of us? We aren't your playthings!"

"No," Loki agrees, voice rising. "You are my subjects. Natasha!" he calls out, and the Black Widow opens the door.

"My lord?"

"Escort Miss Foster out of my sight, before I lose my temper and strike her. You may speak with her tonight only. Instruct the other staff that they are not to speak with her." He tosses the gold chain at the Black Widow, who catches it with catlike reflexes. "And see if you can't convince her to put that on…willingly."


Review please!

Chapter II is complete, but will not be updated until I receive at least 10 reviews, or September 17 hits first. Whichever occurs first.