“Yes, how very heroic of you.” Loki’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “You could be fighting the hordes of Jotunheim alongside your boneheaded father, but instead you’re sat in Midgard listening to another man pleasuring your omega. I’m certain your sacrifice will go down in history, Thorsson.”
I ground my teeth until the growl threatening to escape my throat was under control. I knew he was needling me—trying to get under my skin. Under different circumstances it would have been easier to resist his trickery, but my blood was already hot and itchy with pent-up frustration.
The sound of Annabel’s keening climax did nothing to help.
“Perhaps the man willing to sacrifice his sons to save his own hide should not speak too loudly of heroism,” I bit.
“Please. Where is your father, young one? Why isn’t he here with you trying to drag me back to Asgard by my ear? His son also faces Odin’s wrath, should you fail in this ridiculous quest of yours. I wager he’s busy practicing his hammer throw and couldn’t give two shits whether you succeed or not. Who cares if that bastard brother of yours lives, so long as Thor finds his glory in battle?”
Red-hot fury forced me to my feet. I glared down at him, hands fisted to contain my rage.
“You shut your mouth! My father is nothing like you! The moment he heard that Odin took Magni, he came and demanded his release! You would not have the balls to stand up to the Allfather. Thor does. He sent me because he knows I will get the job done!”
Loki’s gaze was darkly triumphant, no doubt because he had finally succeeded in his attempts at getting to me. I was too pissed to care.
“Yes, I can see how much he stood up to Odin. I’m sure he blustered and blundered and threatened the old goat, and in the end, Odin shit his loincloth and immediately returned that half-Jotunn sibling of yours, right?
"Oh, wait… No. That’s not what happened. Let me guess—Odin made his demands clear and Thor accepted, because deep down he doesn’t care about you, and certainly not his bastard. He only cares that you make him look good.
"Who knows—maybe he sent you on this errand because two sons dead in battle against the mighty Loki is better than the embarrassment of all of Asgard knowing you’re both fucking the same whore his enemy’s spawn is soiling.”
I moved before I could think, my fist connecting with his face with so much force his head bounced off the tree trunk he leaned against, and I felt the satisfying crunch of his cheekbone shattering against my knuckles.
Loki howled, the sound doing nothing to stop my rage—but the look of fresh blood splattering from his face did.
He may have been Loki, God of Mischief, betrayer of Asgard—and biggest fucking prick alive—but he was still my prisoner. My bound prisoner. I had more honor than to beat a defenseless man.
Disgusted with myself as much as with him, I bent to hogtie him, ignoring his protests at being yanked onto his stomach in the snow, face buried in a drift. He was a god—he would survive.
“I told you to shut your mouth, trickster god."
Only muffled sputtering answered me.
I stared down at him thrashing in his bonds, finding a certain satisfaction in knowing he was currently almost as miserable as I was.
But the longer I looked at him, the more my muscles itched to kick him until he stopped moving altogether. The things he had said about my father echoed in my head, as well as the things he had said about Annabel.
He had called her a soiled whore.
Murderous urges throbbed in my temples, but they mixed with something else—soft moans of pleasure and ragged breathing from the tent.
Something inside me snapped.
It did not matter that I knew my yearning for her was just instincts—that whether or not Bjarni screwed her from dusk until dawn, all I needed from her was her powers.
Right then, all that mattered was that Loki’s spawn was fucking my omega, was spilling his seed inside of her uncontested.
I crossed the small camp in the blink of an eye, tore through the leather, and forced my way into the small shelter.
There was barely any room inside it, Bjarni’s bulk filling most of the space as he rested on his knuckles over Annabel. She was lying flat on her stomach underneath him, head toward the opening and me, but too distracted with the knot my rival had shoved up her pussy to notice my presence.
Bjarni, on the other hand, looked up at my violent entry, breath coming out in heavy puffs as we locked eyes. I saw the question in his gaze, the evaluation of whether or not my rage presented a threat, and then the last thing I had expected to see: understanding.
“Give us a minute,” he said, still panting. “I’m tied.”
That fucking tie. All I wanted was to rip him off her and take his place in her velvety tight heat, but I knew doing so would hurt my mate. The thought alone made me sick, and I growled in frustration.
Annabel finally looked up then, her eyes dazed. “Modi?” she croaked, voice thick from her recent climax.
My name on her lips made me shudder. Gods, what sorcery had been encoded into my biology that one word from her had me quaking with longing?
“Modi, is… is something wrong?” she asked around a tight grimace, her breath hissing out in a curse when Bjarni shifted, his tie pulling on her undoubtedly well-fucked pussy.
I did not reply, the shiver traveling up my spine this time heated. I liked seeing her like this, and that realization was sudden and horrifying. Or it would have been horrifying if my dick had not redirected most of my blood supply, and with it, my ability to think.
As I stared from her swollen lips to where Bjarni was so intimately connected with her, in our bond I felt how open and vulnerable she was, how completely conquered. How much he thrilled at the sensation of having her trapped on his dick, an alpha’s pleasure weaving through the gentler emotions of his love for her.
I bared my teeth, impatience washing away the confusion of this new development. It did not matter why I liked seeing her knotted by him—all that mattered was that my dick was aching, and she had other ways of pleasuring me.
I grabbed her by the jaw and pulled her up, leaving her scrambling to support herself on her shaking arms. The moment she was at the right height, I freed my cock and slipped it between her soft lips, groaning with pleasure as wet heat enveloped me. She could not fit more than the tip in her mouth and her teeth scraped against my sensitive skin, but it had to do.
She sputtered once at the unexpected intrusion, but did not resist. After a moment she caught up and obediently formed a tight seal on my head, letting her tongue flick over my frenulum.
Such a good little omega.
She really was lovely, I dazedly thought as I stared into her eyes while she bobbed her head, doing her best to bring me relief despite how uncomfortably my girth stretched her jaw. I had half-expected her to fight me, to refuse me. The last time she did this, she had been high on hormones, her nature trying to coax me into giving in.
Now she had already had her orgasms. This time, the only reason she was sucking me was for my benefit.
I fisted her lush hair in both hands, throwing my head back as I dragged her down harder on my throbbing cock until her molars scraped my flesh.
“Good girl,” I panted. “Such a good girl. Suck me. Take me.”
She sputtered again, one hand coming up to press against my hip in protest. But before I found the strength to ease up on her, she let out a muffled whine, her hand falling back down.