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I Bring the Fire Part I: Wolves

pulls an illusion of a flower from her nose.
Anganboða laughs, and Loki smirks and lifts an eyebrow. He waves his hand and the imaginary flower
turns into butterflies — he’s more a fan of spiders, but they seldom go over well. The butterflies flap their
wings, fly up towards the ceiling and disappear.
Still smiling, Anganboða looks to the books. “Do you really think Hoenir won’t mind if I borrow these?”
Loki waves a hand. “Of course he won’t mind.” He leans back in his chair and puts a hand to his chin.
“What’s more of a worry is how Baldur reacts to your not coming to see him this evening. Falling out of
favor of the crown prince is a sure way to find yourself unemployable.”
Unless of course, you are Loki. Odin insists Loki remain in Asgard, no matter how Baldur complains.
Tapping his chin, Loki says, “You were supposed to meet him somewhere in the palace, were you not?”
Anganboða’s face falls and she nods.
“Don’t worry,” says Loki. “We will tell the court I transformed myself into Baldur and nearly led you
astray, but the fine Mimir saw what I was up to, put an end to my antics, and protected your honor. Eternally
grateful, you helped him find his way back to Hoenir’s hut.” Loki straightens and smiles mischievously.
“Your honor is preserved, and Baldur can’t possibly be mad at you because everyone knows what a horrible
prankster I am.” He narrows his eyes. But somehow he has to find a way to keep Baldur away from her in
the future.
“I don’t like that plan,” Anganboða says.
Loki raises an eyebrow. “Why ever not?”
“What of your honor, and how it will be damaged by such a lie?” Anganboða says.
Loki smirks. “Everyone knows I have no honor.”
Anganboða’s eyes narrow. “Yes, if it wasn’t for the eagle eyes of Mimir over there, I’d be ruined by
now.”
Mimir chooses that moment to release a giant snore.
Loki flushes. His jaw tenses. Pretending that Mimir is protecting her is one of the little mental games he
plays to keep his oath to her. “It is not for lack of desire, my Lady.” His words sound too cutting, and too
cruel, even to him.
Anganboða’s gaze moves away. She looks at the books in front of her. “After I am employed, will I see
you again?”
Her voice is soft...almost hopeful. Or perhaps he is imagining it. “That can be arranged,” he says
cautiously.
She smiles, and he feels his lips threaten to pull up.
“But first,” he says, “we must make sure you can be employed. You must lie to the court.”
Shaking her head, she puts a hand on his. “I won’t tell them that story. It is unfair to you.”
It’s ridiculous how arousing her soft fingers are against his knuckles. He sighs and brings her hand to his
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