A Friend in Need, Indeed

"Would you like something to drink?" inquired Ingrid from the kitchen. The sound of dishes clanking together filled the large, rustic-inspired home that was otherwise empty, aside from the tawdry sweater-wearing furball with teeth. "I have coffee, water, juice—"

"Coffee would be fantastic, thank you," Fandral grinned, rubbing the top of his bandaged hand with his uninjured one as he entered the room.

Ingrid turned to the coffee maker—it had a lot more buttons than the one Annie owned—and promptly began to start making the acquired tasting beverage. Snapping the lid shut, she spun on the balls of her feet and leaned against the counter, propping her elbows on the steel surface that was so clean Fandral could see his reflection in it. He gave himself a once over, twisting his chin one way, and then the other, nodding in approval once he was satisfied with what he saw. When Fandral finally looked up, Ingrid was facing away from him, pulling out cups from the cupboards.

He took the time to appreciate her womanly assets, roving his curious gaze up her thin legs, a little puffy around the knees and slightly red from a fresh wax. Fandral appreciated all types of legs on a woman, they were all magnificently created and each one always had a different touch. He realized he didn't want to touch Ingrid's legs. They wouldn't live up to the feel of Annie's shapely ones. Those were the legs he desired to have underneath his fingertips.

Ingrid moved to the refrigerator, pulling out a small carton of milk. Fandral trained his eyes further up while she moved, swaying her non-existent hips and flat rear. Annie—

By Odin's Beard! Fandral shook his head, dragging his eyes up to Ingrid's full, blonde curls bouncing on her slender shoulders. He was being ridiculous. Ingrid was a lovely woman. Besides, Annie was off-limits. He had fully decided not to fraternize with the tempting vixen when it was agreed he would remain—cursed—on Midgard to protect Annie and Jessica while keeping signs out for any shadow copies. Fandral knew he was a lot of things, but an oathbreaker was not one of them.

Taking a step forward, Fandral came up behind Ingrid, vividly recalling the way her soft hands—hands that had never seen a day of work—lingered on his after she was done bandaging the mere flesh wound. His Asgardian blood had worked quickly to heal the dog bite. A bandage was hardly necessary, but Ingrid was very apologetic. Fandral had no choice but to allow the sorry woman to aide him. Those soft hands slid up his arms as he wrapped them around her waist, pressing her buttocks against him.

Ingrid lifted her chin up, a whiff of flowered perfume lingered near the collar of her top. Fandral lowered his mouth onto her neck, tracing her curves with the bottom of his lip, dragging it unhurriedly along her smooth skin until he reached the sharp bone of her jaw. A silent moan passed between her lips and she moved her open mouth onto Fandral's, pressing hungrily against his.

Her teeth pulled a little sharply at his lower lip as she tugged with a growl and Fandral grunted at the sudden prickle of pain, swishing his tongue in between his bottom gums and the inside of his lips to taste for blood. There was none, and even if there were, he wasn't sure Ingrid would care. Fandral inhaled sharply—and not from Ingrid's pointed tongue sliding around his earlobe—wondering why he even cared if he was bleeding or not. Once he had bedded two of the most beautiful handmaidens belonging to Artemis—Ha! And that fool Zeus had thought them all to be virgins—and he had an arrow in his shoulder at the time. A tiny bite was nothing, if anything it should have been arousing.

What was wrong with him? He lifted his chin slightly, moving his neck to the side as Ingrid pressed her pretty lips to his throat. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the way her mouth teased and nibbled at his skin, working their way down to his collarbone. Briefly, Fandral thought of Annie's lips and the way they felt against his own and he wished he had the willpower to fight his honor and give Annie what it was she wanted.

He blinked. Now was not the time to think about Annie. When had he ever thought of another woman when a beautiful one was sucking on his neck? Fandral started to wonder if he was sick when the little dog yipped and growled at his feet as he and Ingrid clambered their way toward the counter. He pulled from Ingrid's tight hold, gasping like a shark out of water, and turned to glare at the ankle-bitter.

"Just ignore him, he'll stop barking when he gets bored," Ingrid murmured against his throat, running her hands underneath his shirt.

The annoying rat continued its barking but Fandral did as Ingrid said and ignored the thing. To distract his mind from its persistent yipping, Fandral grabbed Ingrid by the hips and sat her on top of the island counter, situating himself in between her legs. She wrapped her bony ankles around his waist and buried her face into his shoulder. As she started to work off his shirt, Fandral caught a photo of a man and woman hanging on the kitchen fridge. He narrowed his eyes, distracted by the tugging of her hands against his belt.

Fandral shifted his gaze down to her quick hands, surprised by her eagerness as she unbuckled the belt and one finger slipped into the front of his jeans and tugged him toward her. Ingrid laughed against his mouth, pressing her lips on his. Fandral closed his eyes and leaned in close, thinking of what Annie's thighs might feel like beneath his hands when he noticed Ingrid's shoulder shift back.

Unfortunately, there had been a few times in Fandral's life where his seducing had not gone as planned and a woman—or two…or three—would shift their shoulder back to reach for a—

Fandral stepped back as the tip of a kitchen knife scratched the front of his chest, leaving a thin, white line down his heaving chest. There was no time to think, only time to act, and as Ingrid lunged forward Fandral stepped aside, reaching for Ingrid's wrist attached to the hand holding the weapon. He twisted her arm behind her back, careful not to break any bone, when she purposely pressed back into his stomach—SNAP!—and jammed her other elbow into Fandral's face the moment he let go of her self-inflicted broken arm.

A numbing pain shot up and down the bridge of Fandral's nose and a sticky residue slid from his left nostril. With the back of his hand, Fandral wiped the blood, staring with wide eyes at the calm woman pointing a knife at him. Her broken right arm dangled, limp at her side and he had feeling she would not need it in this fight.

The knife lunged at his ribs and Fandral spun out of the way, jamming the palm of his hand into her wrist causing her fingers to splay, knocking the weapon out of her grasp. The knife clattered a few feet away from them as Ingrid brought her wrist back toward him and swung his own hand at his head. There was an inhuman force to her movements and he was knocked back, stumbling into the wall. A set of frames came tumbling down around him—smacking him in his head, his shoulders, his foot—and smashed on the ground, sending glass flying in odd directions. The little dog yelped out of sight.

Ingrid reached out with her hand, curling her fingers like talons of an eagle, aiming for his throat. Fandral ducked and grabbed Ingrid by the waist, hoisting her over his shoulder. He had planned to toss her on the living room couch and then knocking her out with a little slip of the neck, but Ingrid had other plans and with the grace of an acrobat, she twisted out of his grasp and back-flipped into the scattered glass. With panicked eyes, Fandral spun around, not prepared for the bloody fist smashing against his jaw.

Slightly dazed, Fandral stumbled back, reaching out for Ingrid's shoulder. His fingers slipped and he grabbed onto the collar of her shirt, ripping it down the sleeve of her right arm. Staggering into the island counter, Fandral spotted a faint red handprint on her bicep as if someone had burned her.

Ingrid hissed like a wild cat and lunged once more for Fandral's throat.

Startled from a nightmare, Annie jolted up, panting heavily as she tried to gather her wits about her. It was just a dream, she told herself, flinging her hand to her forehead. It was slick with sweat and her hair clung to the back of her neck. The images of the nightmare faded fast, distorting her memory into nothing but those eyes. Annie shuddered. She'd never forget those unblinking, yellow eyes.

Annie glanced over at the clock blinking at her to go back to sleep. It was barely even nine in the morning, which meant Annie had only slept for a few hours. The living room TV clicked on. Fandral must be awake, she frowned, tossing the blankets off of her legs. Deciding to apologize to him, Annie stood up catching her haggard appearance in the mirror. Slowly, she brought her hand to her toppled bun spilling sticky, damp strands of hair down her back and shoulders. There were heavy, dark bags underneath her eyes the color of dirt after snow began to melt. Smudges of makeup from last night smeared around the corners and on the high bone of her cheek and even her eyebrows needed some taming.

Maybe I'll take a shower first and with that thought Annie darted into the bathroom to make herself somewhat decent. When she finished, she let her hair air dry, dripping tiny rivulets down the back of her arms as she dressed in a plain red tank top and cut-off jean shorts. Wringing out the last of the water from her hair, Annie stepped out of her bedroom and noticed only Jess was sitting on the couch with her legs splayed across the coffee table and her mouth full of cereal.

Next to Jess was the blanket Fandral had been using to sleep with, crumpled onto the side and shoved beside his pillow. It shouldn't have struck Annie as odd, but it did. Fandral, for all the things he was, at least kept things tidy, including the thin blanket that he folded every morning he woke up. Scratching at the back of her head, Annie walked over toward the living room window to peer out into the backyard. It was empty.

Involuntarily, Annie felt her lips tug down as she turned to Jess who had milk dribbling down her chin. "Where's Fandral?"

Wiping the spilled milk with the back of her hand, Jess shrugged and shoveled a spoonful of just marshmallows into her mouth. "I don't know," she answered, though it came out sounding more like, "I fun no." Swallowing, she continued, "He wasn't out here when I woke up."

Did he go out after our argument? Annie wondered, walking into the kitchen to start a cup of coffee. She thought she had heard the door but she was so tired—and slightly tipsy—that it was hard to tell and before it had even concerned her, she fell asleep. But, that was a few hours ago. Surely he would have come back by now, wouldn't he?

Turning her attention to the task in front of her, Annie poured the coffee grinds into the pot. They were both pretty childish last night—okay, Annie relented to herself, I was pretty childish—but that wouldn't have made him change his mind about staying, would it? Sucking on the inside of her cheek, she flipped the on-switch and set a timer, wondering if Fandral had decided to leave for good.

Her mind didn't even flutter to the shadow creatures like she thought it would. Instead, her heart gave a little tug and she felt a sudden overwhelming sadness at the idea of never seeing Fandral again. Shaking her head, Annie pulled out a coffee cup from the dishwasher. She only wanted to apologize to him and if he left then she'd never get the chance to. That was it. That was why she felt the way she did. It was just guilt…

Bzz! Bzz!

Annie glanced over to her purse on the kitchen counter. Setting the coffee cup down, she pulled her phone out of one of the pockets and pressed the side of the cellphone. A purple light winked several times at her and as the phone lit up she crinkled her brows at the eight missed calls and three voicemails.

Holding the phone up to her ear, Annie leaned against the counter, and listened to the voicemails.

"Hey, Annie, it's Max. I was wondering if you could—" no, Max, I am not interested in covering another shift for you.

Annie clicked the delete button and listened to the next message. It was silent for a few seconds and just as she started to pull the phone away thinking it wasn't going to play anything, the voicemail static erupted from the receiver followed by a clicking noise as if someone was pressing their tongue against their teeth. Then it went silent.

Must have been a wrong number, Annie considered, or a pocket dial, but for some reason the sickly, yellow eyes blinked into her mind. Pushing the image quickly away, Annie listened to the third and final message.

"Annie? Hi. You don't really know me, but I'm a friend of Lucky's, Winston." The voice on the other end sounded vaguely familiar and Annie assumed it was the pudgy guy who always came to the bar with Lucky. "Listen," he hesitated, "I know this is weird, but I didn't really know who else to call since Lucky doesn't exactly have a lot of friends. He's in bad shape and—I think it's drugs—I don't know I just…he keeps asking for you and he says you can help. Like, I said, I know it's weird—"

She wasn't sure what compelled her to scribble down the address but there was something in Lucky's friend's voice urging her to grab the magnetic pen off of the fridge. Jotting down the address, she listened to the voicemail two more times and debated whether or not she should actually go. Annie didn't like Lucky, but she didn't hate him, and if he was in a bad place because of drugs she felt she could actually help him. She knew what it was like to hate your life because it wasn't going where you wanted and the people you wanted weren't in it. She knew what it was like to turn to drugs for comfort and the pain it brought later. If he was in trouble, she knew she could help him.

But…then again, it was Lucky.

Sighing, she entered the address into the GPS on her phone and gathered her purse off of the counter. "Hey," she called out to Jess, poking her head around the corner. "I'm going to go out. I left the address on the fridge. If you don't hear back from me in two hours then call me."

Jess threw her hand up in the air and grunted. Well, it was better than no reply, she decided closing the door behind her. Inhaling the stale scent of lingering cigarette smoke, Annie descended down the stairs for whatever crazy reason she couldn't explain, walked out the front glass doors, and caught the bus to Lucky's place.

"Oh, lover," called out Ingrid, her European accent descended dramatically from when they first met. "You can't play hide-and-seek forever. Come out and play with me for real. I'm getting bored."

Good, Fandral thought. Maybe you'll get bored and take your rat on a walk or something. He looked around his dark surroundings, pulling on a string that had been dangling in front of his face for several minutes. No matter how many times he swatted and blew at it the damned thing returned, taunting him with a playful wiggle just above his nose. A light blinked a few times before exploding to life like a lightning bug finding its mate. The small, cramped room glowed with a warm, yellow light. Boxes stacked from top to bottom filled his surroundings and shelves on the wall were filled with miscellaneous items piled together. Fandral danced his gaze precariously along the stuffed shelves, noting if he moved anything at all, everything would tumble around him.

A floorboard creaked in the distance. Fandral flicked the light off. He wasn't hiding. He was just tricking Ingrid into going into the attic. She'd go up the stairs and then he'd remove the ladder and then he'd dart down the stairs back to Annie's. From there he'd figure out what to do, but for now, he couldn't kill an innocent woman. It wasn't her fault she had been touched. The Kami controlled her now; Ingrid was nothing but a shadow of herself. So, no, he wasn't hiding. Fandral the Dashing was no coward.

The door swung open. Fandral screamed. Then he cleared his throat. Ingrid laughed, reaching for Fandral's throat and tightly gripped the collar of his shirt. She yanked him out of the closet and tossed him into the wall. He slammed hard into it, scattering bits of drywall onto the floor. A photo fell to his side and he moved his shoulder to avoid being hit. The frame smashed to the ground, breaking pieces of glass around Fandral's feet. A handsome, young man with a charming smile grinned up at Fandral, and next to the dashing lad sat Ingrid with her blonde hair tucked behind her ears and her face turned toward the man in a sincere, playful smile.

Ingrid's hand slammed into Fandral's chin. He tasted blood, slipping along the inside of his cheek. Enduring the pain, Fandral clasped onto Ingrid's left arm and twisted it behind her back, pressing his hand in between her elbow to keep her from breaking it. The poor woman already had one useless arm, she didn't need another. Jamming the heel of his boot into the back of her knee, Fandral pushed Ingrid inside the dark closet and promptly closed the door behind her. His eyes scanned the handle and to his delight, there was a lock.

Click.

"Fandral, darling," Ingrid pleaded from inside.

He dashed down the hallway, grabbing tightly onto the banister taking the steps three at a time. Darting past the little dog growling and snapping at his ankles as he ran by, Fandral swung the front door open, and took off toward Annie's building. He crossed the street, ignoring the blare of a car's horn, and proceeded up the stairs smelling of stale tobacco and cat piss.

Fandral opened the door, slamming it against the wall and quickly closed it, locking both the handle and the deadbolt. He spun around, jumping at the sight of Jess standing in the hallway with a bowl of breakfast bits in milk in her hands. She slowly chewed with her mouth open, her eyebrows high into her hairline.

"Why are you all sweaty?"

Fandral briskly headed for Annie's room. Typically Fandral was a man of manners, but this was hardly the time for etiquette. Without knocking, Fandral stormed into Annie's room. Part of him wanted to go in and take her in his arms and press his mouth firmly against hers, but a nagging voice told him he had to tell her about Ingrid first.

"Annie, I—" he spun around. The room was empty. Fandral turned sharply on his heels, frantically asking Jess, "Where is Annie?"

"Why is your belt undone?"

Fandral glanced down, exasperating at his undone buckle. "I—" he shook his head and looked up at Jess, promptly turning to the side and fixed his belt. "Where is your sister?"

Jess shrugged, then sniggered, "dude you have a hickey on your neck and your shirt is ripped. What were you doing?"

Fandral clasped his hand on to his neck. Jessica's chuckles flamed into a pit of laughter. She followed him out of the room, pointing at him as her giggling continued like an annoying bug in need of being swatted away. Fandral hustled to the kitchen, turning on the sink and splashing his face with cold, clean water. He rubbed his hands across his cheeks then his eyes, and filled his palm with the running liquid, drinking from it like a cup. Gasping for air, he turned off the faucet and shook his hands, flinging water all around him. Jess flinched then backed up, wiping her hand across her arm with a scowl.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but stopped short when his eye caught a scribbled note sticking to the refrigerator door. What an odd name: refrigerator. He opened his mouth again when he noticed Lucky's name scrawled in Annie's handwriting. Creasing his brows, Fandral took a step forward and ripped the piece of paper off the door, glaring at the address scrawled under Lucky's name.

"Lucky," he read aloud, tearing his eyes off the paper, "Lucky? She went to Lucky's?"

Jess blinked, her pupils dilated then shrank as she pulled her eyebrows together. "Oh, yeah. She said something about going to a friend's house and that if she wasn't back in two hours to call her or whatever."

The paper crinkled in Fandral's grasp as he clenched his fingers around it. "When did she leave?"

Jess glanced to the microwave then shrugged. "Like an hour ago." She spun on her heel as Fandral darted toward the front door, unlocking each lock with nimble fingers. "What's going on?" Jess asked, grabbing onto Fandral's shoulder as he started out the open door. Her dark eyes quivered as he glanced behind him. "Is Annie okay?"

He looked her up and down, realizing he couldn't leave the poor girl alone. Ingrid was a shadow copy now. Whoever controlled her from the inside knew everything about Ingrid's life, including where Annie lived. If the shadow copies knew Fandral was on Midgard, they'd use anyone he knew to get to him. Ingrid may not know the exact apartment Annie lived in, but it wouldn't take her long to figure it out and Fandral couldn't risk leaving Jess alone to deal with her when she did.

Oh, may the fates be kind to him.

"Do you know how to drive a car?"

Jessica dropped one brow low and folded her arms across her stomach. "Do you have a car?"

"No." Fandral looked at Jess thoughtfully then asked, "Do you know how to commandeer one?"

"No, matey, I don't" Jess mocked, dropping her other brow low then blinked at Fandral. Her eyes slowly began to widen and she wickedly grinned, "but I can probably find out how on YouTube."

The front door to apartment 58 was slightly ajar and a flickering light glowed underneath the crack of the door, illuminating the sides of the wall. Something shouted at Annie to turn around but she shoved it aside and continued forward. Maybe his friend had left the door open for her.

Annie slowly called out, "Lucky? Winston?"

She carefully peeked her head inside the dark apartment, hit in the face with a blast of stale, cool air. Muffled behind the closed door of what Annie assumed was a bathroom was the sound of a leaky faucet.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

No other sounds filled the quiet, empty-looking apartment.

"Hello?" She tried again with a tilt of annoyance in her voice. "If this is some sort of prank, I swear—"

"Annie, is that you?" The voice was faint and Annie wasn't sure if it was Lucky, or his friend, Winston. "We're in the bedroom."

"I'll wait by the door," she called back, nervous to step inside a dark apartment, let alone to enter the bedroom. Annie knew nothing about Lucky other than he was from Russia and tried too hard to get laid.

"Please, Annie, you can leave the door open if you're nervous," the voice said, and Annie wondered if she had heard the accent or imagined it when the voice continued, "please, you're the only one I could think of calling."

Exhaling loudly, Annie cracked the front door opened and stepped inside the apartment. She took several steps through the dark living room, passed the kitchen and then started around the corner when she noticed the sunlight from the guest bedroom spilled across the hallway. All along the walls were bloody handprints smeared across the white paint. She took a step back, glancing at her feet and noticed the blood drops on the cream carpet. Annie swirled around, trailing her gaze along the blood path, raising her gaze up until she spotted Lucky staring at her with a wicked grin.

She took another step back, her eyes rapidly scanning his bloody clothes and disheveled state, noticing his glasses had broken, yet she could still see the malice in his eyes behind the glass. They flashed yellow. Annie screamed and feigned running right, quickly dodging left as Lucky advanced on her. She ran toward the open door when she noticed his friend Winston standing in front of it. Her feet dug into the carpet, staring ludicrously at the man she could have sworn wasn't there before.

Annie spun around, narrowly missing Lucky as she tore through the open kitchen and reached for a dirty knife sitting in the sink. Winston came up beside her and slammed her wrist against the counter. Tiny threads of pain like a thousand needles poking at her bone all at once spread through her wrist like wildfire. She cried out, gripping as hard as she could onto the handle of the knife and reached with her free hand at a fork covered in a brownish-mucus crust. Just as an ex-boyfriend—Jerry Salztin, the loser who had found her TV in a deserted alley—taught her: aim at the softest part. Annie jammed the dirty prongs into Winston's chubby cheek. He let go of her wrist, crying in rage like a lion with a thorn in its foot, and Annie slashed at his arm with the knife in her hand and drove it as deep as she could.

She blinked back the tears as the stinging of her wrist pounded up her arm and without looking to see if Winston was going to recover, she tore off and ran into the guest bedroom slamming the door behind her. More blood covered the walls and spilled onto the carpet. Annie sobbed, biting onto her bottom lip as she pushed herself off the door and ran to the window. With all her might, Annie tried to ignore the sharp throbbing in her wrist, and hauled the window up, sticking her head outside.

A gush of wind blew up from several feet below pushing her hair in different directions around her face and neck. There were people walking, blind to what was going on around them, but Annie knew if she called out no one would hear her anyway. Cursing, she slammed her hands against the windowsill and turned to the closet. An L shape tool caught Annie's eye and she dove toward it, clasping the knobby metal tightly between her shaking hands.

Tears escaped from the corners of her eyes, blurring the object in her hand for several moments, willing herself to stop crying. Now was not the time. Not right now. She had to get out. There would be time for crying later. But right now she had to get out of Lucky's and back to Jessica. Annie blinked the remaining tears away and stood up, turning to swing at the sound of someone's feet creaking up behind her.

Winston's hand grabbed onto Annie's swinging arm, twisting the sore wrist. She moved to strike him with her left hand but he was quick to notice—or had anticipated her move—and clasped tightly onto her other one, holding both wrists in his sweaty clutch as she struggled. Blood dribbled down four holes in his cheek and it spilled down his neck, mixing with sweat glistening under the cold, florescent light. Winston slammed his forehead into Annie's and white dots exploded into her line of sight.

Her eyes fluttered to the back of her head and she felt her neck grow weak, rolling her head around like a ragdoll. Tiny spindles of pain shot through the top of Annie's scalp as a pair of hands grabbed at a fistful of her hair and ripped her wrists from Winston's hold. Annie was tugged back, her body collided with the floor and she was dragged out of the guest bedroom into the dark living room, her hand limply wrapped around the crowbar.

Through the blinding pain aching all around Annie's body and the tears that filled her eyes, she made out a blurry shape hovering above her until Lucky's wide grin came into clear view. Annie jolted into a sitting position and clambered against the couch, scooting up the cushions in attempt to roll over the back and out the front door. Like a frog, Lucky jumped on his hind legs onto the cushion and he crouched low, resting his elbows on his knees and dangled his long arms between his legs. Annie pushed herself against the corner of the couch, shoving her hands and the crowbar behind her back, unable to scramble further away as she stared horrorstruck at the creature before her. This was not Lucky. It couldn't be.

"Who are you?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from trembling.

The Lucky-thing smiled at Annie, his grin wider than should be possible on a human face. "Oh, Annie, Annie, Annie," he crooned, his accent fading fast. He reached out with one hand, covered in dry blood, and brushed Annie's cheek with his thumb as gently as he could. "You are a pretty thing. I can see why I am so attracted to you." He leaned in closer to her, inches away from her face, sliding off his broken glasses to stare at Annie with wide, unblinking eyes.

Annie swallowed hard. His eyes were not yellow. But they were not his usual green either. They were black and empty like a—

Lucky forcefully grabbed Annie by the jaw, pinching his fingers hard into her cheeks. "Yes, very pretty, look at those eyes and those lips. I fantasize about your lips a lot," he told her, staring at her mouth as his eyes traced the curves of her mouth. "Would you like to hear what I dream about?"

"No," Annie cried, trying to tear her chin out of Lucky's grasp. Her head didn't even move. "Why are you doing this? What do you want?"

"Do you know I love you, Annie?"

She said nothing, only swallowed, pushing back her tears. She couldn't cry. Not now. Not now. Her sweaty hands gripped tightly onto the slick crowbar behind her back.

"I do," he laughed like a manic. "Annie, I really love you." With his free hand Lucky reached up to touch her hair, brushing it with bloodstained fingers a few time, staring at her with wide eyes, still unblinking as the black locks trickled through his hold. "I love so much more about you than just your looks. I'm sure you get that a lot. How pretty you are, because you are, oh yes, very much so, but has anyone else loved you, Annie, for more than just your looks?"

Annie didn't know what to say. Did anyone love her for more than just her looks? Then Lucky asked the same question she started to ask herself: "Has anyone ever really loved you?"

Annie blinked.

"Oh, Annie," Lucky continued, patting her hair like a child being comforted, "if only you knew how much I love you then maybe we wouldn't be here right now, in this situation, you know? Maybe we could be on a beach somewhere," he scooted closer to her, and his fingers dug deeper into Annie's jaw that she could feel his touch on her teeth. "I've often imagined what you looked like in a swimsuit." His hands ran up her bare thighs and Annie felt every muscle in her leg clench. "These shapely legs beneath my fingers…I spend most of my time thinking of them," he nodded as if confirming his words to himself.

Annie's lips trembled. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't happening. How was Lucky strong enough to keep her in place with only one hand on her face? She should have been able to yank free. Why couldn't she yank free?

"Why did you ignore me, Annie?" he asked, twisting Annie's face to the right and scooted in close to nuzzle his nose behind her ear.

Annie stifled a sob.

"Why didn't you just love me, Annie? I've done so much for you. I shower you with compliments, I offer to give you rides home…I've never been anything but nice to you, Annie!" He cried out and Annie felt herself shrink into the couch, her palms prickled from the tiny shooting pains from gripping too hard on the crowbar, slick with her sweat. "Instead you chose Fandral the Dashing as your lover?"

Annie blinked at Fandral's name. Fandral the Dashing? Why would Lucky call Fandral that? What an absurd thing to say.

Lucky snorted and rolled his eyes. "More like Fandral the Doofus. That idiot doesn't deserve to touch you."

He's talking about Fandral as if he knows him, Annie thought. She asked him again, finding strength in her voice, "Who are you?"

"I am Lucky," he replied, pressing his lips against her cheek just above his fingers. His mouth smeared across her skin.

Annie tried again. "What are you?"

Lucky pulled back, his black eyes twinkled even in the dark and he smiled at her, showing off even, white teeth. "I am naught but a shadow."

"Where is Lucky?" Annie slowly asked.

"I am here. I am Lucky."

"No," Annie sniffed, wishing she could tear her chin out of his hold. "No," she said again, stronger this time. "You're a shadow."

"I love you, Annie, because of how clever you are. Do you know how clever you are?" He rubbed his thumb up and down her cheek again, releasing the pressure on her jaw. "It's a shame I'll have to kill you, for fraternizing with the Asgardians that is. Fandral is a tool. He couldn't please you the way I could have, Annie. You should have let me please you."

Annie stiffened as Lucky came forward, his lips pushed against hers. His sharp tongue shoved itself into her mouth, filling it with a bitter taste as a sudden cold washed over her.

"Don't worry," he soothed, moving his lips against hers, opening his mouth like a snake about to swallow its prey. "You're not here to fulfill any fantasies. I need you for more important things."

Annie shifted her shoulder. Exhaling once, she wiggled her fingers against the crowbar, and without a second thought slammed the metal rod hard against Lucky's jaw, crushing the bone underneath. Lucky howled, whipping his neck back as he released Annie's chin to grab at his own. She jumped off the couch, landing awkwardly on her ankle, and scrambled to her feet only for Winston to grab her by her shoulders and spun her around to face Lucky.

Annie kicked and screamed, clawed and bit at Winston to no avail. Her thrashings came to a halt as she watched Lucky with protruded eyes rise from the couch, laughing with his jaw hanging—detached—as thick, black smoke trailed from between his teeth and surrounded his head. He held out his arms as the smoke swirled around and around, forming a mask. Lucky inhaled sharply, his chest butted out and the smoke trickled back, dissipating through his nostrils and throat.

Annie's heart crashed into her chest, pounding against it like a wild animal breaking down a door. She felt her knees grow weak and wanted to fall to the ground but Winston's meaty hands kept her from doing so. Lucky took a step forward, his face completely normal—even the green of his sharp eyes no longer had the yellow glow Annie swore she saw earlier before. He closed his extended arms in front of him, reaching for Annie's hands with his. Without a struggle, the crowbar from Annie's slipped from her fingers and he carelessly tossed it to the side. Each clatter against the floor matched the drop of Annie's heart. She closed her eyes and spat in Lucky's face.

"Thor said you guys have dealt with the shadow copies before," Jess started, rushing past a stop sign.

Two cars coming toward Fandral from both sides squealed to a stop, smoke erupted from behind their tires and Fandral thought he heard the sound of metal sliding against metal. Jessica abruptly turned the wheel. Fandral's fingers clasped at the seatbelt across his chest and his right arm slammed into the window. How in the Nine Realms was a strap of adjustable cloth supposed to keep him safe? With Jessica driving, Fandral suspected his chances of getting out alive weren't very high.

"Look, if Annie is in trouble then we have no time to waste," Jessica defended, scowling at what must have been the look of a man who knew his life was over scrawled on Fandral's face. Her fingers gripped on the wheel, squelching the rubber underneath. "You don't really think the shadow things will go after her, do you?"

Fandral shifted in his seat, relaxing his grip on his seatbelt. "I cannot say for certain, they tend to target bodies of use—those with brains and brawns—and I do not think Lucky would be of any use to the Kami."

"But, you said there were shadows lurking and that we should get Annie before it's too late," Jess reminded him.

"I only think we should move to a safe location," Fandral vaguely replied. Annie was already upset with him and he didn't need to make her any more livid by spilling secrets to her sister.

Jess narrowed her gaze then shook her head. "No. You said—whatever just answer me this: what do the shadow thingies want? They're here for more than just a lawnmower, right?"

"Grasscutter," Fandral corrected, "it doesn't actually—it's not a—it's a weapon of great power and if the Kami are to have it returned, they will use the Grasscutter on all those who have wronged them."

"The Asgardians?"

Fandral furrowed his brows and glanced at Jessica.

She shrugged. "I overheard you and Annie talking about it. Our apartment isn't exactly soundproof, you know?"

Fandral said nothing. Did she hear them fighting, he wondered. Glancing out the window, Fandral brought his fingers to his mouth tapping them rapidly against his lips, thinking. Jessica slammed on her brakes, snapping him out of any thoughts before they could form.

"Hey! Watch where you're walking, ya fuck!" she screamed out the window then leaned back inside and shook her head in irritation. "Anyway," Jess nonchalantly continued, "what exactly did these Kami to do Asgard? What are they gonna do to us?"

"I have a few questions for you, Annie."

She sat still with her hands tied behind her back and her feet tied at the ankles of a dining chair. The light above her in the kitchen flickered every once in a while and it stung Annie's eyes every time it did. Her throat ached and a dull pain throbbed at the back of her head. Her wrist sent stinging pains up her arm every time she moved and after only moving once, Annie had remained still since. She couldn't escape, struggling wasn't worth the pain, and Winston stood in front of the door as it were.

Licking the cracks between her lips with her dry, patchy tongue, Annie glared up at Lucky. "Fuck you."

He advanced on her, gripping his hands into the arms of her chair. She leaned back, turning her face away from him. He laughed, inhaling deeply as he nuzzled his nose into her hair.

"I wanted to do this the easy way," he told her, pulling away from her neck and crouched beside her so they were at eye level. Lucky's hand clasped onto Annie's chin, each finger lined up with the red mark on her puckered skin. He waited until she finally looked at him, narrowing her gaze as he stretched his smile across his waxy face. "I didn't want it to happen like this. I like my body. I'm young and limber," he stood up and struck Annie across the face, sending her cheek into her shoulder, "and I'm surprisingly fast."

Lucky hitched up his jeans. The blood had long since dried at his knees. He looked up at Annie and chuckled. "Did you know back when I was in High School, I once—"

"You're not Lucky," Annie seethed through gritted teeth. "You're just a monster in someone else's skin."

The corner of Lucky's lip twitched. "And soon it will be your skin I'll be wearing," he said, dragging his finger lazily across her collarbone. "At least you're such a pretty thing. Destroying Fandral in your form would be much easier than in this one. And soooo much more fun."

Oh, god, Annie realized, widening her eyes as Lucky stepped back to pace back and forth in front of her. His shoulders were slumped and there was a tick to his neck every few minutes. The shadow was going to discard Lucky's body and use hers instead. The shadow saw through Lucky's mind, all his memories and his thoughts, and saw Fandral with Annie. Because Lucky assumed she was sleeping with Fandral, so did the shadow…

"You know he'll come for me, right?" she said, lifting her chin slightly as she spoke.

Lucky chuckled, starting deep from his throat until it was a low rumble in the pit of his stomach. "Oh, yes, I do know he'll come for you. I'm counting on it. Aside from it being in his tacky nature, Fandral would be a fool not to come for you."

Annie licked her lips, trying to catch up with what Lucky was saying. No, she caught herself, it wasn't Lucky. Not anymore. This was just a copy.

"It sounds like my boyfriend really pissed you off," she chided, playing a routine she once knew well. "Did you lose a fight to him? He is quite the swordsman."

Images of Fandral dancing with a stick in his hand flashed through her mind. Annie hoped that if Fandral was the man Lucky spoke of, and if he did come save her, that he was more than just a prancing ballerina with a prop. She swallowed hard then smirked.

The corner of Lucky's lips twitched. "Those Asgardian fuckers deserve all the pain we're going to bring to them. They stole what did not belong to them and then they slaughtered our people when we tried to take it back. They speak of honor, but they know nothing of the word," he spat, his shoulders rapidly heaving. "They're nothing more than barbarians."

It was a late summer evening—Fandral remembered the night well, the setting suns warmed his cheeks and the wind tugged at the dark strands of…the beautiful companion's hair, her name escaping him—there was music in the air, people cheered in the courtyards below, the Asgardians celebrating with mirth at Prince Thor, The Warriors Three, and Lady Sif's return. They had successfully given Grasscutter as a gift to a grieving giant father after stealing into the land of the Kami and lifting the weapon from a heavily guarded sector. It had been a thrill of a lifetime, but Fandral always enjoyed the moments after, especially when a buxom vixen was at his side with adoration in her eyes.

The celebrations were cut short when Fandral spotted through the slits of his eyes several meteors hurdling to the ground. He remembered stepping away from his lovely friend, curling his fingers around the balcony rail and watching with an ample gaze as the rocks on fire crashed into Asgardian soil sending flames and chunks of land spilling across the city. The warriors took to their places, scouring Asgard with their weapons held high and their armor gleaming bright in the flickering flames.

Fandral recalled the soft lips of the fair maiden he never saw again, bidding her farewell as he leapt off the balcony and slid down the banister. To his right marched Volstagg the Valiant, the round Asgardian winked at him beneath his red, bushy brows. To his left was Hogun the Grim, his face impassive but there was a faint glimmer sparkling in his dark eyes when he tossed Fandral his sword. Together, side-by-side, the Warriors Three strode with their heads high into the scattering crowd.

Their carefree attitudes, prepared for a glorious battle ahead, dissipated once the rocks cracked open like eggshells. Thor had joined them with Lady Sif and several Asgardian warriors at his side. Like a split headache, the rocks broke down the middle and spilled black, tar-like goo onto the rubble and debris around them. Each man and woman took a step back anxiously anticipating what creature would emerge from the shell when one-by-one soldiers around Fandral began to cry out in pain as smoke from the tar rose and shot up through their open mouths and flared nostrils.

In the land of the Kami, they took the form of any human cast made of similar tar oozing from the broken bits of rock. On Asgard they were shadows, creeping through the city, taking their prey by force. Handprints made of ash appeared on their arms, their chests, their face, anywhere a shadow had touched them before taking control of their bodies. Fandral watched with horror as men and women he knew swung at one another, even attempting to lop off his own head!

Gilda, a warrior he had grown up with as a young boy, brought her double-sided Meteor Hammer down and if it wasn't for the chain holding the spherical heads together on each end then Fandral imagined his face wouldn't be nearly as handsome. He dodged her blow—remembering from lessons her choice of weapon was not easy to counterattack—and he danced around her, kicking his foot square into her wide back. She stumbled forward, hissing at Fandral, her eyes flashed yellow then turned to black as she advanced on him, swinging her weapon high above her head and with the strength of a bilgesnipe she knocked him down onto his back.

She spoke to him then, as if it was her, playing with memories only he and Gilda would remember—such as when they were barely fourteen years of age and she convinced him to jump off a jagged cliff into forbidden waters where the Midgardian Serpent resided. Or the time they had tricked the gossiping squirrel, Ratatosk who lived on yggdrasil, the tree of life, feeding him rumors about the Eagle to tell Nidhug, the serpent of Hel. Oh, how much trouble they had gotten in over that one, Odin had said it almost started a war.

This was not just another enemy for him to slay with a sword, it was Gilda, his friend. But the wild eyes and snarl aimed at him did not belong to Gilda even as she—

"Okay, we're here," Jessica announced coming to an abrupt halt.

Fandral rubbed his nose, not realizing he had been so deep in thought until his face slammed against the window and he was staring through blurry eyes at the name written on the scribbled piece of paper, printed on top of a large building. He stepped outside, hearing the door slam twice. Fandral spun on the heel of his boot, wagging a finger at Jess as she walked around the car.

"Oh no," he told her, striding over to meet her, "you're going to stay here," and before she could argue, he promptly grabbed her by the elbow and steered her back toward the driver's seat.

"No way, I'm going—"

"No, Jessica, this is not up for debate," he reprimanded, barely grasping onto her arm though she struggled as if he was clamped on. "You need—"

"You said Annie wasn't in danger, so it shouldn't matter if I go with," the persistent Midgardian teenager pointed out.

By Odin's Beard, were all teenagers this defiant? Surely he wasn't. Of course he had his moments, though he was a curious, young boy with the need to explore. Trouble was bound to follow at no fault of his own doing. This one, however, was apt at pretending not to listen when really she was retaining every word to use it as a weapon later. Fandral was not fond of that.

"Please, Annie is already sore with me, I do not wish to add any more coals to that flame."

Jess's eyes darted back and forth across his face, audibly sighed as she yanked her elbow from his grasp. "Fine," she bemoaned, opening the door herself and sliding in, "but if you take longer than ten minutes, I'm coming in."

Fandral nodded, closing the door after she slipped her feet inside. It shouldn't take longer than five minutes—if that.

"They came to our homeland where we peacefully lived as exiles far away from the other realms." Lucky spoke with the true speaker talking underneath, the Russian accent completely gone. It echoed like a lost voice in a vast canyon. It was the voice of a shadow. "We did not seek out war! They brought it when Thor and his band of ruffians that dare to call themselves warriors decided to take what did not belong to them. They slaughtered our men and women by the hundreds, all to steal a blade of no use to them, so they could give it to a grieving father."

Annie remembered Thor briefly talking about how they had taken Grasscutter as a gift of apology. An apology for—

"They killed the son of a giant. And then they gave the father a stolen prize." Lucky busted out into a fit of laughter, keeling over as if he had heard a hilarious joke for the first time and it was the only way his body knew how to respond. He stood up, straightened his bloodstained tee-shirt, and cleared his throat, regarding Annie with a serious look. "We came back for it and took over their fragile, pathetic, human bodies. And do you know what we did next?"

Annie closed her eyes. She didn't want to know. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be with Jessica on the couch, eating cereal in the afternoon watching cartoons meant for pre-teens. Annie didn't care about the shadow copies, or the Kami, or Asgardians, or the goddamn sword, either! All she cared about was keeping Jess safe, and she couldn't do that tied to a chair with a psychopath wanting to take over her body.

Lucky stopped pacing and took a step back. He tilted his head to the right. Blinked. Then tilted his head to the left. "We made them kill their comrades."

Fandral bounded up the stairs two at a time, leaping over a child he accidentally knocked over. He apologized as he ran, promising to make it up to the little scout, though there were lives at stake and he had no time to stop. If the shadows had seen Fandral's face then they would have reported to Mikaboshi and if Mikaboshi knew he was on Midgard then the Kami God would want to send copies after him personally.

Meaning anyone associated with Fandral on Midgard wasn't exactly safe. He had to get to Annie and send for Thor to bring the best of the best to help protect her and Jess. It was on his honor that he would keep them safe. And so be it! Fandral was a man of his word. Just because the shadows were going to try and kill him—and all of his friends—didn't mean he wasn't going to try and protect Annie as best as he could.

Annie watched with cautious eyes as Lucky stood tall and spread his arms wide. A thin trail of smoke trickled from his lips, then his nostrils and then slowly rolled from his eyelids gathering at his chin. The smoke snaked toward Annie, wrapping around her shoulder like the embrace of an unwanted lover. Annie struggled, the pain in her wrist made her cry out but she didn't care, she had to get out. She couldn't become what Lucky was. Annie's eyes fell to the blood covering Lucky's shirt and she felt her heart quicken. No, she had to escape.

The smoke continued to circle around her, trailing up her chin and wrapped around the back of her head, sliding near the corner of her mouth. Annie pursed her lips together; the wall did little to stop the shadow from reaching inside. It trickled through her lips, tasting of metal and blood.

"Ah, so you're not fucking Fandral," Lucky said, his legs sagging weakly. Winston ran beside him, propping Lucky into a standing position with his hands firmly on his friend's shoulder. "Oh, but how easy it will be to trick him into sleeping with you. The fool is such an easy target, his weaknesses so predictable. Think of his expression when your hand rips out his heart."

"No!" Annie cried, the smoke sucked into her lungs. She coughed, struggling to turn her face away but it suffocated her and began to crawl through her nose. "Please," she begged, feeling the tears prickle at the corner of her eyes.

48. 49. 50. Fandral took a sharp turn, nearly slamming his shoulder into the wall, his eyes rapidly scanned the brass numbers drilled into the wooden doors. 60. He stopped, panting hard as he spun around. 60. 61. 62. That wasn't right, where was 58? Fandral retraced his steps, cursing at himself for taking a wrong turn. 51. 52. 53.

Annie screamed but no sound came out. The smoke was suffocating, inching its way through every crevice in her face, filling her mouth with the taste of ash and bread that had fallen inside an oven. She could feel the tears cling at the corner of her eyes but they didn't spill despite threatening to teeter over the edge with each gasp Annie forcefully attempted to take. This wasn't how she expected to go. This wasn't how it was all supposed to end. Annie didn't know exactly how it was supposed to end, no one did, but she refused to go out of the world as a shell of what she once was.

A faint light trickled from the open door of apartment 58 and as Fandral stepped inside a cold blast hit him in the face as if he had stepped into the realms of Jötunheimr instead. The fuel inside ignited, instantly warming him when his gaze fell on the blood speckled across the living room floor and smeared on the walls. Cautiously, he took a step forward as a bulky man several inches shorter than Fandral came barreling toward him with the mimicking cry of a Viking warrior.

There was no skill to the flailing of his attacker's arms, and Fandral stepped aside, jamming his elbow between the base of the man's neck and shoulder. Without looking behind him, Fandral continued to step inside as he heard the crashing of the man's body hit the wall across the hallway. To his right he could hear scuffling and within seconds Fandral spotted Annie tied to a chair with the pale, waxy face of Lucky hovering over her with black smoke trailing from his face to hers.

No, his chest squeezed, and he darted forward. One punch was all it took for Lucky's frail body to fly back, the smoke chain abruptly cut off and sucked back inside Lucky's mouth. He stumbled back into the kitchen sink, gripping onto the silver basin as Fandral made quick work of untying Annie's wrists from the chair. Tears slicked down her dark cheeks splotched with red smears from where Lucky had grabbed her with his hands. Forcing himself to focus on the task at hand, Fandral began to think of all the things he would do to Lucky once Annie was—

"Fandral! Look out!"

Annie's shrieks alerted him but not before Lucky struck him from behind. With all his might, Fandral shoved the chair Annie sat on out of the kitchen giving him room to duck low and swing a kick at Lucky's ankles. The man-child fell on his back, landing with a crack. Glancing up, Fandral saw Annie's trembling fingers nimbly work at the ropes tying her ankles to the chair. He was about to tell her to run to Jessica and drive off when a thick cloth wrapped around his neck and jerked him backwards.

"No, you can't have her," Lucky viciously cried, yanking Fandral around with an inhuman strength, just like Ingrid. "Annie is mine! She's MINE!"

Fandral struggled to get the little imp off of him but he yanked again and a searing pain blazed through his throat, burning at his esophagus. He choked, feeling a sudden dizziness wash over him.

"I will take her and use her to kill everyone you know on Midgard, Fandral the Dashing," he spat, wrapping the cloth around even tighter until Fandral started to see black spots. "And once I've finished with her, I'm coming back for you and then I'm going after Volstagg, and Hogun, and that little bitch, Sif until everyone Thor has ever loved is dead."

"Amaterasu," Fandral choked, gasping for air, "you may have escaped us once but this time—"

Lucky pressed his lips against Fandral's and laughed from deep within like an echo spilling out of a cave. "I wouldn't be talking about this time when there won't be one for you very long."

"Hey, Lucky."

Fandral and the shadow copy glanced up at Annie's voice.

"Go to hell," she hissed, swinging a metal bar at Lucky's head.

Fandral ducked—CLINK—and turned around to see Lucky fall back with a dazed look spreading in his eyes. Blood poured down his face from the gnarly wound gaping at the side of his forehead and black smoke spilled around it, trying to quickly repair the damage done. The cloth slipped from Fandral's raw throat and he was quick to scramble away from it, taking the metal weapon from Annie's grasp.

It was slick with sweat and the sticky residue of Lucky's blood. He flexed it in his fingers, deciding where best to stick it, when Lucky lunged and pushed Fandral out of the way. He dove onto Annie, driving her hard onto the ground. Pinning her down with all fours, Lucky dug his knees into her thighs to keep her from kicking and his hands wrapped around her wrists, twisting the right one so she cried out in pain. Smoke emitted from Lucky's mouth once more and Fandral was quick to act.

There would be no getting Lucky off Annie this time. With a cry of defeat, Fandral plunged the bar with all the strength he could muster into Lucky's back, careful not to push it completely through—Annie had seen enough to scar any Midgardian for a lifetime. Sputtering, Luck shook with laughter as he sat up and released Annie from his grasp.

She scrambled on all fours back against the living room wall, staring across the gap between her and Lucky who sat in a forming puddle of blood that soaked the kitchen floor. He continued to laugh, tossing his head back with his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling in heavy drops. Fandral walked beside him, knowing he wouldn't last much longer, and made his way to where Annie pressed herself, tears streamed down her face.

"I'd keep an eye on her, Fandral, because I'm not done yet," warned Amaterasu. There was a clatter but he ignored it as he rushed to Annie's side.

Annie!"He cried, wrapping his fingers around her shaking shoulders. "Annie, are you okay?" He asked, rolling his eyes over her arms and legs then back to her face, locking in on her glazed over gaze. Stepping in front of her view of Lucky's body, Fandral placed both of his hands gently on the side of her face, forcing her to look at him. He waited until her eyes shifted onto his before tenderly asking again, barely above a whisper, "Annie, are you okay?"

"Fandral?" she asked with uncertainty in her voice.

He nodded.

"Is it really you?" she choked, scanning his body with wild eyes.

"It's me," he promised, "I'm here."

Tears expelled like a kinked hose suddenly untangled from Annie's murky, brown eyes, spilling down her puffy, red cheeks. Fandral's thumb gently caressed the hot streaks away, tugging her roughly into him. His hands moved into her hair, digging his fingers through the messy tresses, locking them in his tight hold. Her body shook against his. Fandral's neck grew wet and his hold only grew stronger.

If he could, Fandral would have killed Lucky again just to watch the bastard suffer for causing Annie such horrific tears. She had cried far too often in her life, he knew it from the way she constantly guarded herself from others. It pained Fandral to realize he had been the one to cause her tears not long before Lucky did. At least he would make up for them. Fandral could not say as much for Lucky.

"Let's get you out of here," Fandral suggested, wrapping his arm around her curvy waist, escorting her out of the dark, quiet apartment, passed the unconscious body of Lucky's friend and made their way down the stairs where Jessica eagerly awaited them.

The only sound trickling from apartment 58 was the dripping of a leaky faucet.

Drip. Drip. Drip.