“You are so sweet, Fen.” Summer shoved her chair back and circled the tiny table to hug him from the side.
His eyes followed her until she came before him. Realizing what she had gotten up for he moved his arm and placed it about her, standing when she stood, as a proper gentleman should—as he had been told in his childhood. “Not half as much as you, kind Summer.”
Summer let herself have a little time to revel in the hug. Human contact had become so rare since she’d moved to New York. She pressed her cheek against Fenrir’s strong shoulder and squeezed tight. “If you keep flattering me like this, I might just keep you here.” It was supposed to be a joke, but held more truth than she really meant to admit.
A chuckle escaped him. “Yes and you would find yourself with a giant, destructive wolf on your hands if I remain here too long.” He was joking as well, though at the end it fell rather flat. Fenrir hefted a sigh, adjusting how he sat just slightly.
“Why so destructive, Fen?” Reluctantly, she let go, smoothing her hands down the front of her jeans and ignoring the yammer of hormones in the back of her mind. “I mean, you’re … I don’t even know. Is it okay for me to ask about the chain?” She tipped her head to the side, looking concerned.
He nodded, face much more serious as he let a hand rest palm-down on his own thigh. He watched his other hand as his fingers moved about absently. “Yes, that’s quite fine. Most do ask about the chains sooner or later. I have grown rather used to it…” He mused over his own thoughts. “Did I ever tell you how I came to be in that cave, Summer? Or did you already know—from stories?”
“I don’t know anything about it. Norse mythology is much more tangled than any other I ever looked at.” She moved around and sat back down, slouching a little and watching him across the flickering of the candle flame. A free strand of hair fell down over one eye. “Please tell me there’s a reason other than fear of you.”
He watched the candle, instead of her reactions. “That is just about the gist of it. The way I was born worried the Asga—” He paused, glancing about for a moment. There were too many wandering ears about. He cleared his throat and adjusted his position in his seat. “other people. My father had taken myself and my siblings to live with him after we had been raised by our mother for a time. This put them further ill at ease, and some began to speculate that we would bring ruin to…” He tried to think of a Midgardian way to put ‘Asgard’. “You know.” Close enough.
“We were banished. They cared more for exterminating any threat, rather than actually attempting to get to know my father’s children.” He sighed in annoyance, more begrudging of the treatment of his family as a whole rather than his own. “They were afraid of us. They hated us. We were damn well lucky that they couldn’t kill us, not there.” A hand ran through his hair absentmindedly, and he shook off his growing dark thoughts.
“But that is improper dinner conversation. I am sorry.” He forced a smile. “You needn’t worry for your safety though, my friend. I shan’t harm you.”
“I don’t know where you got the idea that I’m worried about my safety,” she said, dropping her hand flat on the table. “Others may be afraid of you, but I can tell you’re harmless to me. I guess … you want revenge, huh? And now I’ve brought it up again.” Summer made a sad face at him.
Fortunately breaking the mood, Michelangelo bustled up, arms full of steaming dishes and face full of smile. He set the plates down, flourished silverware, and proclaimed, “Dinner is served!” before rubbing his hands together and departing, leaving Summer gazing at Fenrir.