The way his face changed at her answer hurt, dully. She turned, meaning to start back to where her gear was. “Did I say you should?” she flashed back, over her shoulder. He wanted … something. She wasn’t sure what it was, only that want rode him, and it ran higher when he looked at her. “Stay.”
“Then I ask nothing of you, except your company,” he admitted, stepping towards her once again. Without his consent, his hand reached out and brushed her hair, the very slightest of touches. He wondered if she was listening to his emotions, if she could feel how the sensation swelled through him like a familiar warmth, like a hearth after a winter storm.
Summer stilled, again, at the tickle of his hand on her hair. “There’s the silver tongue I remember.” She closed her eyes, thoughts whirling again, seesawing back and forth as though scales fallen out of balance. “Loki … I wish you would speak truth to me. I know you want something.” The moment shivered, a pure drop on the verge of falling. Her voice was low, almost pleading. “What is it?”