Page 72 of Loki

He looked at her. “Okay.”

She buried her face in her hands. “It means I’m pregnant.”

Loki’s gaze returned to the white stick again. Tiny writing on the side read, Plus means pregnant. Minus means not pregnant.

Pregnant. Signe was pregnant.

Fire bloomed in Loki’s chest. He couldn’t believe it. A baby. They were having a baby.

Loki dropped the stick and hugged her tight.

“Parents. We’re going to be parents.” He cupped her face. “Signe, thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

“Why are you thanking me? I didn’t do this... well, I mean, I did do this, but you did it too. Thank yourself.”

He searched her face. “You aren’t happy.”

“No, I’m not happy. I’m freaking terrified! I don’t have room to be happy.”

“Did you not want children?”

“I never gave it much thought, and what if I’m a terrible mother? Hell knows you weren’t the best father. What if the baby is a werewolf like Fenrir? Or the God of Despair or something? Or what if—”

“It looks like me— a Jötunn— but doesn’t have the magic to cover it up?”

“What? No. That’s stupid. Our child would be lucky to look like you. Don’t be daft.”

Loki smiled and kissed her. “And I would be happy to have a child with you who was any of those things. Whether our child has wings or horns or is the Goddess of Malaise, I do not care because it will be our child. And we will all be together.”

Her gaze softened, and she hugged him fiercely.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” he asked.

“No.”

“It means you have to marry me now.”

Val pushed from him. “What? No, it doesn’t.”

Loki smiled. “It does. You have to marry me.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” she insisted.

He smiled bigger. “Yes. Today.”

“Are you crazy?”

Loki got down on one knee and pulled a box from the air.

“Stop,” Val demanded.

“Signe, will you marry me?”

“No.”

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