Frozen Web

Chapter 8

Natasha tried to jerk her arm free but there was no way to break Loki's grasp. Her shoulder was throbbing from the pressure against it, and she couldn't shift her legs for a kick. She had to admit, this looked bad.

"What, no fiery response?" Loki taunted, voice strained with lust. "I must admit, I expected more of a challenge. Perhaps I overestimated the great Black Widow. Or maybe you secretly want this."

He pushed up against her harder, fingers fumbling at her leggings. Natasha's free arm shook with the effort of holding up both her weight and Loki's. She fought back her panic, trying to keep her mind clear and clinically look at her options. And that's when she realized: her free arm was holding up her and Loki.

So she let it crumble onto the bed. She and Loki both spilled forward, and since his free hand was between her legs, he couldn't catch himself. In his surprise he loosened his grip on her other arm—not much, but enough for her to rip it free and slam an elbow into his side. He jerked over and she hit him again in the face, which made him take a stumbling step backwards. With his weight against her gone, she was able to push off against the bed, twist around and deliver a slam-dunk roundhouse kick to his head—knocking him over onto his back. He wore an expression of profound puzzlement, as if he couldn't quite follow everything that had just happened.

Natasha didn't stick around for him to recover. She grabbed her gym bag and flew out of the bedroom, running for the stairs. She could hear him rolling to his feet behind her, along with several shouted Norse curses that probably would have been blood curdling if she'd understood them.

She figured the best thing to do would be to get outside and hunker down until the other Avengers showed up. She knew there was no way she'd leave Clint, but she also knew it would be suicidal to stay around and duke it out with Loki—especially after that little beat down she'd delivered upstairs. She'd been lucky, but the demi-god was a foot taller, a hundred pounds heavier and mad as heck.

She had planned to run for her car but chose instead to run out the kitchen door. Her car would be no protection from Loki, who could just rip off the door. Besides, he probably guessed she'd run for it, so she wouldn't have much time. Instead, she darted for Clint's shed, a sagging wooden structure that used to be a granary. Clint's SUV was parked inside, and she briefly tried to open it to see if he had any weapons stashed inside, but it was locked. Of course.

So instead she squeezed past it and towards the back of the building—towards the rope ladder Clint left hanging along the wall. Taking the rungs two at a time, she climbed to the second story, which wasn't really a story at all but just a dusty loft still covered in leftover hay and full of old crates and feed bags. She'd been up there before and knew what areas were safe and what areas couldn't support her weight.

She pulled the ladder up after her and picked her way across the floor, finally curling up behind a pile of crates and fishing her phone out of her purse. It was only then that she saw the blinking "LOW BATTERY" warning flash up at her. It had probably been low for a while now; she couldn't remember the last time she'd charged it. She didn't have time to worry about that now—she just punched in Tony's number.

After three rings, his voice came on with all its usual swagger: "Hi, this is Tony Stark—genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. I'm not available right now, which means I'm either saving kittens or making out with my incredibly hot girlfriend. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you whenever it's convenient for me."

Natasha left him a quick message and hurriedly dialed Steve's number. It had taken the super soldier a while to figure out cell phones, but once he did, he was hooked. He almost always had his on him.

Sure enough, he picked up. "Hey, Natasha! What's up?"

"Steve, Loki's back," Natasha told him. She talked over his outraged response. "Shut up and listen. He's got Clint and me holed up at Clint's cabin. You need to get the team here as soon as possible."

"I'm on my way!" Steve replied fervently. "Where is it?"

Natasha was halfway through her somewhat complex directions (Clint did like his obscurity) when she realized she was talking into nothing. Her phone had died. Frantically, she tried to turn it back on, but it would only light up and shut right back down. She fought the urge to hurl it into the wall. Steve didn't know how to get to Clint's cabin, but surely he'd be able to find someone who did—if no one else, there was Fury. Natasha only hoped he could get those directions fast.

Then she heard him.

She froze as years of training kicked in and her senses picked up the intruder under her feet. There was only the faintest suggestion she wasn't alone—a creak here, a scuffle there. But she heard it, and it was enough for her to know that Loki had crept inside.