He was shaken by her, by the way she suddenly was, so different from what he knew. He drew her closer to him, and slipped his other hand around the back of her neck, lightly scraping his nails against the nape, at the edge of her hairline. She was soft but still vibrant, almost thrumming with energy.

He would kiss her until the fireworks finished, he told himself. As if this were some spell that would lift as soon as the explosions stopped. And maybe it was; under some compulsion he had kissed her, and he didn't know what had possessed her to respond in kind. Perhaps it was just the drink, and the new year; perhaps they were no better than the Midgardians, so easily swayed by custom.