Marvel: Silver Hand

Alexander's eyes fluttered open, the faint morning light slipping through the curtains. The unfamiliar comfort of the plush couch beneath him was a stark contrast to the chaos of the past few months. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to just lie there, listening to the muted hum of the city outside the penthouse windows. Then, something tugged at his senses—an enticing aroma drifting through the air.

Food.

His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten properly since… well, he couldn't even remember when. With a groan, he pushed himself up from the couch, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The rich, savory scent guided him towards the kitchen.

At the sleek, marble kitchen table, Emma Frost sat elegantly, her legs crossed, a large salad bowl in front of her. She forked a piece of lettuce with casual grace, her ice-blue eyes flicking up briefly to meet his. But it wasn't the salad that had his attention. On the other side of the table, a plate of perfectly cooked bacon and eggs sat, still steaming.

"Did you… cook this?" Alexander asked, his voice still rough from sleep.

Emma let out a soft, melodic laugh, the kind that made his heart skip even if he hated to admit it. "Darling, I don't cook," she replied with a smirk. "Why would I? I'm a billionaire. That's what chefs are for."

Alexander felt his face warm slightly, caught off guard by her bluntness. "Right. Yeah, makes sense," he mumbled, moving towards the table.

He sat down and dug into the food, grateful for something normal amidst the madness. The rich, salty flavor of the bacon mixed perfectly with the soft, buttery eggs. For a few minutes, they ate in comfortable silence, the tension from last night's bloodbath momentarily forgotten.

Emma finished her salad, setting the fork down with a delicate clink. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes gleaming with something mischievous.

"When you're done, come to my room," she said, her tone light but carrying an undercurrent of something more.

Alexander paused mid-bite, glancing up. "Uh… which room is that?"

She gave him a knowing look, then stood gracefully, her white silk robe trailing behind her. "The one with the door open," she tossed over her shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

He watched her go, his mind a mix of curiosity and something else he didn't want to name. Shaking his head, he returned to his food, trying to focus on the task ahead. But after a few more bites, he couldn't keep his thoughts from drifting.

What the hell is she up to? he wondered.

Once Emma was out of earshot, he finally spoke aloud. "So… Celebrimbor. What do we do after Ryan and Vanessa are dead?"

The wraith's voice echoed in his mind, cold and steady. I do not know, Celebrimbor admitted. We can decide after they are dealt with.

Alexander sighed, stabbing at his eggs. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Finishing the last bite, he pushed his plate away and stood, wiping his hands on a napkin. The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and dimly lit, with only one door ajar—just as Emma had said.

He approached the door, knocking lightly before stepping inside. The room was spacious, adorned with elegant furniture, a massive bed draped in white linens, and floor-to-ceiling windows letting in the morning light. But Emma was nowhere in sight.

"Emma?" he called out, his voice uncertain. "You here?"

Her voice drifted from the walk-in closet. "I'm in here! Just wait a moment."

Alexander leaned against the doorframe, waiting. Minutes ticked by. Five. Ten. Fifteen. By the twentieth minute, he was tapping his foot impatiently.

How long does it take to get ready? he thought, rolling his eyes.

Finally, the closet door creaked open, and Emma stepped out.

Alexander's breath caught in his throat.

She wore a stunning, form-fitting white dress that clung to her curves in all the right places, the fabric shimmering slightly in the light. It was elegant yet revealing, with a slit that ran dangerously high up her thigh and a neckline that left little to the imagination. Her platinum blonde hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, and her blue eyes sparkled with amusement as she caught his stunned expression.

"Well?" she asked, twirling slowly. "What do you think?"

Alexander felt heat rising to his face. "Uh… it looks good on you."

Emma sauntered towards him, her smile turning into something more playful. She stopped just inches from him, her fingers gently tracing along his lips, sending an unexpected jolt through his body.

"You're adorable when you blush," she whispered, her voice like silk.

But Alexander quickly stepped back, clearing his throat. "Go to the meeting, Emma. Get Ryan here so I can kill him."

She laughed softly, unfazed by his rejection. "Alright, alright. Don't get your feathers ruffled."

She walked past him, her scent lingering in the air. As she entered the elevator, she turned back, giving him a sly wink just before the doors slid shut.

Alexander stood there for a moment, heart pounding for reasons he didn't want to acknowledge.

You need to control your urges, Alexander, Celebrimbor's voice cut through his thoughts, stern and disapproving. Do not let them control you.

Flustered, Alexander ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, yeah. I know."

He returned to the living room, flopping onto the couch. Closing his eyes, he focused on his breathing, forcing his mind to quiet. He needed control—over his emotions, his powers, and definitely over whatever the hell Emma was doing to his head.

"Wake me up when you see Emma and Ryan coming back," he murmured to Celebrimbor.

Very well, the wraith replied.

Alexander slipped into meditation, letting his mind drift into that familiar state of calm. He could feel the wraith's power stirring within him, like a dark current weaving through his veins. He embraced it, letting it spread through his body, building and coiling with each breath.

Then came the fire—the divine flame that burned brighter and fiercer than anything else inside him. He drew on it slowly, balancing the cold wrath with the searing heat. Together, they pulsed within him, a perfect blend of destruction and control.

Hours passed in that silent focus.

Alexander, Celebrimbor's voice finally echoed, breaking through the calm. Wake up.

Alexander's eyes snapped open. "How long has it been?"

Seven hours, Celebrimbor replied.

Alexander bolted upright. "Seven hours? Emma should've been back with Ryan hours ago."

A cold knot twisted in his stomach. Worry gnawed at him, an unwelcome but persistent feeling. He stood, pacing the room.

"I'm going to the Smith Foundation. Something's wrong."

We have more pressing concerns, Celebrimbor interrupted.

Alexander frowned. "More important than Emma being—?"

The sudden ding of the elevator cut him off.

He turned sharply as the doors slid open.

A squad of armed men poured out, their guns raised, faces hidden behind tactical masks. The metallic click of safeties being disengaged echoed in the room.

Celebrimbor's voice was cold and steady. These concerns, Alexander.

Alexander didn't hesitate. With a surge of power, he summoned Turann, the wraith hammer materializing in his hand, its ethereal glow illuminating the dim room.

His heart pounded, but his mind was clear.

"Let's dance," he muttered, tightening his grip.

And with that, he charged.