Page 50 of Valkyrie Confused

Eleana claps her hands with joy. “We need a photo of you,” she tells Arnlaug, already pulling out her phone. “The others in the group are going to besojealous.”

“I don’t think that’s a good—“ I’m about to sayidea, but Pan interrupts with, “No photos allowed before Ms. Rivers’s team releases the first sneak peeks.”

Stamatia crosses her arms. “How are you everywhere? Are you her assistant? The hotel manager? The bell boy? A waiter?” She asks this in a light tone, but she’s glaring.

“I’m her right-hand man. Whatever she needs, I provide.” He leans over her head, to leave a green salad on the table. “Including running interference when fans act overly familiar.”

Evgenia giggles and stuffs her mouth with quiche, to hide it.

“Down boy,” I tell Pan, who spins away with flourish. His biting response to her has made me feel bolder, though.

I swipe the table with my gaze, looking at each girl and Arnlaug in turn. “Whatever is said here, tonight, must remain in strict confidence. I don’t want any spoilers making the rounds.”

The girls agree, and Arnlaug looks amused, which I consider a win.

“So, each of you gets a question about the new book,” I say, which is received with cheers. It’s adorable when they raise their hands, to ask their questions. They’re barely out of high school, and it shows. High school was half a lifetime ago for me.

Over quiches, salads, and the main course of roasted veggies in tomato sauce that shouldn't be this full of flavor, I tell them that yes, Malia will have two romantic interests. No, she won't have to choose. Yes, this story is also set in modern times. Yes, there will be more books in the series. With enough alcohol in my blood stream to overcome my social anxiety, I find myself elaborating on the story and characters, my rapt audience listening intently.

I don't tell them what Malia is, because I don't know for sure at this point. And I don't tell them who the god she loves is.

Cheesecake comes and is soon gone too, and I’m more than ready to go to my room and crash for an hour before putting in some more words. I basically only need to add in two sex scenes between all three main characters and write the last chapter and an epilogue before the first draft is done. I’ll also be changing Malia into something other than a nymph. Or do more research, to find a war-happy type of nymph. Not a Valkyrie, though. That’d be taking it a step too far.

“It seems our household author is lost inside her head again.” Arnlaug’s voice makes me snap my head up.

“Sorry, I was thinking of—”

“Your book,” Evgenia supplies. “Of course. You need to go write. We’ve taken up too much of your time.”

Katerina throws a glare her way, before saying, “Right. Thank you so much for having dinner with us. It was fun. I’ll give you my number, if you’re ever in Athens.”

Arnlaug rolls his eyes, but I save her number on my phone. I may never use it, but not taking it would be rude.

She and the others start standing too, but Arnlaug says, “You stay. I’ll walk Scarlett upstairs and have Pan bring you a round of Tentura shots. It’s good for digestion.” He’s out of his seat and to my side of the table, pulling my chair back, before I’ve put my phone back in my pocket.

He offers me his arm, and I hook my hand on the bend of his elbow, so he can lead me out of here. “What’s with the chivalry?” I whisper. “Feeling bad for kicking my ass today?”

He either laughs or is choking. “I want to make sure you get enough sleep before tomorrow’s training, and I know you won’t turn in unless you’ve completed your work for the day.” He stops at the bottom of the stairs. “I admire that.”

I put my foot on the bottom step, still holding him. “You said you’d take me upstairs.” I don’t know why I need him to, but whether it’s all the swordplay or the wine boosting my confidence, this the bravest I’ve felt since I slapped Denniswith the divorce papers, move to Greece notwithstanding.

“I did say that.” His voice goes deeper. Growlier. But he’s not moving.

I take another step and tug at his arm. And he follows.

This is all I’ve got, though. The closer we get to my front door, the clearer my head gets, panic driving away the alcohol-fueled lust clouding my thoughts. Do I invite him in? To do what? I mean, I have a thing or two in mind that I’d like to do to and with him, but he and Pan are a package deal in my mind.

More than that, Pan acts as a safety barrier between Arnlaug and me. He’s the one supposed to protect me.

Will I need protection if Arnlaug comes inside? Except for the kind that comes in a little tinfoil packet, that is.

I drop my hold on him and shuffle to slide my key in the lock, but jitters make me drop it. I duck to grab it, and the entire right side of my back seizes in a painful spasm. “Ow.”

“What happened? Are you all right?” Arnlaug looks around instead of at me, as if seeking out an invisible attacker.

“It’s just… Pain.”

“Where?” He crouches next to me and helps me straighten, which sends a jolt of agony down my leg.

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