Page 30 of Valkyrie Confused

Because heisfalling for Scarlett, and I can’t blame him. She’s fun and kind and smart, and judging by her writing, has a wicked imagination. I wouldn’t mind some first-hand experience with it, if our situation weren’t so precarious.

“I’m not losing sight of you or her for the next four weeks, and we need to train her,” I say.

His expression softens. “Because…?”

He’s not going to like my answer. “Because Odin is expecting a Valkyrie, not a romantic soul who blushes easily and averts her gaze at the sight of a naked male body.” Or who gets winded climbing a staircase, but that would sound unkind.

Pan huffs and picks up my duffel. Places it upright against the wall, out of the way. “Is this about what Odin needs or about what you need?”

I’m still scrambling for an answer, when he says, “You know what? You’re way more likable when you’ve got some alcohol in your system. Or when I do. Let me feed the guests and turn down the rooms, and then I’m taking you out to dinner. Someplace we can get a drink.”

The onlyproperdrink that actually has an effect on immortals is Olympus wine, and he has some right here, but if he’s buying dinner, I won’t sayno.

I read a little until he’s back at around nine, and then I get to see him grimace at yet another pair of cargos I pull on for our outing. He offers to give me a button-down shirt, but we both know his clothes won’t fit me. He’s only a little shorter than my six-foot-seven, but nowhere near as wide as I am.

I get him to halfheartedly agree to a white V-neck T-shirt, and this is eerily like back when we were together and he’d nag me about updating my wardrobe.

When he’s satisfied that my long hair is combed into a neat ponytail, he holds out his hand.

“Um…” I give it a dubious look. “This isn’t—“

He harrumphs and clasps my wrist, and the walls of his room fade around us. It’s more than that. For an instant, we’re teetering over the void, and then the ground solidifies beneath our feet once more.

“I fucking hate when you do this.” I shake my head, to get rid of the sense of emptiness in my skull, and my earspop.

“I remember.” He drops my wrist, and I look around.

We’re surrounded by darkness, but it’s not absolute. The tiled walls around us are bathed in the violet glow coming from the sign above the door in front of us.NEONit reads in capital—neon—letters.

What the fuck? “When I agreed to dinner, I didn’t expect it to be halfway around the world.” More specifically, Chicago. I’ve heard of this place, though I haven’t been here before. Not like I get invited out much.

Correction—I don’t care to socialize. My single semi-regular outing is to underground fighting rings, where I work out some frustration against fighters who can survive it. Certainly not to a fancy club with a high-class strip show, owned by another god of lust.

“It’s got good food and drinks, and I’m running a tab here,” Pan says. “Besides, I wanna see what Frey’s done with the renovation.”

No clue what he’s talking about, but the tiniest pang of jealousy jabs my insides. He sounds familiar with Freyr. Have they been fucking?

I don’t care.

But when he opens the door, I make no move to enter. The thought of rubbing elbows with other immortals may seem inviting to him, but— “I’m not sure I’m welcome.” Not something that concerns me, as a rule, but tonight, I don’t feel like fighting.

“I hooked them up with my wine guy, so we’re good, as long as you don’t do anything stupid,” Pan says. “That’s the point of the place. The wards make sure no ill will makes it past them. Well, except once, but measures have been taken to avoid a repeat.”

For someone who supposedly left this world behind eons ago, he sure keeps up to date with the old world.

I say just that.

Pan shrugs. “Sometimes, you need more than a mortal bedmate to take the edge off.” There’s a challenge in his tone. “And sometimes, you need a reminder that you’re not alone.”

That last part strikes a chord. I won’t linger on useless sentimentalism, though, so I stride past him into the club.

The music is louder than a second ago, but not enough to make shouting necessary. And it looks tame for an immortal strip club. Of course, it’s lunchtime in Chicago, so only a few of the tables are occupied, and the patrons are more focused on their food than the music.

“Are we getting a booth?” I can’t help but throw wary glances around, always on high alert, even in a place supposed to not allow fighting.

Especiallyin such a place, where I’m expected to drop my guard.

A couple people look back, but it’s mostly surprise or shock that greets me in their gazes, not animosity.

---