Page 36 of Valkyrie Confused

He ducks his head, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he looks shy. “I may have understated how much I enjoyed your book. I’m looking forward to the next one.”

Then maybe he should tell Odin he didn’t find her, so she can stay here and finish writing it.

But Odin would know. The fucker always does.

Scarlett’s grin lights up her whole face. “Seriously?”

“I was impressed by how spot on the details were. I mean, I’ve watched a few documentaries on Berserkers. Vikings. You know.” He clamps his mouth shut, but Scarlett doesn’t seem to notice his embarrassment.

“You’ve made my day.” She throws back the rest of her wine and puts the glass down to clap her hands. “So you know, I’m totally basing the new guy on you. His name isDrolk, and the moment I saw you, I was like,that’s my Berserker.” She turns to me. “And you already know you were the inspiration behind my Pan. I hadn’t even decided which god to use till I met you.”

“Flattered.” I splay my fingers over my heart. “And are you the nymph?”

She shrugs and grimaces. “She’s giving me some trouble. Like, I’ve written her as a nymph so far, because—you know—men like their women willowy and ethereal.” She reaches for the wine bottle and tops her glass again. “Butshe doesn’t feel right. I’m writing her, and I’m thinking fight scenes, not frolicking among the trees. She feels sturdy. A warrior. Either way, she’s definitely not me.” She flicks the wrist of her free hand and points to herself. “’Cause… not ethereal, and certainly not a warrior.”

“I don’t like my women willowy and ethereal,” I say. “I like all types. It’s the energy the other person exudes that draws me to them.”

She purses her lips. “And you?” she asks Arnlaug. “Do you have a type?”

“I like warriors,” he says. When her expression falters, he adds, “I like women who have a warrior’s soul. Who don’t give up at the first sign of hardship. Who fight for what they believe in.”

She preens. “Who take a chance and move halfway around the world, to chase their dreams?”

He raises his glass in salute. “That’ll do.”

The air is thick with tension and desire, and it would be so easy to lean into the flirting, unfurl my power, and share my bed with both of them tonight, but not until she knows the truth, or she’ll hate me. Hate us.

“Let’s play a game.” I get up and take our glasses to the tiny kitchenette, despite Scarlett’s objection and the dirty look Arnlaug gives me. We want her mind to be open, not mush. I make sure the bottle is well capped and lay it on its side between us.

“We’re too old for Spin the Bottle,” Scarlett says.

“We’re not playing Spin the Bottle. Whoever the bottle points at when I spin it has to share two truths and a lie. The other two must guess which is the lie. First to do so wins the round.”

“What does the final winner get?” Arnlaug—antagonistic as always.

“There is no final winner,” I tell him. “The one who guesses spins the bottle the next time.”

“But there has to be a prize for whoever gets most rounds right.”

I scowl at him. “An extra sausage with breakfast?”

Scarlett giggles.

Should I have taken away her wine sooner?

“I can have as many sausages as I please. I pay for them,” she says.

“Well, what would you like instead?” I’d love for it to be a kiss.

No.

No kissing. No touching. No hanky-panky until everything is out there.

She taps her chin with her index finger. “The winner gets an honest answer to a question from both of you.”

“So you’ll be the winner, huh?” Arnlaug stretches one of his long legs.

She taps his booted foot where it rests beside her knee. “What can I say? I can read people.”

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