Page 35 of Valkyrie Confused

I turn around with flourish and hold it up for Scarlett to see. “We’ll have ourselves a picnic.”

“Picnics involve food,” Arnlaug mumbles.

“It’ll be an alcohol picnic, then.” I glare at him. “And you just ate.”

Scarlett clutches her glass with both hands like a lifeline. “I don’t feel like food, anyway.” She’s wearing fluffy pajama bottoms and a hoodie zipped all the way up, and her hair is pulled back in that messy bun that makes me think of her rolling in the sheets.

“She doesn’t feel like food,” I tell Arnlaug with an arched eyebrow, then spread the rug on the floor at the foot of the bed and add a few throw cushions I pilfer from the same place as the rug.

Scarlett sits cross-legged with her back ramrod straight against the armchair, while Arnlaug and I mirror her with our backs to the bed. His knee presses against mine, and warmth spreads through my body. This shouldn’t feel so comfortable. We’re not on the same side.

But maybe after tonight…

Scarlett squirms. Places her glass on the floor in front of her, then picks it back up and cradles it in her hands again. “I shouldn’t have come. You need to sleep. I need to write. I’ll just take my laptop and go.” But she makes no move to get up. She wants to stay. Her cheeks are tinged red, and her eyes are downcast, and I want to take her right here and now. But not when she’s been drinking.

“You can’t write at this hour,” I say. “It will screw with tomorrow’s schedule.” There. I gave her an out.

And she gladly takes it. Her lips tilt upward for a heartbeat, before she takes a couple quick sips and leaves the glass beside her. “So where did the two of you go?”

“To a club,” I say.

“There’s a nightclub nearby?” Her eyes grow comically wide. “Here? In the wilderness?”

Arnlaug chuckles. “It’s out of town.”

“Huh. You weren’t gone that long.”

I could tell her how we got there and back. Could show her, even. But there are other things she should know first. “Just long enough to get a few drinks into this guy.” I squeeze Arnlaug’s thigh, and the lust emanating from both him and Scarlett spikes.

Arnlaug says, “I could have a night cup. And the lady looks like she needs a refill.”

Scarlett shakes her head. “No more for me. I like to keep a clear head at all times.”

I get up. “Tonight, you may need to forgo that rule.”

Wrong thing to say. She clams up immediately. I can see it in the way her back stiffens, and she pulls her legs closer to her body. “Why is that?” she asks.

I scared her. She thinks we plan on getting her drunk to take advantage of her. The thought makes my stomach queasy. I’ll happily boost desire people already plan to act on, but I won’t get anyone inebriated so I can fuck them. It’s a fine line I’ve had to walk with the drunken orgies in my past.

“This is a getting-to-know-you picnic.” I pour Arnlaug and myself a full tumbler each—bourbon, not Olympus wine—grab a bottle of white from my mini fridge, and return to them. “Arnlaug and I will be sharing secrets. It’s only fair you do so too, and that will take lowering your defenses a little.”

That’ll make it easier for her to believe our story, too. I’m telling her everything tonight. The sooner she knows, the sooner she can start working with me to change the big lug’s mind.

“But first”—I refill her glass and leave the bottle between us—“tell us about your book.“

She bites her bottom lip. Swirls her wine and sniffs it but doesn’t take a sip or put it down. “Well, it’s about a nymph who meets the god Pan and a Berserker, and they fall in love.”

I glance at Arnlaug. His eyes seem about to pop out of his head. I hide my laugh in a long gulp of bourbon. “So it’s set in ancient times?”

She shakes her head, and this time, takes a sip. “Modern-day Greece.”

“You’ve been to other parts of Greece?” I ask.

Scarlett shakes her head. “No. Never. But I did my research. Did you know there were actual Vikings here at some point? To guard the Byzantine emperor?” She drinks more, and some of her restraint slips. She loves talking about this, but for some reason is still holding back.

“Is this Berserker a friend of Amastan?” Arnlaug asks.

Who?

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