Page 39 of Valkyrie Confused

He chuckles. “I can partially shapeshift, but the fur chafes, so I avoid it.”

Okay, so I don’t have to deal with that mental image. And now for a more serious question. “Should I be afraid?”

Pan shakes his head. “Not of me.”

I believe him, possibly because I’ve had half a bottle of wine, but that means— “What are you?” I ask Arnlaug.

“A Berserker.” He tugs on his beard—he does this when he’s uncomfortable. “And you’re in no danger tonight.”

A Berserker? Seriously?

“Oh my God.I know what happened.” I clap my hands. “I am asleep. I fell asleep on the balcony, and I need to wake up, because I’ll fall off my chair any minute now.”

Arnlaug laughs, and Panos throws a surprised glance his way.

“You’re not dreaming,” Arnlaug says. “He is a god, and I’m a Berserker, and you are a Valkyrie.”

Yeah, sure I am. All Valkyries are short and pudgy, don’t you know?

“Youwillbe a Valkyrie,” Panos—Pan?—interjects.

Arnlaug nods. “You see, Valkyries have been gone for a while, but lately, they’ve been popping up around the world, living as mortals until they ascend.”

I narrow my eyes. “And how does that happen?” I wish I hadn’t let Pan take the wine. Not that drinking more would make my head any clearer.

Arnlaug shrugs. “Fuckif I know. But Odin does, and I’m supposed to collect the ones he sends me after and bring them to him.”

And we’re back to my book. My as of now unnamed Berserker was on a mission too, but I couldn’t make it work with Malia being a nymph. This scenario would workso much better.

Wait.Collect?“You’re here tocollectme? As in, kidnap me?” My heart beats so fast, it’s about to leap out of my chest.Thisis when I should be walking away. No,runningaway.

“It’s not kidnapping,” Arnlaug says. “It’s recruiting. The apostates—those who’ve decided to take on the old gods—are stacking their numbers, and Odin is preparing for when they come after him. I’m here torecruityou for his cause.”

When I don’t want to go, it’s still kidnapping.

“But not tonight,” Pan says. “Not for a few more weeks.”

My shoulders itch, and I roll them, to scratch against the chair. Something snags, and the itch only gets worse. I climb to my feet. “I should go.”

They both jump up. Are they going to stop me?

“No,” I yell.

Pain flashes through my skull, and my shoulders itch worse than ever. My vision splits. I don’t know a better way to describe it, except, I still see the room around me and the men blocking my path to the exit, but at the same time, I’m in a field of grass, and Arnlaug is running toward me, waving a sword. He’s dressed like a Viking—

a Berserker

—and covered in blood. “In Odin’s, name,” he bellows, but it’s not English. It’s old Norse.

And I know that how?

I squeeze my eyes shut, to block the onslaught of images, but they’re in my head. Winged women in armor. In a cave. One of them, an athletic blonde with piercing blue eyes, is obviously the leader. There’s no sound at all now, but her body language screams of giving orders she knows will be followed.

There’s a dragon here?

I try to step out of its reach, but I’m rooted in place.

Other images overlap this one, flickering and melting into one another. Arnlaug, naked and growing bigger and hairier until he’s a bear. Splashing in the river. Spinning around and lunging at someoneas a bear. He smashes something out of Pan’s hand, andPan smacks him across the snout.

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