Viking's Pride

by Holley Trent

  “So my parents can interrogate me about who I’m going out with? I’ll pass. And Italian sounds great.”

  “Super.” He swiveled around her, and gave her a gentle nudge forward by the ass.

  Opportunist.

  If he thought she wasn’t going to follow up on his odd statement about the history he was so willing to discuss, then Erin needed to reacquaint him with the doggedness of Afótama women, and quickly.

  ___

  Erin had never dined outside at the restaurant Parma, though she’d always envied those people who did. None of her friends were fans of the heavy, hearty Italian fare, and on the few occasions she’d had a chance to dine at the place, she’d eaten alone. And quickly, at that. Even in a community where she knew almost everyone, being seen at a restaurant alone was awkward, especially with her being who she was. Her father would soon have a reputation of not being able to satisfy the bellies in his family, much less the pregnant queen’s.

  She knew she had to stop worrying about what her father would think, though. She was allowed to have a life, even if she wasn’t quite sure how to order it.

  Will pressed his elbows to the tabletop and canted his head toward the street. “Traffic has picked up a lot in the past dozen years. I remember when almost no one here had a car.”

  Erin bobbed her eyebrows and twined some spaghetti onto her fork. “I vaguely remember that. We have a lot more commuters now. They live here, but work outside the community, or vice versa. Stuff is just too far away, and people need to be able to get jobs that suit them.”

  Norseton was located in the middle of nowhere, and by design. Their ancestors had settled in the desert to stay clear of the English, French, and Spanish colonists that arrived in the New World after them.

  “You included.”

  She shrugged and stuffed another forkful of noodles into her mouth. Her belly was waving the white flag of surrender, but her taste buds were telling her to eat with abandon. She was playing Russian Roulette as it was, and would probably get spotted at any moment. She figured she might as well add a bit more stress to the mix.

  “The queen’s cousin Nadia was telling me about how hard it is to recruit people for certain jobs, especially for the mansion. You don’t want to work there? There’s a list of positions to be filled as long as my arm.”

  “I’ve been cleared to work there. After they laid off all the staff to do new background checks, there were a lot who didn’t make the cut for a bunch of different reasons. I wasn’t on the list before because I’d never worked there formally before Queen Tess was installed, but I think my father got me on the list. He probably wanted me to help out in the kitchen.” She rolled her eyes.

  She did okay around food. She could feed herself, and if pressed, arrange food on a plate prettily enough to satisfy most people, but she wasn’t going to be earning any rave reviews for inventiveness. At best, she just followed directions well. When it came to food, she had no creative impulses whatsoever.

  “Have you looked at the position list lately?”

  “No. Mostly I check what’s available at the temp office. They usually have enough gigs for me to work almost full-time hours. It’s not stable, but I’ve learned a lot about what I don’t want to do. I can’t say it’s a waste of time.”

  He bobbed his eyebrows and leaned back against his seat as the waiter returned. He scooped up Will’s empty plate and whispered, “Got some extra lasagna that’s going into the dumpster tonight unless you want it. My mother made too much this morning. It was supposed to be today’s special, but someone forgot to change out the menu displays.”

  She chuckled and shook her head. “Your dad is always forgetting to change out the displays. Why don’t you get here before him and do it? It’d save your mom from the heart attack she’s probably going to have because of you two frustrating her to no end.”

  Ben crossed his eyes. “He’s always here. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he lives in that office.”

  “Want to introduce me, Erin?” Will asked blandly.

  Shit. She cringed. “I forgot that you weren’t here when they came. I take for granted that people know each other. Ben’s dad is one of the Afótama who’ve returned recently. His mother is the Italian lady in the kitchen.”

  Ben wiped his hands on the towel tucked into his apron strings and extended one for Will to shake. “Yeah, we’ve been here for about six months. Business is surprisingly good, but I’m still getting used to the place.”

  Will gave Ben’s hand a proper shake and pressed his elbows to the tabletop again. “Where’d you move from?”

  “D.C. I always knew about this place, but we’d never had a chance to visit before we moved.”

  “So, your mother knew what your father was?”

  Ben made a waffling gesture and knelt at the tableside. “She’s normal, you know? So, she can’t do the telepathy stuff. She doesn’t feel all the magic shit or get tugged into the web.”

  “Do you?”

  Ben held his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “A little. I can have a conversation mind-to-mind with my dad if I try really hard, but I really don’t want to work that hard. I hope if I end up marrying an Afótama woman, that won’t be a huge turnoff for her.”

  “I doubt any woman would be that petty,” Erin said.

  Will pushed up an eyebrow and his cheek twitched.

  What’s that about?

  “So, do you want the lasagna?” Ben asked her.

  “You know I can’t take that home. Dad will see it in the fridge and give me one of those Shakespearean monologues about consumerism and the crass commercialization of food. Give it to the werewolves, maybe? I hear they’ve got bottomless appetites.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll give Mrs. Carbone a call and see who she can send to pick the trays up at closing.” He gave her a little flick with the end of his towel and walked into the restaurant.

  Erin brought her drink up to her lips and took a long sip, eying Will over the top rip of the glass.

  His expression was neutral, and mind completely closed off. For once, she was actually trying to get in, but he was impenetrable.

  “Don’t tell me that I was thinking loud again, and that you didn’t like what was on my mind,” she said.

  “It’s not that. He might only be half Afótama, but his energy is recognizable as full Afótama, at least to me.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “I just don’t buy the woe is me, spiel. It’s disingenuous.”

  She laughed, and pushed her plate away. There was no way around it—she was stuffed. “I don’t think that’s what he did.”

  “Then obviously you can’t tell when a man is flirting with you.”

  “He wasn’t flirting.”

  Will folded his arms over his chest and gave her a skeptical look.

  “What?”

  “The response he was looking for from you when he said that his weak telepathy would be a turnoff for an Afótama woman was something along the lines of, it’s not a turnoff for me.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?”

  “Absolutely nothing if you wanted to encourage him.”

  Ben came back out holding a Styrofoam take-out container. He slipped it onto the table along with the check, which he gave to Will.

  “What’s this?” She pried up a corner of the container and peered into the gap. “Cannoli?”

  “Yeah, you’re gonna wanna eat them tonight so they don’t go soggy.” He rocked back onto his heels and clasped his hands behind his back. “Ma thought you might like them.”

  “She did?”

  Will stuffed his credit card into the leather bill folio’s pocket and pushed the folder back to Ben.

  “Yeah.” Ben scooped up the folder and backed toward the door. “I—I mean she figured you could eat them during the walk home.”

  “That’s so thoughtful. Tell your mother I said thank you.”

  “No problem. Be right back with the
receipt.”

  Will drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

  “What?”

  “I find it hard to believe you’re that oblivious.”

  “What makes you think I’m oblivious?”

  “You don’t have to be a psychic to see that guy has the hots for you.”

  “He does not.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He’s never said anything.”

  “In five minutes he’s said plenty.”

  “I think you’re reading more into it than what’s really there.”

  “I’m only reading what’s right on the surface. It’s as clear as a front-page headline.”

  “Really?” She peered through the glass into the restaurant and squinted. Ben was at the podium running Will’s card, but his attention was pointed to the sidewalk. Not to one of the other three tables outside, either.

  Catching Erin’s gaze, he raised his chin in acknowledgement.

  She gave him a little wave before turning her attention back to Will. “Wow. I’m flattered. Girls have been trying to get his attention for months.”

  “But you haven’t?”

  “No. My attention was elsewhere.” Pinned to a man she couldn’t have, but even if she hadn’t been hung up on Jody Dahl, she didn’t feel any sparks toward Ben. He was eligible, attractive, and a good son, but he didn’t have that swagger. She hadn’t understood how important it was to her before, but that might have been because she didn’t know how to articulate what it was.

  “So I recall. And where’s your attention now?”

  Fortunately, she didn’t have to answer because Ben popped out of the restaurant and slid the card and receipt to Will.

  “I hope you won’t make yourself a stranger,” Ben said. “We like seeing you around here. I know it’s tough for you.”

  “I’ll stop by the next time I’m feeling brave.” She gave him a wink and pushed back from the table before things got even more uncomfortable. Apparently, not only was Erin oblivious, but Ben, too. He didn’t seem to notice the death glare Will had fixed on him.

  “Eh, you’re a Viking. You probably have an excess of bravery. You should share some.” Ben gave her a little nudge and returned her wink.

  Oh, boy.

  He backed away after waving goodbye.

  Will stayed in his seat for a moment more, fiddling with the corner of his cloth napkin. His gaze was on that plate glass window, and likely who was just on the other side of it.

  “Will?”

  He set down the napkin and stood. “That’s funny.”

  “What is?” She grabbed the cannoli box and joined him on the sidewalk.

  “Oh, just what he was saying about Viking excesses. He’s certainly got an excess of something.” He pressed his hand to the small of her back and guided her toward the corner—back toward his place.

  “Are we going back?”

  “If you want to. Assuming you’re not going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”

  “Ha ha.” They paused at the street and waited for a car to pass before crossing.

  She jogged ahead of him and gave his chest a little poke when he stepped onto the curb. “You just want me to go back so you can finish asking me questions about psychic stuff.”

  “The thought had crossed my mind. But maybe I’d also thought I’d show you the view from my balcony. You seemed interested.”

  “Oh, I’m dying to see get up there. I bet the view is spectacular.”

  “It will be.”

  On that odd response, he pulled her closer to his side and pressed his electronic key to building’s side door. The view wasn’t so bad from where she was already.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Will held open the heavy apartment door, and Erin slipped past him, leaving in her wake a scent that was half woman, half cannoli. Entirely too sweet by his usual standards, but like hell if he didn’t want her anyway.

  “I’m gonna put these in the fridge. I can’t eat another bite. Want anything?”

  “Sure. Grab me a beer while you’re in there.”

  “Okay.” She nudged off her shoes and headed toward the kitchen. He liked that she was making herself at home. She probably didn’t even realize she was doing it, but the fact she would made sense. Ollie had told him that Tess’s inhibitions had been lower when he was around because in her mate, she found unequivocal comfort. Ollie was the net that would catch her if she fell, and in him, she found home. Perhaps Erin was in that same place and just hadn’t put the pieces together yet.

  “I’ll meet you out on the balcony,” he said.

  “Okie dokie. I think I’ll get one, too, and I won’t have a lick of guilt about getting a little drunk.”

  “Why would you feel guilty?”

  “Because if I have time to sit around drinking, I have time to make something of myself, right?” She laughed and disappeared around the wall.

  “Is that what your father tells you?”

  “No, but I kind of have a pretty good gut feeling of what he might say in response to any situation. Trust me, if he saw me chilling on the sofa with a beer in hand, he’d try to guilt me into doing some tedious kitchen chore, like taking nuts out of their shells or picking those tiny little stem bits off raisins.”

  To Will, Mr. Petersen sounded like one of those micromanagers who was obsessed with making sure everyone around him was productive. Will had never put much stock in other people’s ideals of productivity, because being active looked like different things to different people. Just because a person was sitting still didn’t mean they weren’t working. Sometimes, thinking was work. The heaviest work.

  He slid the balcony door open and stepped out into the night. The traffic had slowed, so there were no moving cars to be seen, and only a few residents strolled in the business district. Their gaits were leisurely, but obviously purposeful. They all had someplace to be, even if they didn’t need to be there so quickly.

  He’d missed that in all the years he’d been away from Norseton. Where he’d lived, people were always moving so quickly that they never paid attention to anything besides what was directly in front of them…and sometimes, not even that. He’d been guilty of that, too. Being tied in to the Afótama web again made that impossible. He couldn’t help but to be aware.

  Erin stepped out onto the balcony, agape and wide-eyed. “You can see everything from here. The mansion, the gates, some shops… Man, I could sit out here for hours, just watching.”

  She handed him both beers and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I couldn’t find the bottle opener.”

  Chuckling, he set one bottle on the small metal table that had come with the rental and used the hem of his shirt to protect his hand as he twisted off the cap of the second beer.

  “There you go.”

  “Thanks.” She pulled one of the chairs closer to the railing, and sat, bending at the waist to peer down at the street below.

  He popped open the other beer and took a long swig. “If you like the view that much, you’re welcome to come over and enjoy it whenever you like.” If he had his druthers, the only reason he’d let her leave in the next couple of days would be to pack a suitcase or two. Mr. Petersen’s head would probably explode.

  Oh, well.

  “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. So…” She turned and set her beer on the table behind her. “You were going to tell me some things.”

  “Was I?”

  She gave him a slow nod. “I think you were. Of course, there’ll probably be some kind of distraction, right? Every time you start to tell me something, we get thrown off course.”

  “No more distractions. Tell me what you want to know.”

  She narrowed her eyes, drummed her fingertips against her thighs, and made a hmm sound. Then she stood. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” She hurried past him and into the apartment, and returned seconds later with his binder.

  “That thing?” He’d assumed she’d get down to the nitty-gritty and ask him about the partners h
e’d alluded to, not fetch his research book. She opened it onto the table and flipped to the blue-tabbed section.

  “I scanned ahead,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him.

  “Oh?”

  “Yep. I’m so curious now, so will you humor me?”

  “Of course.” He suspected saying no to her would become an increasingly difficult thing. Bound Afótama couples were compelled to fulfill each other’s needs and wants. The best Will could tell, it was due in part to their psychic abilities, and the rest was magic none of them could really describe. The happiness of each person was tied up in the other person being content, and feeding the joy was in the best interest of both.

  “Okay. I like this one. Do you have psychic abilities beyond telepathy?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a quiet exclamation of surprise in her brain, but she soldiered on without expressing it aloud. “Um. Under which category would you classify them? Aura reading? Astral projection? Clairvoyance?” She ran her index finger down the list of abilities. “I’m assuming you know what all these things mean.”

  “I do.”

  “Fuck, I don’t. I’ve never even heard of some of these things. Dowsing and bilocation? I’m gonna have to look them up, or the words are going to niggle at my mind all night.”

  “There’s a glossary in there. At least, the first draft of a glossary. I intend to laminate the page and refer to it when I’m conducting interviews.”

  “You think of everything, don’t you?”

  “That’s what I get paid for.”

  “Nerd.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “So, which of them apply to you?”

  He pulled the binder closer and pointed to Retrocognition and Telekinesis.

  “Seriously?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  The pages of the binder fluttered wildly and she slapped her hands on top of them. “You did that! There’s no wind.”

  “That was me.”

  “Holy shit! I mean… Oh, my gods. Shit.” She found her page again and scanned down to the subquestions. “Does anyone in your immediate family exhibit similar abilities?”

  “Yes. My mother. The retrocognition, though, I suspect is from my father. The gift isn’t quite as congealed for him, but the genealogical records suggest it’s typical for his line.”