Kristen Painter - All Fired Up

Beautiful, deceitful betrayer.

A bitter taste filled his mouth. The scar over his heart burned. No woman would ever sway him that way again.

The lass stared at him, her sleepy bronze eyes focused on his chest. He realized his hand rested on the fatal scar. He eased his hand away, but her gaze stayed fixed.

“Tha’ musta hurt.” Her words slurred, her lids fluttered downward.

“Aye.” He had a feeling he was not going to explain much tonight. “What is your name, lass?”

“Calleigh,” she mumbled. “Calleigh Siobhan McCarthy.” Her head bobbed. “You’re just a dream, aren’t you?” she whispered.

“Aye. Go to sleep now.” Perhaps it was best she thought that until he truly knew he was supposed to be here.

Her eyes closed, and her head tipped back against the cushions. Soft, sighing breaths slipped from her rose-colored lips.

He looked at the goblet on the table and grinned. How much wine had she drunk? More than she aught.

Calleigh Siobhan McCarthy. A daughter of Eire, yet she claimed not to have summoned him. Another of Freya’s tricks perhaps? The goddess’s strange and oft cruel sense of humor was well known among the Brotherhood. Either she or Eros would know if this woman was really meant to be his next charge.

Alrik scooped the slumbering lass into his arms. She smelled so sweet his mouth watered. Did all the women of this time smell like confections? She nuzzled against him. Her robe shifted, revealing the creamy swell of her breast. He looked away too late. His groin tightened. The goddess of love had a hand in this, that much he was sure. Foolish Freya, always amusing herself with the lives of mortals.

Once Calleigh was tucked into her bed, Alrik shut the door to her bedchamber. Time to confront Freya and see what game the goddess played.

He went back to the room he had first entered and stood before the fireplace. He spoke to the air, his lips quirked in a knowing smile. “How kind of you, Freya, to give me such a beautiful charge, perhaps even more beautiful than you—”

In a soundless flash of light, the room around him disappeared, replaced by the glorious halls of Valhalla.

“You would not dare speak such a thing, Viking. Not if you ever wish to fulfill your service to me.” Freya reclined on a chaise in her throne room. Thick waves of rose-gold hair spilled over her alabaster shoulders. Jeweled brooches fastened the slip of pleated white silk she was almost not wearing. So sheer was the fabric of her gown, the blush of her nipples showed through. She was more Venus today than Freya. Despite her blatant display, he felt nothing. The goddess’s charms came at too high a price.

Behind her, on a perch of gold and jasper, roosted the Phoenix bird. Feathers the color of a sunset adorned the hawk-sized creature. He knew well the powerful magic in those feathers.

“Goddess, I did not mean to imply—”

“You most certainly did.” She tipped her face up, the brilliant lazuline of her irises as startling as every other shade her changeable blue eyes were capable of. “You sought my company. Now you have it. Do not waste my time, Phoenix. I am busy.”

Propped on pillows on the marble floor alongside Freya’s chaise, a naked Eros scowled, obviously less than pleased at being seen in such a subservient position. He yanked a silk coverlet over his hips.

Alrik nodded to the demi-god and averted his eyes in what he hoped Eros would understand as respect. Under no circumstance did he wish to invoke the lesser god’s wrath.

His chieftain blood revolted at her haughty tone, but he thought of the day he would have his vengeance on Dagny. The day when Freya would grant him his freedom and his own second chance. The promise of that day calmed him but not enough to unclench his jaw.

“Aye, goddess,” he ground the words out, fists tamped against his thighs. “I would ask a question of you.”

She leaned back on her chaise and trailed one delicate foot across Eros’s tanned hip, dragging the coverlet off. He yanked the silk back, but Freya seemed not to notice. She dropped her hand to his head and lazily combed her fingers through the demi-god’s blond curls. “So ask.”

“My charge claims not to have summoned me, and I think she speaks the truth. Perhaps there has been some mistake?”

“Are you implying I make mistakes, Viking?” Her hand fisted in Eros’s flaxen locks, causing him to grimace.

“Nay. Never. But it has been almost a century and a half since my talisman was stolen and I was summoned. I think it came to this new charge accidentally.” As much as he wanted time away from the goddess, he did not want to burden a mortal unnecessarily.

She relaxed, again petting Eros. “So the talisman has shown up.” She shrugged. “Your duty remains the same, no matter who summons you. Three changes must be granted before you may leave.”

He nodded. He would do his job, as he always did, without question, without issue, always focused on the day he would be free. This time would be no different.

The goddess spread her fingers possessively over Eros’s chest and gazed at the god of love like he was a sweet to be savored. Completely occupied, Freya waved her hand. “You are dismissed.”

Alrik again stood in front of Calleigh’s fireplace.

The goddess was doing this on purpose. He knew it with every bit of warrior’s intuition in his bones. She would not forgive his rejecting her and most likely, would continue to make earning his freedom a most difficult task. He clenched his hands. No one would stop him from getting his revenge.

Especially not a woman.

Calleigh was sure Snickers had spent half the night jumping up and down on her head and the other half stuffing fur balls in her mouth.

She unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth and squinted at the clock. 10:53 a.m. A pretty good start to spending the whole day in bed. At least she’d managed to get into bed after drinking an entire bottle of wine on an empty stomach. She lifted the covers. Even if she was still wearing her robe.

What a dream. What a hunk. That body. Oh my. She wiggled her toes with the sheer pleasure of remembering. And all that smoke…so bizarre. And fun. Even dinner at Thai’d Up had never given her such erotic dreams, and their curry was hot enough to strip wallpaper.

She yawned, rubbed her eyes and sat up. Bad decision. Her stomach pitched and the throbbing in her head made her moan. The bathroom seemed very far away. At least Snickers wasn’t on the bed to give her one of his famous disapproving looks.

Speaking of which, where was the furry little dictator? He should be yowling his head off from starvation by now. She got up slowly, making her way to the kitchen without flipping light switches. The candle on the coffee table was out but a fire still flickered in the fireplace. Last night’s storm lingered, casting everything in a deep gloom. Perfect. Right now, dark was good.

Still no Snickers. Maybe he’d caught another mouse. She opened the fridge, scrunching her eyes at the light, and grabbed a diet Pepsi. Nothing else appealed, but she knew she should eat something.

If she’d learned anything at all from her nightlife-loving Uncle Seamus, it was that a good coating of grease was just the thing for a hangover. What she needed was a big cheese omelet, a side of crispy home fries, and some of the black sludge the diner two blocks down called coffee. She shut the fridge. After a long hot shower she’d head to Little Joe’s.

Oh…a hot shower sounded fabulous. For being hungover and throbbing like a beating heart, her brain was working remarkably well. Better turn the fireplace off first. Her gas bill would be through the roof.