Page 4 of Valkyrie Unknown

I laughed along with them.

Technically I was here for the money too. I’d never met these women before tonight, aside from a conversation I had with Jaycee a few weeks ago when she hired me. But to anyone who didn’t know us, I was one of the girls, having fun and enjoying the sexy naked guys.

Unlike my clients, I wasn’t drinking. And at the end of the night, after they were safe in their hotel room, I’d be on my way.

I earned a living as a friend for hire, and the job was frequently bachelorette parties. I’d come along, enjoy the party, stay sober, watch my clients’ backs so they could have fun without worrying, and kick anyone’s ass who tried to fuck with them.

The best thing about drunk best friends who were celebrating? They welcomed me as one of their own for the night, no matter who they were the rest of the time. How pathetic was I, that I did this as much to pretend I had some close friends for a few hours, as I did to pay my bills?

“I’m not the only good kitty.” Tori pulled her headband off and shoved it onto my head. “Abbey’s the best.”

I didn’t correct the name, since it was the one I’d given her. When I started doing this years ago, I’d used my real name. It took about three jobs to realize that once people were three sheets to the wind, they couldn’t pronounceAzzie,and people struggling with my name shattered the illusion that I was one of them.

So I gave them a name that sounded like mine—made it easier to remember who I was for a night—but was more normal.

The dancer turned toward me. “Ginger kitty?” His tone was teasing, as he tweaked one of the stuffed ears on my head. A glint flashed in his eyes. It looked like he was playfully licking his lips, but really, he was running his tongue over his teeth. Specifically two sharper-than-normal canines.

That confirmed what I’d suspected based on his taut muscle, grace in his movements, and the tattoo-like mark on his bicep. He was a Berserker. And in this shape—slender but strong—he was the kind of warrior who turned into a wolf, rather than a bear.

That and his mark—one that many Berserkers wore to tie them to a pack—had a wolf in the middle.

“I bet yes.” Tori laughed and tugged at my red braid. “This is your natural color. Carpet matches the drapes.”

Jaycee’s grin was fixed to her face. “Ginger kitty. Ginger kitty.”

“Are they right?” The dancer asked.

Tori had been right about him flirting with me. I gave him a wink. “Hard wood.”

The party I was with howled their appreciation, and I couldn’t fight my grin. This was fun.

The dancer’s growl was more primal and made my blood run cold. But he moved on from me, back to the other women, who were happy to shower him with tips and praise and tentative touches.

I downed my overpriced bottle of water and waved the waitress over for another.

When the dancer was gone, the women I was with gave their enthusiastic attention to the next couple of dancers, before I announced in the friendliest way I could that we should get going. I could stay here all night and pretend I was one of them, but this was another part of my job—getting them to their rooms safely before they drank themselves into comas.

There were grumbles, but all three of them joined me outside the strip club. This town was small enough that we were walking to their hotel. Not that we’d find a taxi or Uber out here.

I laughed along with them as they stumbled finding their footing with the first few steps, but they managed to right each other as wewalked down the street toward the hotel.

“Did you get his number?” Tori asked. “Did you give him yours?”

I shook my head. “I promise he didn’t want it.”

“He did.” Gwen tried fumbled several times to as she failed to clasp her wristlet shut.

I gently took it from her, closed it up, and secured it to her wrist again. “If anything, he wanted to pin me to a bathroom wall and take a bite of me.”

“Ooh, sexy sexy sexy.” Jaycee spoke in a sing-song voice.

Maybe. Fifty-fifty chance that was a literal desire on his part. It was my understanding that Odin created Berserkers centuries ago, to be his warriors in battle. The few that survived until now tended to long for war. Real, drag-out, knock-down fights, where they didn’t have to hold back.

Not a lot of those going on these days. Not of the hand-to-hand-combat variety.

At least, not the kind where a literal Viking who turned into a wolf or bear didn’t look out of place.

Their desire for a fight also tended to make them sadists in the bedroom. Which was really only fun if they had control of themselves. Fifty-fifty chance there, too.

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