“Some facet of me sensed you were the man behind the mask,” she licks her lips and swallows, “yet, the thought of another man inside me.” She shivers as if horrified at the thought.
“That will never happen,” he reassures her despite her gaping. He presses a finger to her lips. “There will be no more discussion of this tonight.”
She nods, although he can tell something still bothers her.
“Did you see Thrain’s puffy sleeves?” Sigvid changes the subject.
She snickers. “You should have brought Samson. They can pretend to fly to the moon together with those wings on the stupid Timber tunics.”
“Fly away, little bitches, fly away.” He puffs smoke rings over her short form, drawing a faint grin on her lips. “And he did not even break out the good sliver. I figured with Mother’s appearance, he would try to impress. Judging by his tunic and tight-ass pants, I think he is in a contest for the most tasteless. If I am not mistaken, he has powder on his cheeks.”
She giggles. “He is not impressing anyone.” Her words held a weightier tone, as if she is attempting to convey something more to him.
She twirls one of her loose curls. The way they cascade down her back tonight gives her the appearance of an afterlife spirit. He wants to bury in her soft hair and inhale until he is drunk off her scent.
She opens her mouth as if wanting to say something but closes it. “Who invited Helga?” She exclaims, almost as a cover for what she wants to ask.
Does she not know she can tell me everything?
“She is part of my inner circle and accompanies me along with Slode and Kar.”
“Did you and she ever…?”
Sigvid raises a single brow. “Speak what you mean.”
“Have you bedded her?” And then she mutters something about Finn.
“No, I have not and have no intention. Although,” he decides if he is to keep Avina around, he must be more truthful, “I caught her amid a passionate embrace with Thrain three winters ago. She had only given her oath five winters before. I feared he corrupted her. You know enough of my brother.”
He nods to the door where Thrain is schmoozing so hard it hurts to watch. “I cannot have it known that one of my sworn Drengr was fucking my spineless brother.”
She sighs into her chair, relief flooding her features.
His foot moves under the table to brush against hers while he watches Thrain’s number two. “I do not think that man has a brain,” they observe as he uses his dagger to pick something between his teeth.
Her foot answers his with the slightest of moments along his lower leg. “Earlier, he picked his nose and flicked it somewhere in this room.” She whispers in time for the group to move toward them.
“Hopefully, it was in Thrain’s chair. Heads up, people are incoming.”
“Avina!” Ingirid wraps an arm around her with a wide smile. “Wonderful to see you, my dear.” Ingirid sits between Frida and a tall woman with insanely long legs on the same side of the table as Avina.
Slode thumps into the chair between Avina and Sigvid at the opposite head of the table from Thrain.
“How’d I get stuck between you two?” He slurs.
“You smell like a barrel of mead.” Sigvid coughs, wondering how much the man drank before the soiree. “Are you saying you would rather sit by Thrain? At least you can be at the enjoyable end of the table.”
Sigvid holds up his mug and clinks it on Avina’s and then Slode’s. They each drink, and he is aware of her beautiful blues, watching him over her goblet.
“Thank you all for coming tonight.” Thrain holds up a goblet with his charming smile full of lies. “Tonight, we celebrate my beautiful mother and the beginning of our Winter Solstice season…”
He goes on to say a load of bullshit Sigvid ignores.
Instead, he watches the stunning creature across from him shred her name tag into tiny pieces.
“What did that bit of paper do to you?” He whispers as he withdraws his pipe and begins packing the bowl.
“He.” Rip. “Wrote.” Rip. “Timber.” Rip. “Queen.”
