“Hail! It’s good to meet you,” I say, trying to give off an air of confidence as I lean in and sniff behind Natalie’s ear. Her overly sweet fragrance hits my nose, and I have to fight back a sneeze. She gasps and the blood rushes to my face. “Apologies. We shifters usually greet each other by scenting.”
Natalie laughs, one hand on her chest. “Oh! That’s quite all right. I hope I smell good. I’m trying out a new fragrance.”
“Mum, shifters are very sensitive to fragrances,” Arlo says, a hint of frustration in his voice. “I told you that.”
“No worries,” I assure him, sniffling. Damn, the smell won’t leave my nose.
Patricia holds out a hand, which I shake. “Call me Patty, dear. It is nice to meet you,” she says, but her scent is clouded with unease, and she keeps eyeing my teeth.
“You as well.”
“Gunnar. Arlo’s told us quite a bit about you,” William says and shakes my hand hard. His eyes, the same dark shade as his son’s, bore into mine. My wolf stirs, reacting to the dominant display.
“Come on in,” Natalie says, motioning us inside. “Would you like tea or coffee, Gunnar?”
“Coffee,” I say. I’m not sure what tea is, but Jamie has brought coffee from his cafe to the past on several occasions. As I cross the threshold, magic ripples over my skin, filling me with unease. “What was that?” I whisper, nudging Arlo.
He sighs. “Oh, for the love of Freya… They warded the threshold. If the spell perceives you as a threat, you’ll be thrown out.”
“Why would they do that?” I ask.
Arlo worries his lower lip. “My family is overprotective of me.”
“No, really?” I try to get my frustration under control. “What must I do to earn their trust?”
“They’ll ask you to make hospitality with them. It’s an old custom but many covens still use it as a show of good faith.”
“Come sit, lads!” Patricia calls out. She and William are in the sitting room. The sofa and armchairs are covered with floral fabric. Large windows offer ample sunlight and a view of the yard. There’s a shrine to Freya just outside.
Arlo takes a seat on the sofa, and I follow his lead, pressing right up against his side. I need him close, and it’s not just so I can feel his warmth against me. My wolf is unsettled, and his instincts are demanding I stay close to Arlo and keep him safe, even though I know his family would never harm him. Arlo gives me a curious look but doesn’t move away. His hand settles on my thigh, his touch warm and reassuring.
Patricia smooths out the wrinkles in her dress. William keeps staring at me, eyeing the spot where Arlo is touching me.
“Well,” Patricia says, “Arlo’s told us you’re from the past, Gunnar. From what time?”
“Aye.” What else can I say? I don’t bloody know what year it is, or what name my part of the world goes by now.
“He’s from the Viking Age, Nan,” Arlo says cheerily. “Somewhere in the eight hundreds, I believe.”
Patricia’s eyes widen. “Really! Are you a Viking, then?”
It takes me a moment to understand what she means. The word is familiar, of course, but the way she’s using it is all wrong. “If you’re asking whether I go vikingr, the answer is yes. I’veraided many parts of the world, from the shores of Northumbria to the deserts of the Muslim world.”
“How fascinating!”
William says, “Don’t you lot keep slaves?”
“Dad,” Arlo hisses, his hand tightening in the fabric of my trousers.
“Aye, we did,” I answer. “We no longer keep thralls.”
“But you’ve killed people?”
“Dad, let’s talk about something else.”
I shrug. “Of course. Those too weak to defend themselves have no place in this world. It’s the way of life.”
William hums thoughtfully. “You know, Arlo, one of the earliest Viking raids was on English soil, at the monastery of Lindisfarne. They slaughtered unarmed monks in cold blood. Isn’t that right, Gunnar?” He poses it as a genuine question, but his intentions reek of hostility.
