Chapter 13

Chapter

Thirteen

He Said, She Said: To Negotiate with a Warrior, You Must Be a Warrior

From A Beginner's Guide to Berserker Bliss

Author Unknown

H ead up, shoulders back, book clutched close, I approached Callen's bedroom door. My tough as nails fa?ade softened the moment I spied Thora sitting in the hall. Smiling, I bent down to pet her.

Turning her head, she pretended she didn't see me. Angry that I hadn't come to find her the second I got home? My smile only widened. "Hello, Lady Thorn. You are too cute. But you know that, don't you?"

I scratched behind her ears and kissed her adorable face. "Pencil me in for a cuddle tonight. Right now, Momma's gonna make headway with the man of the house or die trying. Do you want to serve as my backup or get out while the getting is good? "

Without hesitation, the pooch trotted off. Not once did she look back.

I snorted as I straightened, realized I was seconds away from facing a one man firing squad, and fought to re-don my tough face. Okay. All right. Let's do this. While I wouldn't be seducing Callen, I would re-open the negotiation concerning our living arrangements.

I lifted my hand to knock but stopped myself in time. He was the one who'd insisted we share this bedroom. Why should I announce myself to enter my space?

I clasped the doorknob and, with my spine straight, entered the spacious chamber. Mistake! He wore a white towel, and only a white towel. The soft material clung low to a trim waist, the hem stopping just above his knees. My eyes drank in a sea of scarred skin here, there, everywhere. Obtained before his immortality set in? And what about those muscles! Biceps, pecs, and abs, oh my. The happy trail that disappeared beneath the cloth stole my breath.

Those thick black marks sleeved both of his arms, with several rows tattooed across his chest. The history book hadn't explained what those lines meant. His number of decades alive?

He'd just taken a shower. Damp hair hung in disarray around his face. He still hadn't shaved, the five o'clock shadow now working overtime. He was in the process of lifting a pair of boxer briefs from a dresser drawer, his blank expression betraying nothing.

"Should I remove the towel so you can inspect the rest of me?" he asked with an even tone.

I mean, if he was offering? No. Bad! Mortification burned my skin from head to toe as I jerked my focus away from him. Hmm. There was something different about the room. Oh! He'd removed his brother's mounted head. Plus, he'd set up a feeding station for Thora in the far corner.

Surprise sent my gaze zooming back to him. Though only seconds had passed, he now evinced an emotion. A good one, too. A hint of amusement glittered in his heavily lashed baby blues.

He arched a brow and gripped the waist of the towel, reminding me of his question. "Well?"

"No, thank you. I've seen enough," I told him primly, setting the book on a side table. "I'm here to continue our negotiations."

He blinked at me. "Is that so?" After returning the underwear to the drawer, he crossed his arms over his chest. "So much time has passed, you'll need to refresh my memory."

Gonna play hardball, was he? "You put an offer on the table—for twenty-five thousand pounds, Thora and I move into your bedroom. Now I'm ready to give my counter."

"Earlier, your price was twenty thousand."

"Yes, but as you pointed out, so much time has passed, and there's inflation, you see. So. For twenty-five thousand pounds, Thora and I get the bed, and you get the floor. No exceptions. There will be no move making at any time." He might be one of the fiercest, deadliest men on the planet, and his servants might plead with me to seduce him and improve his mood, but I would not bend! "We are enemy-roommates, nothing more."

He tilted his head and cranked up his smolder. "My body will be a shield for yours, if ever a foe storms the home. Knowing this, do you still wish to proceed with this separate beds negotiation? Because lass? I'm verra good at workin' a bargain to my favor. You will lose far more than you win. "

A shield? He suspected Tavish would return, and Callen expected to guard my life with his? When my bones threatened to melt at the sweetness, I ground my teeth. "If you're half the berserker your confidence says you are, a bit of distance won't keep you from saving me. Besides, if there's truly a threat, you'd be more concerned for Mirren and Gavina."

"I wasn't exaggerating when I told you the wolf king obsesses over my firebrand. They all do. It's a biological response they cannot overcome."

So why had Tavish helped Isobel, the fated one, rather than harm her? Why hadn't the wolf king abducted me when he'd had the chance and tormented Callen with my capture?

"Yes," I said. "I still wish to proceed with this negotiation."

"Verra well."

The man, uh, berserker, err, immortal almost seemed happy with my choice.

He closed the distance, stopping directly in front of me, a tower of menace and strength. Well, maybe not menace, but something far worse. Challenge. The most sublime heat radiated from him, caressing my skin. His scent filled my nose, fogging my head. Awareness highjacked my good sense.

"Allow me to give my counter," he purred.

Uh-oh. I wasn't going to like what happened next, was I? Well, he had warned me.

"You'll sleep on the floor. I will sleep on the bed. You will receive no payment of any kind."

I…he…we… gah! That was so not what I'd expected him to say. Why not insist I sleep in the bed with him? We were married, after all. Well, not married married. Not us. But he didn't know that.

Focus . "What happened to chivalry?"

"I'll be chivalrous. I won't kick you out if you crawl under my covers in the middle of the night." Gaze glittering, he backed away slowly, reached for the waist of the towel–and dropped the material.

My jaw went slack. What I didn't do? Close my eyes or spin around. He was just so big. Huge. I took my time looking over his trim waist, tree trunk thighs and everywhere in between. Licking my lips, I fanned my reheating cheeks.

For some reason, my undisturbed scrutiny disturbed him, and he stiffened. He pivoted to reveal the world's sexiest backside and returned to the underwear drawer, where he swiped up and stepped into a pair of black boxer briefs, ending my leering.

"Until then," he added, keeping his back to me, "blankets are in the cabinet." He rasped the words. "Good night. Though I expect you're in for a bad one."

I remained in place, floundering for a response. For the right thoughts. He strode to the bed, slid under the soft, dark blue covers, plumped a mound of pillows, then settled in with his hands locked behind his head. Golden lamplight bathed him, highlighting features now a little too smug for my liking.

He expected me to cave and climb in, didn't he?

Nose in the air, I flounced to the specified cabinet and withdrew two comforters. One for the floor, one for me. I felt the sear of Callen's attention all the while. "What do you hope to gain through this situation? Sex? Because the only thing you'll get from me is trouble."

Intimacy was the main reason I'd broken up with August. As we'd argued more and more about even the littlest things, we'd lost all sense of companionship. It was also the reason I'd clashed with so many of the men my mother shoved into my path. Most of the guys had hinted at a no strings arrangement, but deep down, I sought what my namesake had expected. Love and respect and mutual affection. I wouldn't settle for anything less.

I could guess what would happen if Callen and I slept together. We would return to being adversaries with a tragic past, and I'd fight harder to get home, laden with even more guilt.

"Not everything is about sex, Elle."

Dang him. That was a good answer. And he'd used my shortened name of his own accord, plus a firm tone that pointed to truth. "What's this about, then? Besides safety." Determined, I made my pallet before the unlit hearth, kicked off my shoes, then laid down. And struggled to get comfortable. The floor sucked. Hard and uncomfortable. And cold!

"If you don't know, it's too early for the conversation. Also, if you wish for me to believe that you don't want me," he said, switching off the lamp, welcoming darkness into the room, "donna look at me as if you could eat me alive."

Fair enough. Wasn't like I could deny it. "Donna put your goods and services on display then," I retorted, mocking him. I rolled to my side, showing him my back. I wouldn't be moving from this spot for any reason, and that was that.

"I'm not sorry," he rasped, his voice pure temptation.

I breathed through my nose and out my mouth, willing my erratic pulse to calm. Why'd he have to sound like everything I'd ever wanted?

"Just so you know, I donna have a mistress," he added, " and I willna' seek another. It would dishonor our vows and make me into a liar and a cheater, traits I despise."

The sudden seriousness of his tone and the openness of the statements caught me off guard.

Our vows, he'd said. The vows he'd made with a different woman. Groaning, I pulled the cover over my head. Thankfully, he said nothing more. Did nothing but let the minutes pass. Another surprise. He didn't strike me as the type to give up easily. Unless he played the long game…

In the quiet, the trials of the day took their toll. My eyelids grew heavy, and sleep came, consuming every thought in its path.

A gloriously scented cocoon surrounded me. I snuggled deeper into my bed. Hmm. The mattress was harder than usual, yet also somehow softer. And warmer. Far better. Total relaxation overtook me, and I drifted into a new dream.

The most beautiful images dominated center stage. A small chapel with ornate stained-glass windows and fancy murals painted all over the walls. Colorful flowers hung in every direction. Petals littered the floor, creating a path between two rows of pews, filled by men in tuxes and kilts and women in formal gowns and hats.

How lovely. Except yikes. No one smiled. Frowns and scowls abounded, each directed at me.I stood atop a dais, decked out in Isobel's wedding dress, Callen a tower of strength beside me. And still not wearing a kilt. Though I couldn't complain about his current fashion choice. Wowzer .

He looked like how I imagined a berserker would've appeared hundreds of years ago. War paint streaked his freshly shaven face. Thick metal bands crisscrossed his bare chest. Metal cupped his shoulders, too, anchoring a fur wrap in place. Leather hugged those powerful thighs, and a loincloth made of interlocking metal plates hung over the pants, draping his groin. Weapons of every kind were strapped to his hulking body. Swords. Daggers. An ax and crossbow. Even a spear. The icing on top of his look? The cold stare making me desperate to melt him.

The man was a romance novel hero come to life.

As I studied him, I teetered on my stilettos and almost toppled. He caught me, and I giggled in his face. His coldness only intensified, becoming an arctic freeze. After he helped me straighten and steady, I decided it would be a good idea to poke his pec.

"Pretty muscles," I slurred before full-on petting him. At least I wasn't trying to walk through a mirror. "Do you strip out of a police costume too, or are you strictly a Norse-Scottish serial killer?"

The question sparked flickers of neon blue rings in his irises. The sight startled me, and I gasped, jolting upright. My hand flew to my throat, where my pulse raced. Okay, that hadn't felt like a dream, but a memory. As if I had relived Isobel's recollection of the event and inserted myself.

Had I?

Hey! I wasn't near the hearth or on the floor. I lay on—oh, no, no, no. I lay on Callen. Like, on top of him. He stretched out beneath me. Only my T-shirt and pants separated us. I scrambled to the other side of the bed.

He slowly opened his eyes and gifted me with a smug smile. "Good mornin', wife. Did you have a nice night? "

"Oh!" I said as his rumbly timbre washed over me. With a huff, I leaped from the mattress. "Go ahead, Chuckles. Laugh it up." So badly I longed to blame him for my position. Accuse him of picking me up and carting me to the bed. But a hazy remembrance lurked in the back of my mind. Tossing and turning for far too long before deciding to sleep in a chair.

When the chair had proved even more uncomfortable than the floor, I'd inched my way onto the bed, certain I could maintain my distance from Callen.

"Just know." I wagged an index finger at him, then shoved errant locks of hair from my eyes. "You may have won a minor battle, but you haven't won the war."

"Are you sure?" He sounded smugger, if that were possible. "You're eating me up with your gaze again."

Argh! What had brought about this comfortable, almost playful change in him? And what could I do to reverse it? Because dang. He was all kinds of charming, and I wasn't a fan. Not in the slightest bit. Nope. Not even a little bit.

I anchored my hands on my hips. Time for desperate measures. "Remember how much you hate me? With good reason! I'm a terrible person. The worst!"

"You are, aye," he agreed. "But I think I like you, anyway."

What! How dare he agree with me and offer a compliment in the same breath?

And he wasn't even done. "In your description, you forgot to mention the most important fact." A sense of possession radiated from him. "You are mine."

It was the second time he'd claimed me, and my brain sort of short-circuited.

"We have a busy day ahead," he announced before I thought up a response. "The American king has come to meet you and pay his respects. We're to convene at the stones in two hours."

Oooh. Could I sneak into the American's entourage, if he had one, to get home? Wait. "The stones? As in pieces of the Starfire?" Had it been found? Could it reverse what had been done?

Frowning as if I'd mentioned something I shouldn't, Callen tilted his head. "No one has seen the Starfire since its disappearance. I'm speaking of the traveling stones in neutral territory. You will wear a ceremonial gown. I've taken the liberty of selecting it for you. It's hanging in our closet."

Our closet? Oh! The traveling stones! I'd get to see them. But, uh, ceremonial gown? Panic sparked. A ceremonial gown pointed to a formal occasion. A formal occasion pointed to countless traditions. Countless traditions pointed to things I should know how to do and say, but didn't. What if I gave myself away?

I needed time apart from him so I could read more of my book and find out what in the world he was talking about. "Are you wearing your listening ears? I'm taking a shower to prepare for a better day, and you are not to enter the bathroom for any reason. Got it?"

"I will no' enter. You have my word. Unless you're in danger or the clock runs out." He held up his hands, palms out, still so at ease. "Now that I know it's coming, I'd rather wait for your invitation."

He couldn't know…I wouldn't… What a frustrating, annoying, too sexy man! Huffing again, I gathered my things, including the book, and stomped into the en suite, kicking the door shut behind me. No lock. Because who would dare burst in upon a king? But fine. Whatever. I could roll with this. To my astonishment, I di dn't fear an unwanted visit from Callen. I guess part of me actually trusted him.

I mean, when you thought about it, he wasn't such a bad guy. He was an amazing father, his love for his daughter undeniable. I had yet to see a true hint of his rage. And, if the parts of the history book I'd devoured were to be believed, berserkers lived by an unbreakable code. They didn't lie, as he'd claimed, and they didn't betray one another unless evil invaded their hearts. Despite my supposed terrible past with Callen, they considered me part of the fold. A fated mate. The calmer of the Big, Bad Beast.

But what was I even doing right now? Mooning over him rather than focusing on surviving the ceremony—and the fact that I'd soon be spending another night in his arms?