Viking King (The MacLomain Series: Viking Ancestors, Book 1)

by Sky Purington

  Naðr dug his hands into her hair and locked his teeth on the side of her lower neck.

  The unbearable pain in her stomach grew into a tiny pinch as though a foot long needle stabbed her. Pause. The planet stopped spinning. The world went quiet. Every part of her being, physical and no doubt emotional, recoiled into a tight little ball. Then ba-boom. She released another long scream when sinews attached to tendons attached to muscles tried to detach from far too many bones as her body almost seemed to blow apart.

  Truly scared but wholly swept away in the sharp release it brought, her eyes popped open even as the room grew dark. She heard Naðr’s deep masculine roar as he locked up against her, but she was too far gone, transported to another place, one made of weightlessness and drifting on thin air. Bursts of honeyed pleasure continued to wash over her as she stared aimlessly.

  Lost.

  Found.

  It was hard to tell.

  But then it didn’t much matter as everything went hazy then all dimmed before ultimately snapping away into darkness.

  The next thing she knew there was a heavy spat, spat, spat.

  Then a lick across her face.

  She slowly opened her eyes. Not to Naðr over her or even in her but gone entirely. Instead, Guardian was curled up by her side. Eyes shining, her dog smiled. Tucked beneath thick furs on Naðr’s bed, Megan wasn’t far from where they’d last…

  Another lick across her face.

  Patting Guardian, she sat up, disoriented. What the hell had happened? But she knew all too well based on the pleasant sting between her legs.

  She’d slept with her Viking king.

  Flopping back, she stared at the high thatched ceiling above and stretched. Not just slept but had the most amazing sex of her life. How had he pulled that kind of ecstasy from her? Then she remembered…

  He wasn’t just human but dragon.

  But could that alone atone for all he’d made her feel?

  Megan couldn’t help but grin. No, what had happened between them had been all human, all them…him.

  “Mistress,” a girl murmured as she entered.

  Uncomfortable being addressed by a stranger, she pulled the fur closer around her and nodded at the girl who had entered. When Guardian released a low, unusual growl, Megan put a hand on her dog’s neck and shook her head.

  But she paid attention.

  Guardian rarely growled.

  Why now?

  “The king sent me to care for you.” The girl poured water into a cup and held it out to Megan, words soft. “Please. Drink.”

  Guardian growled again, the sound low in her chest as she eyed the servant. While some people might be inclined to shake their head, even say ‘enough’ to their pet, she wasn’t one of them. Rather, she decided to pay attention to the warning. So Megan simply nodded at the girl. “Thanks. Leave the water and go.”

  Yet even as she said it the girl squeezed her fist and tossed what looked to be powder into the air. The next thing Megan knew her head was spinning as Guardian stood over her, hackles raised and ears alert, low growl increasing.

  Then as she tried to raise her weak hands, everything erupted. Her dog barked and launched. A knife sliced. Guardian fell across her chest whimpering. Terrified, she tried to lift her arms to protect herself but couldn’t. Then her dog was pushed aside and she was yanked forward.

  A blurry face filled her vision, her words sharp before all faded away…

  “You now belong to King Rennir.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Naðr sat back on his haunches and eyed the peach strewn sunrise with a small smile on his face. It had been a long time since he last truly appreciated the glory and silent patience of a new sun as she crested the horizon. The way it tossed fresh light over the sea and skimmed like an eager caress over the lines of his ships.

  “She’s pretty enough,” Kjar grunted and spit out a nut.

  Rocking back on his heels, the King draped his arms over his knees and kept on grinning.

  Kjar popped another nut in his mouth, eyes never leaving the long length of the ship. “So you’ll be keeping her then.”

  Past Valhalla then back to Middle Earth he would. Megan was like no other. But it would do him no good to seem eager. “She is here as long as she wishes.”

  Back against the center mast, his shipwright snorted and spit out another bit of shell. “Said so loosely. Then might she wish to try me out before leaving.” He chuckled. “Maybe then she will not wish to leave at all.”

  Not offended in the least by his man’s honesty, Naðr murmured, “Maybe not.”

  Foot suddenly braced on the bench by his side, Kjar rested an elbow on his knee and eyed his king. “It is my greatest hope you only speak from Loki’s ass when you say such, cousin.” He arched a brow. “Or else more than just me will see past your ‘claim’ and try to take her.”

  Naðr stood, stretched and slid a sly grin Kjar’s way. “Could be I will have to marry her.”

  Kjar huffed his words away with a loose wrist. “You’ve known her a few short days and though more foolish than most, even you are not so stupid.”

  Grin widening, Naðr spread his arms and turned to the sea, more alive than he’d been since his Aesa passed on to Valhalla. “Even Odin knows how stupid I might be right now, my friend.”

  Kjar jumped from the boat, his tender gaze never leaving the ship’s fine lines as he muttered, “Bless the gods that even Aesa would forgive your foolish words right now.”

  Disturbed by the change in tone, by his cousin’s insinuation, he kept his voice low and dropped his arms. “Aesa is long gone. Megan is not.”

  “Not long you’ve known this one,” Kjar rumbled, not shying away from Naðr in the least as their eyes locked. “Yet so soon you say goodbye to your wife.”

  It didn’t matter if Aesa had been gone five long years. With Kjar’s sharp, reminding words she once more stood alongside them, skirts blowing, shield held strong in hand as she looked at him with fierce pride. Pained by the memory, he turned his face to the wind.

  Kjar joined him, munching a nut as he eyed the sea. “I mean no harm, my king.”

  Though he meant to retaliate, his cousin’s opinion held sway if for no other reason than his own flare of guilt. But he couldn’t temper what he felt for Megan. No matter how hard he tried. That he’d known her for such a short time didn’t matter. His dragon blood and the beating heart within his chest made it clear she could be his mate. She possessed strength, passion, intelligence. And something more he couldn’t quite figure out. Whatever it was, Naðr wanted it.

  Badly.

  And though he’d taken of her lovely, responsive flesh the eve before and found unspeakable passion, it wasn’t nearly enough. Yet still, he’d not made a show of claiming a woman since Aesa was taken from him.

  “Did you not suggest I make Megan my own just yesterday morn,” Naðr grunted.

  Kjar simply stared at the sea for a long stretch before he eventually nodded. “I did.” Then his eyes cut to Naðr. “But I never meant that you would give her a chair beside yours.”

  When Naðr ground his jaw, his cousin continued. “That chair was Aesa’s. Cherished. It is meant for she who you claim to remain yours. Not she who you will allow to leave if she wishes. No, she who sits in that chair stays, in this life then in the chair by your side in the great halls of Valhalla as you toast a horn of ale to Odin.”

  Naðr frowned.

  He knew damned well what it meant.

  “When you gave the chair to Megan that meant there was no longer room for Aesa, here nor there,” Kjar growled.

  What, was he supposed to never have another woman sit by his side? Yet he knew how protective his kin were of Aesa’s memory.

  “Maybe,” Naðr said softly, dangerously, between his teeth, as his eyes met Kjar’s. “I believe Odin would allow two women to share such a seat. That my god is capable of such mercy. Because would it not be such if I found myself lonely for so long here on Middle
Earth then, despite how I fought it, eventually found love again?”

  Though blasphemous righteousness flashed in Kjar’s eyes, he didn’t miss a flicker of something else. A softening. “I like Megan but cannot help but defend Aesa.”

  And he understood that. He suspected more than anything, especially based on Kjar’s show of support to Megan the eve before, that his main concern simply lay in not wanting Naðr to let her go so easily.

  Naðr clasped him on the shoulder, words soft. “I know.”

  As if he’d been reluctant to bring it up but figured it needed saying, Kjar eyed him. “Aesa’s raven came the first night Megan was here. What did it tell you?”

  “That change has come,” Naðr murmured. “That Raknar and I must let her go.”

  Kjar’s expression hardened and he inhaled deeply. “Yet you kept your distance from Megan for days after.”

  “Do not think it was easy for me to hear such a message.” He started walking down the dock and his shipwright kept pace. Though he knew his cousin had more to say he remained silent as Meyla headed their way. Kjar nodded and strode ahead when she stopped before Naðr.

  “Father.”

  “Daughter.” Naðr slowly steered them back the way she’d come. “You’re up early.”

  “I am.” Meyla seemed to consider her words carefully and rather than address the issue he knew she was here for, she instead said, “So is Megan to your liking?”

  “Yes.” He eyed her, curious. “And is she to yours?”

  “Does it much matter what I think?” she murmured.

  Naðr frowned, took her hand and stopped them. “It always matters what you think.”

  Meyla notched her chin and didn’t shy away from his gaze. “Really? It doesn’t seem so lately. Since Valan’s arrived, you’ve been impossible.”

  When his frown deepened, she continued. “I know he did some less than admirable things in his life but by coming here so that Torra might remain safe, he rose above his previous actions. Why can you not see that?”

  “Might it be said that he ultimately came here because he’d laid eyes on you in Scotland?” Naðr countered. “So although his actions seemed noble they were likely done out of selfishness.”

  “Is loving me so selfish then?” She stood up straighter. “Do I not deserve it after what I left behind in Scotland with Adlin MacLomain? Do I not deserve it after leaving a child I loved, not to mention a man I’d come to care for a great deal?”

  Perhaps that was half of his frustration right there. That she did deserve to be loved after what she’d sacrificed. And despite how he tried, Naðr found it difficult to believe that a man like Valan could love so deeply twice.

  Still, things couldn’t continue as they were between him and Meyla. His daughter was his world and until King Rennir started causing so many problems, they’d been very close. Maybe Megan was right. Maybe he should start trying to push past his dislike of Valan if for no other reason than to ease the tension between him and his daughter.

  So, though it took a great deal, he spoke the words she needed to hear, grateful they didn’t sound strained. “If Valan makes you happy then you have my blessing.”

  Though her eyes narrowed slightly, there was a new light in them. “Truly?”

  Naðr nodded, voice firm, eager to see her happy. “Truly.”

  He couldn’t hold back a smile when she flung her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest. If nothing else could be said for the Scotsman, he’d treated Meyla well since arriving here and stared at her often with tenderness. Not to mention, he’d saved Megan from drowning. So he supposed the man had some decency rattling around inside him.

  Naðr wrapped his arms around his daughter and held her tightly. It’d been far too long since he felt this. She might be a woman grown, but Meyla would always be his little girl. A piece of him and Aesa that would live on.

  But despite speaking of his deceased wife with Kjar and reconnecting with his daughter, Naðr’s thoughts continued to wander back to Megan. Since leaving her in his bed this morning, he’d felt like a new man.

  Meyla pulled back and slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow as they continued walking. Contented it seemed by their discussion, she remained silent for some time before speaking, a touch of humor in her voice. “So I take it Megan is no longer my slave.”

  Naðr quirked his lip. “I think we both know she never was to begin with.”

  “Mmm.” Meyla pursed her lips, considering. “I like her.”

  “Do you?” Because nothing would mean more.

  Meyla nodded. “She has fire in her.” Then his daughter eyed him with a smirk. “Not many women stand up to you. In truth, none do.” Then her voice softened but wasn’t as sad as he thought it would be. “Not like mother did.”

  Naðr pressed his lips together, caught in rare emotion.

  “Mother would like her too,” Meyla said, sounding quite sure and pushing aside heavy emotions for them both. “She’d want you to teach Megan how to fight because something tells me she’d do well with a weapon.”

  No doubt she would.

  The idea of Megan with a sword in hand aroused him to no end. She’d been a wild little thing in bed with her golden eyes soft and simmering as she tempted him then blazing pure fire when she fought against him. Then there was the dewy, well-sated look after…

  He cleared his throat and set aside thoughts of her before his groin tightened.

  Meyla was about to speak but stopped when Megan’s dog, Guardian trotted slowly out of the front gates. Naðr tensed as the dog lumbered toward them; fur bloodied, barking and growling all at once as her weak, vague words hit his mind.

  My person. Gone. Taken. Bad.

  Chest tight, furious, refusing to panic, Naðr picked up the dog and strode quickly into the compound, all the while flinging words over his shoulder to Meyla. “Find the healer. Now.”

  Meanwhile, he shoved words into his brother’s minds. “Megan’s been taken. Gather twenty of our best men, provisions, and weapons then meet me out back.”

  Past repressed panic, Naðr was now nothing less than infuriated as he made quick work of soothing Guardian. Soon enough, he left her with Raknar’s son, Heidrek and gathered up as many weapons as he could strap to his body and comfortably travel with. If he could shift into the dragon right now, he would. But agreements had been struck and for now, he would not.

  Kol, Raknar, Kjar and twenty of their best fighters met him on the path leading up into the mountains. All looked grim and said nothing when met with Naðr’s heavy scowl. Receiving a satchel, he wrapped a fur cloak over his shoulders and ground out, “How the hel did Rennir’s men get her? I sensed nothing.”

  Because he knew it’d been the enemy king. And being the strongest with dragon magic, Naðr should have at least sensed it. That’s what irked and worried him the most.

  “Better bring your prisoner if you want to make a trade.”

  Naðr froze when the foreign voice entered his mind. Loki’s hel and cock.

  “Rennir’s bitch has her,” he bit out. So as he suspected all along, Rennir was somehow involved with Nathan.

  Kol and Raknar cursed but awaited his orders.

  Jaw grinding, his frown deepened. Nothing good would come of Rennir getting his hands on Nathan. A man like the rival king shouldn’t have access to the future any more than the queen who now sat by his side.

  While Naðr normally wouldn’t do anything to put his people in harm’s way, he vaguely wondered if he wasn’t getting ready to do just that when he barked at several warriors. “Go get the prisoner who sat by my side last eve.”

  His brothers, even Kjar, knew better than to contradict his order, but he didn’t miss the firm set to their jaws or their wary glances. He knew what went through their minds. You’re thinking with your cock.

  Maybe he was.

  But he’d be damned if Rennir got ahold of Megan.

  Because the tyrant didn’t have her yet. Led by his
queen, his witch, he’d sent in a small band to kidnap her. One that knew these mountains better than most and would be moving fast…maybe. Naðr didn’t wait for the men retrieving Nathan but strode on. They knew how to track despite snowfall and would catch up.

  His brothers fell in on either side and said nothing at first. As Naðr knew would be the case, Kjar kept the men far enough behind them that they could speak in private. And it didn’t take them long.

  “You’re quick to give up a prisoner who could cause us great harm,” Raknar said.

  “Especially considering we can’t shift to the dragon,” Kol reminded.

  “Maybe,” Naðr gave. “But more harm will come from Rennir getting his hands on Megan.”

  Raknar’s eyes narrowed. “Because of the agreement with the seers?”

  “At the very least.” Naðr shook his head and gave them logic. “Only Megan knows where the three stones are. And those stones are directly connected to our power…to us. If he gets his hands on them real trouble will come. One that will likely destroy us all.”

  “Why bother bargaining for Nathan then?” Kol said.

  “Because the man’s arrogance knows no bounds,” Raknar spat. “Within Nathan’s mind lays all the information about the scrolls and what they contained. Then, when ready, Rennir assumes he’ll so easily again take Megan.” His brother’s eyes went to Naðr. “Which leads me to believe he knows something we do not.”

  And though it was likely the last thing Raknar would want to hear he said, “Or his queen, Yrsa does.”

  Raknar clenched his jaw and Kol cursed beneath his breath.

  Done with the conversation, Naðr said, “After we get Megan back, we will visit the seers.”

  Hearing the finality in his tone, his brothers said nothing more. He’d tucked Megan’s stone in his pocket that morning and nobody save her would get it from him lest off his dead carcass. And that wouldn’t be happening any time soon. He might have agreed not to shift into a dragon for now but fighting in human form had always been his passion above all others.

  So, though his worry over Megan grew, he focused on rage as they climbed higher into the mountains. Naðr thought of the various ways he intended to kill the men they’d eventually catch up with. And they would. Sooner rather than later. As the hours passed, he kept nothing but vengeance in his heart and prayed to the gods.