Enslaved by a Viking

by Delilah Devlin

  The crowd shifted, and she drew farther to the back to avoid detection, her nose twitching at the mix of perfumes surrounding her. She wore none. Only the scent of her soap. She hadn’t bothered with cosmetics because she’d have felt foolish if one particular man noticed that she’d primped. She wasn’t here to taste the offerings. Wasn’t looking to excite them into sexual frenzy and feel the thrust of their exaggerated penises.

  She’d already experienced that with one of them. Her body remembered his touch and the memory still haunted. Fatin fought the butterflies in her belly, the nervousness she felt every time she came within spitting distance of the Wolfskin prince. Aye, she knew who he was.

  Aliyah had invited her to the unveiling because she was the one responsible for the capture of so many wondrous specimens. She’d pleaded and wheedled when Fatin balked, saying that Fatin would be feted, praised, her name remembered for her courage and cleverness.

  Not that Fatin wanted the praise or the glory. She’d accepted the contract to procure Norsemen for the breeding facility for only one reason. If Aliyah believed her complicit, even eager to do her bidding, Fatin would stand a better chance of being invited here again and of having free rein to visit the other salons within the compound.

  Somewhere, deep inside the most cloistered salon, was her sister. She didn’t know for certain whether Zarah still lived except for the occasional rumor of an exotic, so treasured and pampered that only the wealthiest among the Helio elite could afford her company. Zarah had to be inside the women’s saray.

  Fatin slipped among the crowd, listening to the excited whispers of the women, and wondered what their husbands thought, and whether they knew at all where their wives spent their money. Or if this was one of those acceptable lies, so long as the wife was pleasured and bore fruit from her privileged womb.

  Declining fertility, weakening genetic material among the men of this world, had seemed like reason enough to steal the Vikings from their home. She’d been a bounty hunter, retrieving criminals who’d jumped planet to stand trial. She had the experience and the beauty necessary for this dangerous mission.

  Just weeks ago, she’d listened to Aliyah’s pitch, nodded her agreement, and brushed aside any niggling doubts that what she did was right. The men would be milked of their seed, and that seed used to breed stronger Helios. The scientists assured them that superior Helio intellect would be bred into the next generation.

  Why did no one remember the promises made the last time the experiments began or the awful results?

  But that wasn’t her problem, and she didn’t have the luxury of worrying over the Vikings’ fates or even the stain left on her own soul. These human men weren’t doomed to a lifetime of servitude, not if they played the game. Each could be wealthy beyond their dreams. Each stood the chance to earn his freedom.

  Just as she had.

  She would stay focused on the deal she’d made with Aliyah. The blocks of ore and the fat sack of gold coins she’d earned for this first delivery were a nice down payment. She had enough worries on her plate after stealing the cargo from her partner in this venture. The pirate Roxana wouldn’t rest until she had her head.

  “Have you ever seen the like, Calliope?”

  The awe-filled tone of the woman beside her made Fatin pause.

  “I must have the dark one. Did you see him at the auction? His cock is twice the size of my husband’s.”

  The women giggled and moved away, seeking a word with Aliyah while they pointed toward the dark one, Eirik.

  Fatin didn’t want to care that the man they bargained to have had been the one she’d been most reluctant to steal.

  From the first moment she’d heard his name spoken by the mining camp supervisor on New Iceland, she’d fixed her sights on the Ulfhednar heir, even knowing that kidnapping one of the ruling class was a capital offense. The temptation had been too great. A chance to exploit his plight and the unsavory practice of sexual slavery was more than she’d hoped for.

  Why had he kept his identity a secret for so long? Did he fear he’d be killed the moment he did expose the crime? The excuse was plausible. Still, she didn’t think much frightened the man who’d surprised and enthralled her at every turn. Perhaps he hoped to escape and avoid the humiliation of having been bested by a woman, a situation made all the worse by his gentle treatment of her.

  She’d posed as a contracted sex-thrall at the remote mining camp. As soon as he’d entered the small, curtained sleep chamber she’d been assigned to await his pleasure, he’d been eager to take her. Moments after yanking closed the curtain, he’d slid away the blanket she’d used to hide her naked form. As any man presented with a whore for his use, he’d begun without any thought except for his own pleasure.

  However, once he’d plunged inside her, and she’d gasped, shocked by the fierceness of his invasion and the size of his sex, he’d gentled his assault, taking the time and care to pull her into an arousal so strong, she’d felt a moment’s regret about causing him harm.

  “What is your name?” he’d murmured against her lips as she’d straddled him while he sat at the edge of his sleeping bench.

  “Fatin,” she’d whispered, meeting his gaze, liking the heat banked in his blue eyes.

  His chest had expanded, pressing against her swollen nipples. “You please me,” he’d said, in his deep, rumbling baritone.

  She’d felt a twinge of conscience, knowing what she would do.

  Then he’d said, “I’ll see you’re well compensated.”

  She’d bitten her lower lip to still her disappointment. For just a moment, she’d thought he’d seen her as more than just a whore. Her glance fell away to hide the anger welling up inside her.

  With a callused finger, he’d nudged up her face. She’d tilted it, meeting his kiss, her eyes never closing.

  He’d gently suckled her lower lip, seducing rather than forcing her cooperation.

  So many thoughts had swirled inside her head. Regrets that she hadn’t met him under other circumstances because she would have liked to know whether he would have treated her any differently. Fear, because he was brawnier than any of the others she’d captured and could easily overcome her if she didn’t catch him unawares. And gods, how he filled her.

  With her channel stretching to accommodate his girth, her breath had seeped into his mouth. She’d loosed a sigh and then a delicate moan that seemed to increase the tension in his body.

  He’d pushed back her hair, cupped her head in one large palm, and tipped her face higher still to deepen the kiss.

  As she rose and sank on his cock, she’d panted and shivered.

  Eirik had growled deep inside his chest, sounding every inch the barbarian he was. She’d given him a little half smile while her womb quickened, then shook back her hair.

  He’d gripped her hips hard, urging her to rise and fall faster.

  Her orgasm had caught her by surprise, flaring outward from her pussy, causing her belly to tremble, her hips to buck. Ripples had slid along her channel to caress his thick length.

  “How you please me, darkling,” he’d whispered.

  She’d been impaled on his cock, a powerful orgasm unlike anything she’d ever experienced before rippling through her, when she’d plunged the needle into his neck and activated the locator for her men to find and transport her from the planet’s surface to the ship’s hold.

  How embarrassing that had been—their molecules reassembling on the cargo floor, their groins still intimately connected. His cock had slid from inside her, and she’d had to force steel into a body gone liquid and pliant. In that moment, she’d hated him for making her doubt herself, for making her feel as though she’d committed a great sin.

  He was just a man. Led by his bollocks. Like all the other captives she’d ensnared.

  And yet, she’d visited his cage often to ensure he’d survived and to ogle and admire his large frame. His fury with her hadn’t lessened her interest even a little bit.

 
Only to herself, and reluctantly, would she admit that she was obsessed with the fierce giant, although he was likely angry enough to kill her if she came within reach. Even now, she sought glimpses of him through the crowd, her gaze eating up every inch of his tall, muscled physique.

  “There you are,” came a soft, drawling voice.

  Fatin jerked toward Aliyah, who watched her with her avid black gaze.

  A dark brow rose. “The women already clamor for first rights. But I think you’ve earned your choice. Would you like to start the games?”

  Heat filling her cheeks, Fatin shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to be the center of the spectacle soon to occur.

  “Come,” Aliyah said, her long-fingered hand wrapping around Fatin’s wrist to pull her through the crowd. “You don’t have to pay. Consider this a bonus for your hard work.”

  “You’ve already been very generous, mistress,” Fatin gritted out between her teeth, dragging her feet.

  “I saw the way you looked at that dark-haired barbarian. Your eyes ate him up. And the way he looked at you during the auction—” Aliyah broke off and laughed, fanning herself with her free hand. “His ‘attention’ was all for you, my dear.”

  The crowd parted, making a path that led straight to the Vikings lined up at the front of the room. Every hard, male gaze homed in on her approach.

  Panic surging through her body, Fatin dug in her heels and tried to break free of Aliyah’s grip, but the whore-mistress was surprisingly strong. Fatin was unwilling to use any fighting moves she’d learned to harm the woman. Too much rode on Aliyah’s continued goodwill.

  “Really, mistress,” Fatin said breathlessly as they neared the edge of the crowd, “I’m very happy to stand back and let another have the first taste.”

  “I wouldn’t hear of it.” Aliyah drew back her arm and flung Fatin forward.

  Fatin spun toward the Vikings. The one standing next to Eirik opened his arms, and she landed against his naked chest.

  Laughter surrounded them—high-pitched gales from the women, low, edgy chuckles from the men—but not a hint of humor softened the tall blond Viking’s taut features. His hazel eyes narrowed, and those tree-trunk arms of his banded around her ribs to give her a crushing embrace.

  She remembered how Hakon had insisted that she strip in a cold, narrow passage inside the Berserkirs’ keep, shortly after she’d “accidently” bumped into him. His gaze had hungrily raked her frame, his features growing frighteningly intense as she’d peeled away the layers of her clothing.

  Again, as before, she shivered at the way his features sharpened with deadly intent.

  Unable to catch her breath, she felt her face heat, her lungs burn. Pressed so close, his hardening ridge digging into her belly, she wondered if he’d simply keep squeezing until he snapped her back or smothered her. Was the thought of killing her really so arousing? “Bastard!”

  “Hakon . . .” Eirik’s voice cut through the tension with a note of warning.

  The tall barbarian grunted, and then abruptly opened his arms.

  She stumbled backward, catching herself before she fell in a heap at his feet.

  Eirik’s hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist, tightening like a manacle. The crowd around them grew silent. Perhaps they’d already heard the tale of the men’s capture and knew she was the one responsible. Like the ruthless, bloody games they enjoyed watching in the arena, did they hope to see her pulled apart?

  The moment stretched. Fatin swallowed hard; her gaze locked with Eirik’s icy stare.

  His grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t ease either. With his fierce, glittering stare drilling into hers, he dragged down his arm, forcing her closer.

  And even though she resisted, stiffening her body in rejection and scuffing her boots on the marble, he pulled her inexorably closer.

  When her breasts touched his chest, his strong arms clamped around her. Again, she fought for breath, but this time her inability to draw air into her lungs wasn’t entirely due to how hard his arms constricted.

  Eirik’s cold blue gaze swept her face. A tight, cruel smile curved his lips. “Fatin,” he growled, “at last . . .”

  She tossed back her hair. “At last? You sound so satisfied,” she whispered harshly, pretending she wasn’t nearly fainting from lack of oxygen and because he was the one holding her so tightly. “You seem so eager to hold me close. I thought you would have felt well rid of me. Yet here we are.”

  “You underestimate my desire,” he said, his voice grinding as deliciously as his cock did against her belly.

  His head bent over hers, forcing hers back. To anyone watching, theirs would appear to be a lover’s eager embrace.

  “You may have him, Fatin,” Aliyah said, her lilting voice sounding distant. “A demonstration of your acquisition’s prowess is in order.”

  A demonstration. Her throat closed as burning panic burbled up. Something of her fear must have entered her expression.

  The corners of his lips curled higher. “You may have me,” he whispered. “Here? Now? Do you tremble because they will see or because I am the one who will thunder inside you?”

  He couldn’t have used coarser words and made her feel any more uneasy. The picture he painted in her mind, of a storm unleashed, made her knees weaken.

  The arm banding her back caught her before she slid downward. His eyelids drifted down to narrowed slits while his gaze remained locked with hers. “We have unfinished business, sweet Fatin.”

  Three

  Fatin’s dusky cheeks filled with furious color, and Eirik adjusted his arms to pull her flush with his body. Which only heightened the tension in his own. Every muscle, even his wayward cock, flexed and expanded with his excitement.

  His hands adjusted, fingers digging into the long indent at the center of her back. It would be so easy . . .

  She was slender—fragile in comparison to the women of his own race. And yet he hesitated. He told himself the timing wasn’t right. That he shouldn’t sacrifice his own life for a momentary satisfaction. His hesitation could have nothing to do with how her body felt cradled against his.

  Aliyah drifted around them, her cloying perfume and low chuckles reminding him there was more afoot here—that she pulled his strings for her own benefit. Think! Why had she placed Fatin’s fate in his hands?

  “Let me go,” Fatin said, her voice pitched low but harsh. She wriggled in his arms like an eel.

  He tightened his grip, knowing he would leave bruises on her tender skin. “I’ve been given a rare gift,” he drawled. “Do you think I would be so ungracious as to throw it back?”

  She struggled inside his embrace, her head ducked, but he wanted to see her expression, see fear fill her dark, lying eyes. Just before he snapped her spine.

  Gods, he had trouble even telling himself that he could do that.

  Disturbed and angry, he bent his neck and licked the side of her cheek.

  Laughter sputtered from the women crowding closer.

  “Do you think he will eat her?”

  “A lick followed by a bite? I should die so happy.”

  Eirik growled like the beast they considered him and slid his hands down her back to cup Fatin’s nicely rounded ass. Her firm flesh filled his palms. His caress sent a shiver through her frame. Interesting . . .

  “If you harm me,” Fatin hissed, “they will put you down like a rabid dog.”

  Eirik teethed the edge of her jaw, nipping none too gently, and then he nuzzled her throat, drawing in her spicy scent. Unprepared for the potency of her allure, his arms grew rigid. His body tightened in rejection. He wouldn’t be aroused by her. Never her.

  He felt the frantic flutter of her pulse, noted the sharp intake of her breath. “Are you afraid of me, elskling?”

  Small hands braced against his chest. Her dark eyes sparked with anger. “No! But are you willing to shed your regal blood over one such as me?”

  His gaze studied her face, and he wondered if she knew that pan
ic lingered in her widening eyes. The last time they’d been this close, after she’d stolen his semen as he stood with his hands locked in stocks, he’d leaned down and kissed her. Fury had heated his body—and yet his kiss hadn’t been cruel. Confusion, mixed with desire, had swirled inside him, gentling his anger.

  However, after the indignities he’d suffered over the past couple of days, he was ready to give her only a calculated coldness. Despite her small frame and widening doe eyes, he knew better. She was a hard, avaricious bitch. He’d not waste another moment of compassion on her.

  “You have a point,” he said, his voice even. “You aren’t worth dying for.” With a jerk, he released her and stepped back.

  The men behind him grumbled. He knew any one of them would be willing to shed his blood for the chance to kill the woman responsible for their enslavement. But he didn’t owe them any explanation for why he passed up the chance to exact revenge. Let them think what they like; I’ll not kill a woman.

  Fatin eyed him warily, then shook back her hair, straightened her shoulders, and glared.

  Again, he caught a hint of vulnerability in her glance, something that gave him pause. He’d been fooled by that look once before. Still, he took another step back and hardened his expression, rejecting her.

  “No, no, no . . .” The whore-mistress stepped forward, tsking. “Do you think you have the choice of partners, Viking?” Her eyes glittered with satisfaction—as though she’d waited for his reaction and was pleased. Her hand closed around her amulet as her gaze sliced through him.

  For a moment, nothing happened, but then a sensation, unlike anything he’d ever felt—a sharp, clenching cramp just beneath his balls—made him double over. He bent low, gasping for breath as pain seared through his body.

  The edge of Aliyah’s white gown entered his view. “Did you think we wouldn’t take precautions?” she asked, a nasty edge to her voice. “While you slept, we implanted a device, nestled against your prostate. We can send you into instant agony or paroxysms of lust.” Her hand petted his head as though he were a dog. “I think you must serve as the example, my dark Viking.”