Enslaved by a Viking

by Delilah Devlin

  “There was a message for you, downstairs. From the whore-mistress,” the Helio had said.

  Birget crossed her arms over her chest. “She says that you’re to come early. That you’ll get your chance to see your sister while she’s getting some sun.”

  Fatin had jackknifed up, and then groaned as every bruise and tender rib made its presence known.

  The Helio male’s jaw had tightened, and he’d glanced away.

  However, Birget’s mouth stretched into a wide, satisfied smile. “So you have a sister inside? If you know what her life is like, how could you send our men to the same fate?”

  “To earn her release,” Fatin stated, her voice thick. Tired and hurt, she hadn’t been able to hide her tears.

  The blonde’s expression remained set, but she’d glanced at the male.

  His gaze when it landed on Fatin again was less militant. “You do know that we could kill you now. That we will find another way inside.”

  Fatin nodded. Not sure she really cared. At this point, her goal seemed impossible.

  “The whore-mistress will keep you dangling. Giving you one job, then another. You will be as much her thrall as your sister. You do know that.”

  Deep inside, she did. But she had hoped something would come of her efforts, that Aliyah would honor their agreement eventually. Her shoulders fell.

  “We have the same goal,” the other woman said. “If you work with us, if you help us find a way inside, we’ll help you.”

  “You look too much like them.” Fatin shook her head at the idea. “The only way you’d ever get inside is as a thrall.”

  Birget’s gaze held steady, but the corners of her mouth curved.

  The male rolled his eyes. “Princess! That will never happen.”

  “You don’t think I’m pretty enough to be in such an exclusive place?”

  “You’d be left weaponless.”

  “True, but they’d have no clue what I can do with just my feet and hands.” Her shoulders squared. “I’d have surprise on my side. And I wouldn’t be alone. You could pass as a guard.”

  “Not without a plan. Not without a damn good plan. I won’t leave you there long enough to be used.”

  Birget placed a palm against his cheek. “You’re frightened for me. How sweet.”

  He shook his head, his lips twisting into a snarl. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. She has a meeting.”

  Birget’s head swiveled toward Fatin. “Let the whore-mistress know you have a female.”

  Fatin stood, hiding a wince. “She’ll wonder why I didn’t offer you up for sale with the men,” she mumbled.

  “You’re a good liar. Or you wouldn’t have been able to trick so many Bearshirts into letting down their guard. You’ll think of something.”

  Fatin had nodded. Playing along. If they allowed her to leave them behind, she could simply disappear.

  “Don’t think to double-cross us. We aren’t without resources. And Baraq, here, knows this place.” Gaze narrowed, she leaned closer. “If you betray us, we will find a way to get to your sister.”

  “You’d never manage it. She’s in the saray.”

  Baraq’s jaw tightened.

  The blonde frowned, then poked him in the belly.

  “It’s pricey,” Baraq said quietly.

  Birget scoffed. “We have a fortune at our disposal. You can buy entry.” She glared at Fatin. “You’ve heard what he calls me. My family owns one of the three mining entities on New Iceland. We have ore to trade for what we want.”

  That halted Fatin’s thoughts of escape. Mines? Instead, she wondered if she could get into their good graces and steal what she needed to buy her sister’s freedom.

  “I told you we shouldn’t trust her,” the male muttered.

  “Her face betrays her thoughts,” Birget said, huffing a breath. “She understands what we bring, but perhaps she needs reminding what is at stake.” She clenched her fists and took another step closer.

  Fatin groaned. “Just stake me on a grill. I’m already tender enough to eat.”

  The Helio tsked. “Beat her again and she’ll miss her meeting.” To Fatin, he said, “We will follow you to the station. We’ll meet you when you return. Then we will strike a plan.”

  She’d agreed. And because she didn’t want to leave any opportunity unexplored, she’d do what they asked. Offer the Norsewoman to Aliyah for a steep price. The thought of the woman’s eventual humiliation raised Fatin’s spirits.

  She trudged toward the compound, head down, a hand holding her aching side, when a pair of bare feet stepped into her path.

  Not looking up, she silently groaned. “Not now, Viking,” she said, even before she lifted her gaze. Only it wasn’t Eirik. Her heart skipped a beat at the freckled visage of the redheaded Hagrid. The one she’d dared into a drinking competition before luring him into a dark corner and transporting him.

  His jaw looked like granite. His glare cold. His hands were at his sides but slowly curled into fists.

  She couldn’t outrun him and not pass out from the pain. His face wavered as her eyes filled. Dammit, she wasn’t ready for this. She swallowed to wet a suddenly dry mouth. “We’re under surveillance here. You don’t want to do whatever it is you have in mind.”

  “’Twould be worth it. To break your scrawny neck, witch.”

  “And then your brothers would be left one man less. I know you don’t intend to be imprisoned here forever. They’ll need you.”

  “And you’re worried for them?” he jeered.

  “If I say that I am, will you believe me?”

  “I wouldn’t believe a word that comes from that pretty mouth.” His head canted as he eyed her up and down, his gaze focusing on her face. “But it seems someone else has already softened you up a bit.”

  “Softened me? Yeah, guess you could call it that. So you see? You needn’t bother risking your neck over me. I’ve already been punished.” She tried to step around him, but a beefy hand wrapped around her wrist.

  A gasp escaped, and she cringed away from the crush of his fingers atop the ring of bruises. Her head spun, and she knew she’d faint given another few moments of his hard grip.

  “Hagrid, release her.”

  Eirik! She jerked to keep herself from turning toward him. The urge to seek the solace of his embrace was strong. And strange. The last man she could expect kindness from was him.

  And he had a woman willing to risk her neck for him, she reminded herself. Someone a sight prettier than she was.

  “Hagrid!”

  The redhead growled and dropped her wrist.

  She didn’t lift it to rub circulation back into her hand, but only because it would hurt too much to raise her hand that high. Footsteps padded toward her. A finger tilted her chin.

  Eirik’s blue eyes glittered in his hard visage. “Who did this to you?”

  She dragged her chin off his finger. “What do you care? Plan to add a few more bruises? Want to know what’s not damaged so you can start there?”

  Eirik’s chest billowed. His muscles tensed.

  She darted up a glance and then held at the quiet fury blazing in his eyes.

  Before she could duck away, his hand cupped her cheek. “I didn’t do this.”

  “No, but you left plenty of bruises elsewhere,” she said, her voice gruff.

  Hagrid faded away. The pair of them stood, facing off, both chests rising and falling rapidly. Hers, because her ribs demanded it. His? Fuck, she couldn’t read his intent.

  “Come.”

  He walked into a stand of trees, just off the path.

  She wasn’t going to follow him, but glanced up to find more Vikings gathering at the end of the pathway. Apparently, she would have to do as he asked.

  She found him leaning against a tree, legs braced apart. With arms crossed over his bare chest, he looked no less imposing than he had wearing fur head to toe when they’d first met. She dragged her feet toward him, aware of his size, of the depth of the scow
l furrowing his brow. When she was close, he dropped his arms and brought his hands up, but seemed unsure where to place them on her body.

  “If you’re looking for a fresh place to leave a mark, try here,” she said, lifting one hand to just below her waist. “And here.” She laid the other on a breast, then slowly raised her face. “You look... bothered. Is it because someone else got to me first?”

  “I want his name,” Eirik said, his tone flat.

  She snorted. Best not to let him know just yet that Icelanders had landed. If he knew the culprit was his woman, he might act recklessly. “As it’s been pointed out to me recently, I don’t have any friends.”

  “You won’t tell me?”

  “Do you plan to beat it out of me?”

  His fingers gently dug into her flesh, and he pulled her closer.

  Her neck ached trying to hold with his gaze, and she relented, laying her cheek on his chest as he enfolded her.

  “I shouldn’t care that you’re hurt,” he said, his voice a deep, soothing rumble.

  “I agree,” she said, unable to resist the urge to rub her sore cheek against his skin. “You have every reason to want me dead.”

  “I don’t want you dead.”

  “Because then you can punish me over and over?”

  “The thought has crossed my mind.”

  He said it but without any heat, sounding confused. Which echoed her own state of mind. Gods, his chest felt like heaven beneath her cheek. “I shouldn’t feel an ounce of guilt over bringing you here.”

  “You think I deserve my fate?”

  “You’re a man. One who’s accustomed to being served. And I’ll bet you never wondered once how your slaves came to you.”

  “I own no slaves.”

  “But you contracted for them.”

  His hands slipped behind her neck, and she stiffened, wondering if he would end her now.

  But his fingers slid through her hair, then cupped the back of her head to support it as their gazes locked. “I was entranced when I first saw you. I wanted you from the first moment. I wasn’t thinking at all, least of all how you came to be there.”

  “Because I was something new? A dark bit to play with?”

  His jaw clenched. “You were lovely. So small, I didn’t know how to go gently with you. I hurt you.”

  “You surprised me.” Fatin shrugged, pretending that fact wasn’t something she’d thought about often. “Not many men who buy whores worry over whether they will hurt them, much less whether they will come.”

  “And you know this how? You were merely posing as a thrall.”

  Anger trembling through her, she pushed against his chest. “You think being a bounty hunter is a step above a thrall, because maybe I’m not so well used? Think about it, Viking. I lived here.” She pushed against his chest again, trying to put distance between them, but his hands gently restrained her.

  His eyes glittered angrily. “Tell me.”

  Fatin shook her head, feeling tears well, which she quickly blinked away. When she spoke, her voice was thick and harsh. “This was my home. For years. With my sister. We were kept together, because neither of us did well without the other, but only I was allowed to buy my freedom. Everything I’ve done since then has been to earn hers. I’m not sorry I stole you from your home. And I don’t give a damn that you’re having to fuck an endless stream of women.” Her chin jutted out. “Get over it. You live. You’ll get a chance at freedom. My sister may be here forever.”

  “Why is she so special?”

  Her lips twisted. “She’s an exotic and lives in the saray. Only the wealthiest patrons can spend time with her. I can’t afford an hour of her time. And right now, I’m missing my chance to see her because you had to be the man and force me here. Well, do whatever makes you happy. I’ve told you where to plant the next bruise. Just hurry up, please.”

  His expression remained shuttered. His glance swept her face, sharpening like he was trying to read the truth. At last his hands fell away.

  She moved back, turning to hurry away before he changed his mind.

  “Go. I won’t keep you. But, Fatin . . .”

  She glanced warily over her shoulder.

  “You could have friends. You just need to learn to trust.”

  Eight

  Eirik hit the ground with a harsh grunt, teeth rattling from the force of Hakon’s angry charge. But before the brawny Viking could pin him, he dug in his heels, strained his thighs, and rolled them both. Then he quickly scrambled away to put some distance between himself and Hakon’s beefy fists while he figured out just what was up with his friend.

  Knowing Hakon’s hatred for Fatin, he surmised Hagrid sought him out to tell him about what had transpired a short while ago—the fact he hadn’t taken their revenge when a prime opportunity presented itself.

  No, Hakon had lulled him into this fight, pretending all was well, so that he could wrest an advantage in this private battle. Although Hakon had pledged to follow him, he withheld unquestioning support, waiting for Eirik to prove himself. He likely thought Eirik had once again sought a safe route, rather than a Viking’s more direct and savage path.

  Earlier, before Fatin’s arrival, the Vikings had been marched to the exercise field, a large area to one side of the compound. An oval track coated in a hardened gel that softened the impact of a runner’s stride stood empty. Vikings didn’t train for retreat.

  Instead, they gravitated toward weight-training equipment—large sand-filled balls, iron bars, and heavy bags suspended on ropes—to pound, kick, and push their way through their frustrations. A few kicked a ball in the center of the track, shoving one another out of the way with great clouts as they tried to steal away the ball.

  Lastly, there was a fighting pit, dug into a corner of the field, circular, with a dirt-packed floor, but it remained empty at the start of their workout.

  The men were given the freedom to choose their activity. Guards and attendants backed away to the perimeter of the field while the barbarians warred among one another, naked and roaring insults as they played.

  They stripped off their skirts, but refused the cotton loincloths the attendants offered. One glance at the garment, and Hakon’s face screwed into a grimace. “I’ll not wear a baby’s diaper.”

  They laughed at Hakon’s disgust, and he gave a sheepish shrug, before heading to a man-sized bag to beat his fists against it.

  That had been before Fatin appeared walking at the edge of the field, approaching the whore-mistress’s offices.

  Hagrid had been closest. Eirik had run from the far side of the field to halt his plans, which had no doubt left a sour taste in every Viking’s mouth. While most of the men would be averse to harming a woman, Fatin had earned special compensation.

  After Eirik had returned from the woods, Hakon invited Eirik to go a round in the pit. Once there, Eirik realized his mistake. Hakon had a very big bone to pick.

  Hakon lurched to his knees, and spat at the ground. “You had her right in your bloody frigging hands! And instead of giving her neck a twist, you let her walk away.” His face screwed up into a furious scowl. “Does she have magic dust? Does she sprinkle it on your cock to make you forget what she did to us?”

  “I forget nothing!” Eirik fought to keep his voice even, unaccustomed as he was to having to explain himself to anyone save his brother. But he didn’t want this argument to escalate. “Think on it, Hakon. We’re let out to exercise at the precise time she’s passing by? You don’t think that’s just a little too lucky?”

  “Are you a coward?” Hakon tilted his head. “‘Watch and listen. Wait.’ You’re no kin of the Black Wolf. You’re a bloody coward.”

  Heat burned Eirik’s cheeks, and his lips drew away from his teeth in a snarl. Hakon was a brutish idiot. “I’m no coward, but this isn’t our world. If we want to survive, to escape, we have to know what we’re up against. And a target of opportunity, one so fortuitous, doesn’t come by happenstance. They’re testing us.�
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  Hakon cocked his head, side to side. His neck popped and crackled. Then he narrowed his eyes and raised his fists. “Or perhaps the mistress wants her dead. Why not oblige her? She’s the one who holds our papers.”

  Something Eirik had been thinking too, but wouldn’t admit. Not now, when Hakon and the rest of the Vikings were edgy and ready for a fight.

  The rim of the pit filled quickly with Northmen come to watch the battle between the two Vikings. Muttered wagers were exchanged, but their gazes remained fixed lest they miss a single blow.

  Hakon gave another roar and launched himself at Eirik, but Eirik stepped to the side and lifted his foot to trip the other warrior at the ankles.

  Hakon hit the ground and grunted, then rolled, lying back on his elbows to give Eirik another sour scowl. “And you fight like a bloody Valkyrie,” he groused. “Why won’t you raise your fists like a man?”

  “To what purpose?” Eirik shot back, frustration making his body tight, his will pushed to fight if Hakon wouldn’t back down. “Do you want to leave us divided into two camps?”

  “Not two camps,” Hakon said, his tone flat. “There’s not a man here who isn’t wondering when you lost your balls.”

  Murmurings rose from the men; a few heads nodded.

  Noting the guards edging closer to the fighting pit, Eirik pitched his voice low. “If you want a fight, I’ll give it to you. But only to let you lose some steam.”

  “Let me?” Hakon laughed. “You’ll let me take a swing? Do you really think you’re a better fighter than me? I think all your battles have been fought in a bed. You certainly know enough about that particular battle art.”

  Eirik shook his head, a grin twitching at the corners of his mouth. Hakon wasn’t after blood, but he was trying to make a point. He and his Bearshirts wouldn’t wait forever for him to unleash them.

  Giving his opponent a nod, he raised his balled fists and crouched into a fighter’s stance, and then milled back within range while Hakon stood and dusted off his skin.

  When his opponent was ready, Hakon held nothing back, hooking a punch with his left hand that glanced off Eirik’s arm, and then landing a right against his ribs.