Enslaved by a Viking

by Delilah Devlin

  At the assault, Eirik sucked in air, but kept his fists high, waiting for an opening, thinking through the next few blows, weighing the possibilities. Hakon used his Berserkir fury, not his brain, to fuel his fight. Something Eirik wished he’d known when they’d met steelto-steel in battle back home. Then they wouldn’t be having this conversation.

  “Take down the proud bastard, Hakon,” Hagrid shouted. “He’s not one of us.”

  Abruptly, Eirik stopped worrying about leaving Hakon unharmed. If he didn’t win this fight, and decisively, the Bearshirts among them would never follow his lead. And with Hakon’s quick temper, that would only lead to disaster for the entire group.

  Keeping his ribs covered by one arm, he threw a punch at Hakon’s jaw, connecting and jerking the other man’s head back. Then he delivered a salvo of short, sharp jabs to his ribs, his chest, gave a dig at his sides before raising an arm to deflect Hakon’s next powerful blow.

  Hakon had no finesse. Nothing beyond those slow, deadly punches. Eirik couldn’t risk being caught by one of those hammer fists.

  Eirik waited until Hakon swung again, ducked beneath the blow, and opened his arms and lunged, slamming Hakon to the ground.

  Both men growled and roared, pushing, rolling, fists clipping ribs, chins. Until, with one last roll, Eirik pinned Hakon with his body, and held his arms firmly against the ground.

  Eirik darted a glance around him, noted the position of the guards behind the ring of shouting Vikings, and leaned toward Hakon. “She has a sister here,” he whispered harshly, hoping the shouts from the crowd masked his voice. “In the brothel. A thrall just like us.”

  “And you believed her?” Hakon said, his voice rising with incredulity. “Did she raise those doe eyes and cry? And what the bloody hell do I care if her own mother is whoring here?”

  “Think! She has resources, the freedom to come and go—and a ship. If we can find a way to help her, we can turn her to our cause.”

  “You’d trust her?” Hakon’s lip curled into a sneer.

  “Never. But once we’re on her ship . . .”

  Hakon’s gaze narrowed, and then a tight smile stretched across his face. “You’re seducing her ship from under her?”

  “I’m keeping an eye open to all options.” As Hakon’s expression eased into amusement, Eirik relaxed his grip.

  Hakon grunted. “Would you get off me? There’s parts o’me that haven’t touched another man—ever. It’s embarrassing.”

  Eirik gave a rough bark of laughter and climbed off Hakon’s body. The two men sat side by side, each with a leg drawn up for privacy, and leaned back on their hands.

  The men around the pit laughed, then began to fall away.

  “A sister, huh?” Hakon said. “You believe her?”

  “Someone gave her a beating. Ask Hagrid. He saw her face. She didn’t have the strength to lie.”

  Hakon gave a snort. “Women are born liars. They let you think they’re natural blondes. That you’re their first. That no one’s ever fucked them quite so well.”

  Eirik grinned, then sharpened his glance. “She invited me to beat her quickly so that she wouldn’t miss her appointment.”

  Hakon’s eyebrows rose. “And the embrace?”

  Eirik turned to meet the other man’s hard gaze. “How does a man seduce a woman? I but offered comfort, something unexpected, to keep her wondering. But enough about her.” Eirik dropped his voice. “Something else happened this morning.”

  Hakon looked away, then leaned closer to hear.

  “When we were in the center, one of the women seemed... sympathetic to our plight. She said that Adem comes for us. For us to take heart.”

  “Who is this Adem?” Hakon scoffed. “She only curries your favor because you’ve a handsome mug. She wants to fuck you. I saw her take you in her mouth.” He jerked a hand at his crotch. “I only got a rough tug and pull.”

  “But what if there is someone working to help us? It’s worth investigating.”

  Hakon’s cheeks billowed as he blew out a deep breath. His head tilted toward the sky; then he leveled his steady gaze on Eirik again and held out his hand. “You’re a thinker. And we do need someone who can plan an escape.”

  “I’ll be your general, the tactician, but I need your strong arm.” Eirik gave him his hand and crushed Hakon’s knuckles, wincing as his own were squeezed just as hard.

  “I’ll still follow you, Wolf. Until you prove weak. And then I’ll kill you myself if you get in our way.” Hakon gave him a widetoothed grin.

  Eirik nodded and pumped Hakon’s fist. “Done. Now, since we’ve been given privileges, let’s not waste the opportunity. You and I are taking a walk.”

  Hakon lurched to his feet, and then turned to grasp Eirik’s hand and pull him up. Then he slung an arm around his shoulder and gave him a crooked grin. “I’m assuming we don’t want them to know we’ll be reconnoitering for our escape?”

  Eirik grunted, shook off the arm, and gave him a shove. “No sense laying it on too thick, Bearshirt.” He crossed to the edge of the pit and pulled himself up. Without looking back, he bent to swipe his loin covering from the ground and tied it around his waist.

  Hakon did the same.

  Then, together, they left the exercise arena, heads bent toward each other as though deep in conversation and oblivious to their surroundings.

  “The guards roam in pairs today,” Hakon said, still grinning.

  Eirik cracked an answering smile. “Let’s take a pathway toward the moat. I need to know why they use it as a perimeter. Doesn’t seem hardened enough to keep us from simply swimming across it.”

  They strode at a casual pace, attracting two guards who shadowed their steps from a distance.

  The grounds were immaculate with wide expanses of green grass, but even here, wildflowers pushed through the trimmed blades to escape.

  “It’s almost like a Hel’s meadow, back home,” Eirik said, glancing around. “But without a cave roof.”

  “Never had the pleasure, seeing as it’s Wolf-held,” Hakon said dryly. “But I do like the mead your meadow produces.”

  The metallic stutter of an engine sounded overhead, and both men cupped hands over their eyes to watch a hovercar skim the tops of the trees. They followed its direction, past the tall main building to the opposite side of the compound.

  “So there’s the hoverpad,” Hakon murmured.

  They passed through a grove of gnarled trees bearing purple fruit. Eirik reached up, snagged one, and held it to his nose. The scent was sweet. He turned to glance over his shoulder, and lifted it to show the guards. “Is it safe to eat?”

  The guards didn’t respond, but also didn’t smirk.

  He took a bite of juicy fruit and chewed slowly, then handed it to Hakon, who eyed it with distrust.

  “You’re going to wait to see whether I foam at the mouth, aren’t you?”

  “Better you than me.”

  “That’s a comforting thought.” But Eirik felt no ill effects from the fruit, so they continued along the flagstone walkway.

  The path wound through the trees and back onto the grassy lawn, bordering the moat. The water sparkled with glints of sunlight and was clear all the way to the rocky bed. The men veered off the path to approach the banks. Behind him, he heard laughter.

  He tossed the half-eaten fruit into the water. Stone and sand stirred at the bottom, blurring the fruit, and then he saw shapes in the muddy water. Long, thick, eel-like bodies darted around the fruit, bit into it, and shivered as they ripped away at the flesh.

  The frenzy was over in moments. All that was left was a stony pit lying in the dirt at the bottom of the water.

  “Guess we know now,” Eirik muttered. “We won’t be swimming out of here.”

  Fatin cooled her heels outside Aliyah’s office. Too edgy to relax, she paced in front of the windows. She was half afraid she wouldn’t get up again if she sat for very long.

  Aliyah was playing with her again. She knew it.
Dangling an invitation she could easily grab away, and which she would if the mood struck her.

  The door opened and Aliyah’s assistant, a bald, sour-faced eunuch named Michael, walked out. Fatin knew him well. His personality matched his expression. “She will see you now.”

  Fatin brushed past him, striding into the room.

  Aliyah sat at a long, tilted table, bent over a thin booklet of papyrus and scribbling away with an old-fashioned ink stylus.

  In an instant, Fatin glanced around the room. Aliyah never broke role. If the salons were garish, her own quarters were elegant, timeless. But the amenities suited her classic Persian beauty. A small fountain burbling just outside her window. Pale aqua walls, white marble flooring. Mats woven from the soft, russet reeds that grew along the banks of the Blue Nile River. Even the artwork, small alabaster statues and paintings, reflected the rich, kingly past of Helios, before the captains of industry had co-opted governance of their world, turning an agrarian-based economy into a crass, mercantile one.

  Aliyah courted an image. One of gentility and refinement, which she’d tossed aside the night before in order to prove a point to the Vikings and to Fatin.

  With a snap, Aliyah set aside her book and pen and glanced up, her expression set.

  Fatin felt her heart sink to her toes. The last time that look had fallen on her, she’d found herself agreeing to organize a raid on New Iceland. “You requested my presence, mistress.”

  Aliyah steepled her fingers. “Tell me everything you know about the dark-haired one, the one the men call Wolf.”

  Anxiety grabbed her chest but Fatin held her face impassive. “Is there a problem?”

  Without answering, Aliyah raised a brow. “Have you kept anything from me?”

  Just that he’s a prince. “The men elected him their leader.”

  “Why was that? Do you know?”

  “He’s large, even for one of them. Perhaps they fear him.”

  “Hakon is his match in size. Why didn’t they turn to him instead?”

  “I don’t know, except that Eirik isn’t rash.” Her shoulder lifted and fell. “They were watched while aboard the ship, but there wasn’t a lot of communication among them. They were kept drugged for the most part to keep them from harming themselves by beating at their cages.”

  Aliyah nodded. “I’ve had a request for his presence in the saray for a special event. I have to know if he’s suited. His manners seem a step above . . .”

  “He’s intelligent.”

  “And skilled as a lover,” Aliyah, said, her glance sliding away. “The women were quick to praise his ability.” When her gaze swung back, she locked on Fatin’s expression.

  Fatin’s cheeks burned as Aliyah studied her reaction.

  “I know that I placed you in a delicate situation last night,” she said, her tone unapologetic. “But I needed to know how the men would react when they were still so new to the Garden. You were the focus of their attention.” She waved a slender hand. “I had to know that they could restrain themselves from violence. Our clientele likes savagery in their sexual playmates, but they also want to know that at the end of the night they will be safe.”

  Fatin cleared her throat, wanting to change the direction of the conversation. If Aliyah commented on Eirik’s harsh lovemaking, she wasn’t sure she could maintain a calm facade. “Was there anything else you wanted?” What about the audience you promised?

  “You wish to see your sister.”

  Fatin grew still, trying her best not to let Aliyah see how much she wanted this. “Yes, if it’s not an inconvenience, ma’am. And I’m willing to pay.”

  “You can’t afford an hour of her time. But I’ll allow you to see her, no payment required.” A sly smile grew. “If you’ll do one more thing for me.”

  “Of course,” Fatin said, schooling her face into a placid mask to hide her disappointment.

  “Be in the men’s salon tonight. They will be playing pirates for the women.”

  Fatin groaned at the thought of anyone convincing the stubborn Vikings to play dress-up for the clientele. “Do you think that’s wise? You saw how they acted last night to wearing the loin skirt.”

  “Like animals, I know.” A husky chuckle escaped her twitching lips. “And I think that so long as we can keep them aroused, they will be just as barbaric tonight.”

  Surprise overwhelmed Fatin’s control and her eyebrows shot up. “The take was that good?”

  Aliyah laughed. “Each is worth his weight in pure light. Do this for me tonight, and you will be allowed into the saray tomorrow when you come back. You won’t have to await my pleasure.”

  Not what she’d wanted, but still better than she had a right to expect of the unpredictable Aliyah.

  “I will leave instructions that you’re to have the freedom of the chambers. Discover what you can about the dark one they call Wolf.”

  “You won’t be present?” Surprise flashed through her.

  “I’ll be busy. In the saray.”

  Fatin’s stomach lurched. She’d be expected to mingle with the Vikings, but without protection from Eirik or even Aliyah’s presence to keep them in check. How odd was it that she looked to Eirik for help? But he’d intervened twice now on her behalf.

  Still, she knew this was an invitation she couldn’t refuse. She bowed her head. “Thank you for your generosity.”

  “You will have your own costume. Michael will give it to you, and he will take you to the medica before you leave. We can’t have you moving around like an old woman or with such an ugly bruise on your face. Tonight, you are free to partake of any male you wish.” Aliyah waved her hand, dismissing her.

  Partake of any male you wish . . . Only the one she wanted wouldn’t be there. Fatin managed a tight smile and let herself out the door, her mind racing, glad she hadn’t blurted out that she had a Norsewoman for sale. Not just yet. That bit of news would be worth another audience should she need it.

  As Michael sidled up beside her, a satchel in one hand, she cursed silently that she still didn’t know how she’d sneak Baraq inside. Already, she regretted the fact she wouldn’t have someone watching her back that night, even a Helio in love with a Viking.

  Nine

  Why so tense, lover?”

  Eirik ignored the sultry voice tickling his ear, but he drew a deep breath and forced his body to relax. If he was tense, the reaction was because he was bored and restless like he’d never been in his entire life. A man accustomed to action, his confinement, even in such luxurious surroundings, was wearing thin.

  This night, he lay on his side on a legless couch close to the floor and surveyed a scene straight out of a decadent dream.

  Musicians, sitting out of sight behind a filmy screen, played twangy, stringed instruments, accompanied by a skin drum and a musician clicking small metallic discs that clinked together like coins. The rhythm and the song attuned to the throb of his heartbeat and the pulse at his loins, pulling him ever so slowly and reluctantly toward arousal.

  The lighting in the salon was low, ore gleaming behind gold mesh screens to mute its brightness, increasing the intimacy of a stage set for seduction.

  Here the decor reflected all the succulent, soft colors of a woman’s intimate flesh. Deep pinks, dark rose, and an aroused red, interspersed with flecks of gold, covered the seats and cushions. The walls were a warm buff with a hint of blush—like so many of the women’s cheeks this night. Gold and bronze fixtures hinted at the expense of this special salon, without the garishness of the men’s salon.

  Male and female thralls were hard to separate from their patrons, except for the unusual beauty of every thrall here. Everyone was perfumed, bathed, and costumed.

  Across from him, Hakon, dressed in white ruffled shirt and leather trousers, stretched on another low, silk-upholstered couch set on the floor, with a woman lying between his legs and another with her back against his chest, both feeding him by hand. Hakon lifted his chin to Eirik, and then gave a wicked waggle
of his eyebrows, making the women giggle.

  Eirik snorted, relieved Hakon had heeded his warning to behave this night, and resumed scanning the rest of the room.

  Couches were arranged in a large circle, with one cushioned, backless platform in the center covered with swaths of bright gold and red silk.

  Satin bolster cushions supported his back as he lazily trailed his fingers over a huge tray of succulent fruit and an assortment of cheeses and breads, large enough it stretched his length and high enough that he couldn’t have eaten the artfully arranged manna in a month.

  A goblet of wine sat on a low table nearby, but he didn’t trust drinking it, instead taking his liquid from the fruit he ate.

  A finger trailed down his cheek as he took another bite. “Don’t they feed you?”

  He grunted, and then turned to give his current companion a thin smile. “My appetite is endless, madam,” he said dryly, not bothering to infuse a seductive note. However, the woman stretched behind him didn’t appear the least put off as her greedy gaze raked his body time and again and her hands roamed freely.

  Her generous mouth stretched into a smile that displayed a scarily white row of perfect teeth. The muted gold lighting in the chamber was kind to the woman, fading the fine lines around her eyes and mouth. She wasn’t unattractive, but he wondered if she thought a man would be interested only if she wore all of her riches. Her arms were weighted with thick gold bangles, her neck hidden by a large ruby-colored stone and lengths of white beads with a luminescent glow. Every time she laughed or turned her head, her earrings jangled.

  He’d have to strip her of her jewelry before he kissed her or risk getting caught in her golden trap.

  Her name was Livia, and she was wife to one of the ruling council members, the head of PG, which explained her wealth.

  What she wanted with him was also apparent. Although not too old to be infertile, it wasn’t likely that her main purpose was to fill her womb with a Viking’s get.

  An interesting development that had his head spinning with possibilities. Could a friendship be cultivated with her that might lead to another path for freedom?