Enslaved by a Viking

by Delilah Devlin

  Inwardly, he shuddered at her avid stare. She’d been all over him the moment he’d entered the cloistered salon. His plans to ferret out the truth of Fatin’s claim of a sister living inside the saray were dashed because he hadn’t had a chance to approach any of the women living here before the salon had filled with clients.

  For the first time that evening he was glad of the costume he wore. Satin pants that laced up his legs. An embroidered white blouse with poufy sleeves that dripped lace over his wrists. He’d groaned when he’d been presented with the pirate’s garb, but at least a layer of cloth lay between him and the incessant scratch of Livia’s long, tapered nails.

  Her hand grazed over his cock again, then cupped it, sliding up and down his length. And, dammit to Hel, that insatiable part of him filled.

  Her laugh was a husky growl. “Tell me all the things you will do to please me tonight, Viking.”

  Keeping the room in his sights, he murmured, “Madam, if I must tell you, then where will be the surprise?”

  “I find anticipation sparks a fire.” A sharpened nail scratched across his mouth. “And I love to hear you speak. The harshness of your tongue makes me tremble. Your language is so guttural. So crude.”

  Aiming a half-lidded glance her way, he grunted, moved to laughter for the first time this night. “Do you hope that I will be equally as harsh and crude when I make love to you?”

  “A woman can only hope.” Her chest rose, nipples scraping his back. “What is your word for darling?”

  “Elskling.”

  Her breath gusted against his ear. “And for whore?”

  “Hóra.”

  He didn’t ask which word aroused her more. She bit the lobe of his ear, and he forced a groan, then turned to let her kiss him.

  “You can have me any way you want, Norseman,” she whispered against his mouth.

  So he was to pretend that she was the whore rather the other way around. An act he could perform. He growled and rolled, forcing her onto her back and crawling over her while she giggled like a younger woman.

  He nipped at her ear. “Tell me, ma’am, does your husband mind that you play with other men?”

  She laughed and gripped his chin to turn his head toward a middle-aged man sandwiched between two young women who were laughingly chewing at the laces on his pants with their teeth.

  “Your husband, I take it?”

  “We have an understanding that works quite well. If he plays, so do I, but only where I can watch.”

  The music halted, a lone string warbling into silence.

  Eirik lifted his head. A rustling at the doorway leading from the women’s quarters sounded a moment before a slender figure stepped through it.

  Her dark head was bent, her hands clasped in front. She was dressed in a long, nearly transparent amber skirt that pulled against her perfect curves with each step, revealing long, slim legs and a luscious hint of a cleft. A gold and brown feathered cape draped around her shoulders, which seemed odd given the warm temperature of the room.

  He darted a glance around the salon. All gazes were on the woman’s entrance, men sitting forward on their sofas, women narrowing their gazes.

  And they should be jealous. She was exquisite—pale tan, unblemished skin, thick, silky black hair. A near replica of another winsome beauty who drove him mad. When the woman raised her eyes, however, his breath held. Candlelight caught and reflected against her irises, lending them a golden glow.

  When she neared the empty sofa at the center, the brown and black stole around her shoulders opened on its own, seeming to expand, then flap downward, before arching like wings at her back, exposing her bared midriff and the thin strap of gold silk that enclosed her breasts.

  His jaw must have dropped, because the woman pinned beneath him tipped his chin to close his mouth. “My handsome wolf, have you never seen an avisian?”

  Unable to look away, he shook his head.

  “She’s a remnant of the feral experiments. A meshing of human and animal DNA.” Livia licked his lobe and continued, “She’s nearly all human, except for her eyes and those wings. Poor thing. Many ferals can pass as human. Life’s kinder when they can, although breeding with them is strictly prohibited.”

  “Avisian? She’s part bird?”

  Livia turned to stare at the woman sitting quietly in the center of the room, while whispers stirred around her. “She’s a Falcon. Her name is Zarah Sahin. ‘Sahin’ means falcon, her designation for the census as much as a surname. Lovely, isn’t she? Zarah is the Garden’s greatest prize. The things she can do with those wings . . .” The woman sighed, and then giggled at his stare. “If you like, I can arrange a tria. You can experience it for yourself.”

  “A tria?”

  “A threesome, my love. You may have her. I can afford it.”

  He shook his head. Trying to think. Fatin’s sister lived in this saray, and the only woman close enough in resemblance—height, skin and hair color, the shape of her lush mouth, was this . . . halfanimal woman. It couldn’t be. But his gut told him it was true. Could she be a full sister to Fatin?

  Zarah Sahin blinked and glanced his way. Not a flicker of emotion showed on her face as he continued to stare.

  “Viking, you’re boring me.”

  Eirik glanced down to see a pout forming on Livia’s painted mouth. He stifled a sigh. “I’m sorry, madam. But we haven’t such . . . oddities on my world.” He forced his gaze to remain on the woman who slipped her hand inside his shirt and circled a nipple with the pad of her forefinger.

  Her thighs clasped his hips, and she rolled her own to grind against his cock. “Tell me about your world. I hear it’s numbingly cold.” She trailed another finger through the sweat beading his brow. “However do you keep warm?”

  “We wear thick fur.”

  “Even when you sleep?”

  “We huddle together. Several to a bed for warmth,” he said. Not exactly a lie. Sometimes, they did indeed, but for pleasure, not necessity.

  “And if one grows . . . uncomfortable?”

  He let his eyelids droop and forced his voice to a husky note. “Our women oblige us in all things.”

  “Truly?” she said, sounding breathless.

  No, but for his purpose now . . . “Yes. And they are happy to do so.”

  “The reward is so great?”

  He pushed her hand between their bodies, down to his cock, and held it tight against himself as his sex stirred and filled. Not due solely to her attraction, but because he remembered just such a night. Wedged between two tall, leggy blondes who sought to warm him in the sweetest way possible. “What do you think? Would they be disappointed?”

  Her breath blew between pursed lips.

  He bent and sucked her lips, pulling on the lower until she moaned. “There are buttons at the placket of these pants. Unbutton them with your tongue and teeth.” Then he rolled to his side and pushed on the top of her head, forcing her down his body—not that she fought him.

  Chuckling, she agreeably scooted down. Her mouth kissed him through his shirt, and then she licked him through the silk trousers before going to work on the buttons closing the flap at the front.

  While she eagerly opened the buttons, he glanced back at the bird woman. She still sat in the center of the sofa, her gaze unblinking.

  “She can be yours . . .”

  He jerked toward Aliyah, who perched her perfect ass on the back of his seat and stared down into his face. Nothing in her sedate features gave away her thoughts.

  “As you can see, I’m already engaged, mistress.”

  “Livia won’t mind adding a third, will you, dear?”

  Livia lifted her rosy face. “I’ve already offered Zarah, but he didn’t seem moved.”

  “Perhaps he’s hesitant because he’s never seen an avisian before.” Aliyah’s eyebrow lifted. “Is she your first, Viking?”

  He glanced at the pretty bird who sat near enough she had to hear them speaking, but gave no outward respon
se. Was her intellect stunted by her bird DNA? She seemed so calm. So distant from her surroundings.

  If he could get near enough to question her quietly . . .

  However, if he did accept this tria and discovered she was Fatin’s sister, how could he prevent having to take her? Although Fatin wasn’t his lover, wasn’t someone he even particularly liked, he remembered the quiet horror mirrored in her eyes as she’d talked about the sister she wanted to save.

  The thought of being just another of the men Zarah must accept in her bed left him uneasy. She was beautiful. Ethereal. And if she were also simple, he’d balk for sure. The act would be like making love to a child.

  “He thinks too hard, this one,” Livia said, stroking his cock again. “A thrall as lovely as this one shouldn’t have to worry about a single thing.”

  Eirik grimaced at the description. “Lovely” wasn’t something he’d ever been called before. And to be spoken of as though he were a dumb, inanimate object insulted his manhood and heritage.

  Aliyah laughed. “Beware of challenging him. He will leave you legless with fatigue.”

  Livia arched a thin, dark brow. “Is that meant as a deterrent?”

  Aliyah’s laughter trailed off into soft chuckles. “The decision is yours, Livia. Although your husband may be jealous, I’ll offer you first taste of Zarah this night.”

  “I think I’d like to see how these two will play together.” Livia gave an exaggerated shiver. “They’re both so beautiful and exotic.”

  “Just what I was thinking.” Aliyah inclined her head. “It is done.” She turned to the pretty Falcon. “Zarah, dear, take them to your quarters.”

  The Falcon’s eyelids fluttered. Her amber gaze lighted on Eirik and stayed.

  Intelligence was there. So was an edge of anger, which she quickly blinked away.

  Feeling a little less alarmed, he followed the women as they trailed through the salon. Passing Hakon, he gave his second a quick warning glare to behave.

  Hakon’s eyebrows were raised high, his head turning from the Falcon back to Eirik.

  Eirik shook his head and passed him by, thinking hard about how he might influence tonight’s play. For certain, he wasn’t going to frig with the bird even if she wasn’t Fatin’s sister.

  Not because he wished to spare Fatin pain, he told himself.

  That was the least of his concerns. And not because the thought of fucking a half-wild creature put him off. In truth, he was intrigued. No, Eirik resisted the idea because he knew how the creature must feel. Pressured to perform. Helpless to refuse. He’d find a way to spare her.

  Fatin strolled through the Viking’s salon, keeping well away from the men. The tenor of the evening wasn’t as highly pitched as the previous night. Many of the same women were among those gathered, but they’d already made their choices. Calmer groupings of women surrounded each of the men, awaiting the moment when everything would take a carnal turn.

  The Vikings were fed by hand, their pirate’s clothing admired and primped with eager hands.

  The fresh batch of clients had arrived dressed like pirates’ whores, just as she was, low-cut blouses hanging on the tips of their breasts.

  The men played at exposing the women with casual touches that shifted the edges of their blouses. Then they bent to plant kisses on ripe, beaded nipples, much to the ladies’ delight.

  Their full skirts made for another sort of sport as the Vikings flipped them up for a spank or a casual caress, and played at ravishing the women.

  Feeling faintly nauseated by the display, Fatin grabbed a bunch of grapes from the buffet and idly popped them into her mouth. Then she eyed the entrances, the guards, and wondered how easily she might overcome one of them and steal his uniform . . .

  Only she was in no shape to do the deed herself. Although the medica had used heated wands and liniments to ease the bruising enough that it didn’t show, she was still stiff and her ribs hurt when she breathed hard.

  Still, she’d have something to report when she returned to Baraq and Birget. She’d found a hole in security aboard the tram that they could take advantage of to sneak inside the compound. Perhaps Birget wouldn’t need to place herself in a risky situation after all.

  Fatin’s steps slowed as she realized that she was already looking at Baraq and Birget as accomplices, rather than just another set of keepers. She’d do well to remember that she had her own priorities. If theirs all aligned, well and good. If not, she’d have to strike out on her own again. Just as she had with the pirate Roxana. The partner she’d duped. The one whose stolen ship sat at dock, awaiting her next venture.

  Her breaths felt constricted, as much from the web of deception she’d woven tightly around herself as from any bruised ribs.

  She sat on the ledge of a window and turned her back to the room, dragging in the cloyingly sweet night air. Roses and gardenias blended into a sickly perfume, one she’d breathed every night she’d lived within the compound.

  The succulent sounds of openmouthed kisses and fingers twiddling cunts beneath skirts fed the sickness in her soul. Zarah, where are you? She knew the location of the saray. How hard would it be to slip into the darkness and find her—just to look and assure herself that Zarah was well?

  Surreptitiously, she glanced around the salon, but the guards at the doors were watching the men, not her. With a slow move, she slipped her legs over the ledge of the window and dropped silently to the ground.

  She kept to the side of the building, staying beneath the curtain of tall plants hugging the walls. Not until she reached the edge of the building did she dart from foliage to a fountain, crouching low but moving swiftly to keep from being too long on any one screen of the surveillance monitors. She darted from a path to a wooded copse, then followed the edge of it to the next edifice—the walled compound of the exotic’s saray. Here, she knew the location of footholds in the walls, outcroppings of foundation stones and decorative blocks with sharp edges that she could curl her toes around.

  Nerves taut, she kicked off her boots and began to climb. Once she slipped a knee over the top of the wall, she hunkered low and crawled to a point opposite the window into what had been Zarah’s room. It wasn’t changed much since she’d shared that chamber, other than new silks for the bedcovers.

  Catching her breath, she lay on the wall, hugging the rim, and waited.

  Familiar sounds of music floated in the air. The same old love songs meant to inspire passion. They grated on her nerves. Low murmurs of conversation were punctuated by soft laughter.

  This wasn’t the raucous gathering inside the men’s quarters. Here, patrons were offered a more genteel experience. One where strokes of feathers or the plying of strong hands in a sensual massage were foreplay. Here a client wouldn’t expect to be thrown over a shoulder and carried off to a couch for a quick tumble in view of an entire room of people.

  Fatin winced at the memory of what she and Eirik had been forced to do. Not that she truly regretted a single moment of what had transpired. He’d turned something ugly and tawdry into a sensual scene that would haunt her for a long, long time.

  The door into the bedroom opened.

  Fatin raised her head, and her heart tripped as Zarah appeared inside it, as sedate and beautiful as ever.

  Her sister stepped over the threshold and stood aside as Aliyah and a woman in costume entered, and then a tall, brawny man in rumpled pirate’s garb followed them inside.

  When the man turned, giving her a full view of his face, Fatin’s heart stopped for just a moment, and then thundered hard against her chest. No, no! Not him.

  And although she knew Eirik had no choice, that her sister had none as well, she couldn’t stop the welling of resentment that flowed through her and left her shaking.

  As odd as that sounded, she’d begun to think of him as hers. No matter that he had likely plowed a deep furrow through the gathering of women the previous night. That didn’t touch her. They were patrons. Faceless whores. But this was
too close. This made her chest feel brittle. Made her fingers curl into claws. How could she be angry with either of them? She had no right. They had no choice.

  Her glance went back to her sister. Zarah looked much the same as she had four years ago. Outwardly, she was healthy, her skin glowed, her hair shown like an inky sky brightened by starlight flickering in the muted lighting.

  Her expression, however, was dull, as though her life held little joy.

  Fatin had been the one to coax a smile from her. Had prodded and poked to get her angry. Had sung to her and brought her to tears because she possessed their mother’s lilting, soprano voice.

  Had she been cruel when she’d sought her own freedom? She’d told Zarah that one of them had to be first in order to get work and earn the thrall-price for the other.

  Her sister hadn’t pleaded to be the one, and Fatin had selfishly taken it as assent for her plan, eager as she’d been to quit the Garden. Using their pooled funds.

  However, looking at her sister now, she knew the truth. Her sister believed Fatin had abandoned her.

  A pain shot through her chest. She had to get closer. Had to find a way to let Zarah know that she hadn’t forgotten her promise.

  She edged one leg over the side of the wall, then the other, and dropped silently to the ground.

  Ten

  Eirik closed Zarah’s chamber door, then leaned against it, still pondering his problem. For the first time that night, he felt charged with something other than irritation or grudging lust. Here was a problem that required a bit of strategy. Not exactly the sort of engagement he preferred, but a battle nonetheless.

  He thought of Dagr and nearly smiled at the thought of his grim, serious brother at the mercy of the women. Would Dagr have ever been duped in the first place, his mind clouded by desire?

  Eirik shook his head. Knowing Dagr, his brother wouldn’t have accepted the female in his bed at the mining camp. He’d have stayed in the mine, inspecting every cavern, speaking with every worker to assure his comfort before his own.