Enslaved by a Viking

by Delilah Devlin

  “Vikingar! ” she shouted. She recognized the largest fighter, a distant cousin, Hakon, and she dumped her load and tossed him a sword, which he caught around the haft midair; then he spun on his heel, laughing as he knocked a spear away from a guard and slashed deep into his side.

  Not waiting to see the outcome, she picked up more of the weapons, ducked between fighters, and slapped swords and daggers against their backs, their arms.

  Without missing a beat, the fighters turned. Birget threw off her own helmet, grabbed up a sword, and ran for Eirik, who was lifting Fatin to reach the knot binding her to the pole.

  “Duck!” she shouted.

  When he did, she sliced through the rope. He raised his hands and another slice severed his bonds.

  His gaze slammed into hers, then raked over her, his eyebrows furrowed.

  “No time now, but take the sword,” she said, and unlatched her holster to pull out her stun gun. “We are getting out of here now.”

  “Birget!” She heard Adem’s shout, turned to see him running away from the buildings, waving his arms. Workers in white lab coats rushed after him, covering their heads.

  She glanced around the field, down the walkways, but there was no sign of Baraq.

  “Now, now, now!” Adem shouted. “Everybody on the ground.”

  Birget slammed into Eirik, taking him and Fatin down as explosions rocked the air.

  Deafening blasts, one after another, caused the earth to shudder beneath them. Debris hailed from the sky. Bits of concrete. Papers fluttering slowly down. She stayed huddled, pressed against Eirik’s back.

  When she glanced up again, the sky was filled with smoke, and ash fell like dirty snowflakes. Where is Baraq?

  Eirik pushed her off them. “Who are you?”

  Birget gave him a grimace. “Your betrothed.”

  His expression clouded with confusion. “How are you here?” He glanced around. “There are more of you?”

  “Yes, but we haven’t much time to make our escape.”

  “You came for us?”

  “Dagr sent me.”

  His expression cleared. “Is he here?”

  Birget pushed to her knees, then lunged to her feet. “Long story. It will have to wait until we’re aboard the ship. I have to go. One called Adem will lead you out.”

  Eirik knelt beside Fatin. “You’re not coming?”

  “I have to find one of my men.”

  He nodded, shifted to lift the woman into his arms. The way he held her close to his chest told her in an instant how he felt about the woman he cuddled against him.

  She didn’t have time to consider what it meant. She ran back toward the main building. The path was filled with a stream of people, heads bent against the ashy fall. Soot-covered, dark gray, all. She pushed past them. The front doors were in sight when a massive explosion ripped through the building, a hot flash of light bursting through the doors, shattering the glass.

  Falling to her knees, she covered her head, shards slashed at her, but she struggled up.

  An arm slipped beneath hers, wrapped tightly around her waist. “Come. We have to move.”

  It was Adem.

  “But Baraq . . .” she said, choking on the ash. “He is still inside.”

  Adem shook his head. “It’s too late. The building’s coming down. Save the rest. We must get them to the tram.”

  Birget shook off his arm and staggered forward. Adem whipped her around. His fist flew toward her head.

  She tried to deflect it, but she was too slow. Pain exploded and she sank downward.

  Eirik lowered Fatin onto an upholstered seat. The Vikings had pushed through the crowd on the tram platform, forcing back the workers.

  There were others there, Adem’s men, wearing black, their faces covered in masks, directing the workers to the back of the platform as the twenty entered the cars, followed by their rescuers. Before the doors closed the black suits commandeered the train.

  Eirik watched as the train pulled away from the platform, then knelt beside Fatin. He cradled her cheek with his palm. “Fatin, elskling . . .”

  Her head rocked on the padded bench; then she slowly opened her eyes. “Eirik?” she asked, her voice husky.

  “You’re injured. We’re making our escape. Rest. I’ll watch over you.”

  “Escape?” Her weary glance fluttered over the crowded car. Tall Vikings crowded the space. Some seminude, others dressed in black or PG gray uniforms. “Adem did it,” she whispered.

  “He did.” He gave her a rocky grin. “We aren’t safe yet.”

  She swallowed, reached out an arm to grip the back of the seat, and tried to raise herself. She winced and gave a moan.

  “Don’t,” he said, and gently pushed her down.

  Fatin’s dark, liquid gaze lifted. “Did you see her?”

  “Who?”

  “Your wife,” she said quietly. “She’s here.”

  “Not my wife yet, but yes, she found me.”

  Her gaze swept her body. She reached a hand to one of the bloody stripes that wrapped around her shoulder.

  “Don’t touch it.”

  She glanced around again, dazed, then stared down at herself. Hunching, she crossed an arm over her breasts, trying to hide her nudity.

  He turned, nudged one of the black-garbed men. He didn’t have to ask. The man peeled off his shirt and handed it to him.

  Then, as gently as he could manage, he pulled it over Fatin’s head.

  She winced as the cloth glided over her back, but she gave him a faint smile. “Thanks.” Her eyes widened. “My sister?”

  He glanced around the crowded compartment. A door leading from another car opened. Adem strode through, his broad shoulders making a path. But behind him, Eirik caught a glimpse of golden, brown-flecked feathers. A smile tugged at his lips. He tucked a finger under Fatin’s chin and turned her head.

  Her eyes widened, and she stood shakily, her hand clutching his as Zarah stepped past Adem. Zarah’s serene expression clouded, and she carefully grasped Fatin’s arms. “Sit, sister.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Fatin said, a tear rolling down one cheek. Her head fell against Zarah’s shoulder. And despite her wounds, despite the dirt smudging her face, her radiant smile made her beautiful.

  Eirik raised his glance to Adem and reached out his arm.

  Adem clutched his forearm. “If all goes as planned, you’ll all be aboard the Vikings’ ship within the hour.”

  Eirik nodded.

  “I saw you fight in the arena.” Adem tipped his square chin and grinned. “Impressive.”

  Eirik shook his head. “So much has happened. It seems another day. Another lifetime ago.”

  “Do you suppose you will have room in your castle for a few refugees?”

  “We will make room. My brother and I will welcome you.”

  “I’ll not stay long. I still have much to do here. But it’s best I remain off planet for a time.”

  Both men turned to watch the two women who still clung together, shedding happy tears.

  Eirik noted that Adem’s face tightened as he stared at Zarah. “How long had it been since you last saw her?”

  “Since we were teenagers.”

  “She’s lovely.”

  Adem’s gaze snapped.

  Smirking, Eirik raised his hands in mock surrender. “I have no interest in that Falcon.”

  Adem gave a sharp nod. The tension in his jaw eased.

  “Adem!” One of the black-garbed warriors shouted from the front of the car. “We approach the station.”

  Adem grinned. “Get ready. There’s no telling whether enforcers have already been alerted to our escape. Guard the women.” He thrust his way through the crowd to the doors.

  The tram rumbled to a halt. The doors opened.

  Eirik bent and swept Fatin into his arms. “Zarah, keep close to me.” He glanced around, caught Hakon’s gaze. “Watch our backs.”

  Then they plunged through the doors, followin
g the black-garbed ferals. The platform was filled with commuters, but appeared free of any law enforcement.

  He hurried through the station house and out onto the street. Vans, half a dozen of them, pulled up to the curb, wheels squealing on cobblestone.

  They boarded, but in the distance a discordant sound, a high-pitched wail, blared.

  Adem ran down the walkway. “Into the vehicles,” he shouted. “Hurry!”

  Eirik climbed inside, set Fatin on a seat, handed Zarah inside, then stepped onto the rail on the outside of the vehicle and clutched the window frame. He banged on the roof. “Go! Go!”

  They careened out of the parking lot, heading down narrow streets, warning horns blowing, which had people drawing close to stoops and ducking into alleys to clear their way.

  Eirik glanced behind him. The other vehicles, some plain, some branded with products, bumped along at high speed. He himself clung to the side of a bread van. His heart beat fast; his spirit soared.

  They made a sharp turn. He rocked against the van, but held tight. Ahead, he saw the slips he’d viewed on the maps, the tall prows of spaceships above the peaked roofs. They were nearly there.

  They turned again. Then wheels skidded, squealing to a halt. The way was blocked by a line of dark vehicles pulled nose to tail to close the widening road.

  Behind the vehicles, nozzles of weapons were aimed directly at them. His stomach dropped, and he nearly howled with rage.

  A door slammed behind him. “Viking!” Adem shouted.

  Eirik glanced back. Adem raised a hand to point to the roofs of the buildings all around them.

  Figures rose, standing, peppering the rooftops, all holding weapons, stocks snug against strong shoulders, muzzles pointed toward the enforcers.

  Adem stepped onto the rail in front of Eirik. “Hold on!” He raised his hand. A shrill whistle sounded.

  The men hiding behind the dark vehicles raised their heads, then dove over their vehicles. An explosion raised one sturdy car, slamming it down on its side. But there was a space.

  Adem beat on the driver’s windshield. “Drive, drive!”

  The driver accelerated fast. Adem and Eirik molded against the side of their vehicle, but the driver took the brunt of the hit on his side, metal scraping, and then they were through the breach.

  He glanced behind. The other vehicles followed despite the sharp reports of weapons and explosions sounding behind them.

  They hurtled toward the end of the dock. To one particular slip. The gangway was already extended. Men in leather trousers and light wool vests stood at the sides, with weapons in their hands, signaling them to enter.

  “Vikings!” he shouted, grinning at Adem.

  The vehicle rolled to a stop. Both men jumped to the ground.

  Adem reached inside for Zarah, then tossed her over his shoulder and loped up the gangway.

  Eirik caught Fatin’s arm and did the same. At least her back would be spared. When Fatin folded over him, she gave a little laugh, and he smiled at the sound.

  Up the gangway, he set her at the top. To one of the men inside, he said, “Find her a medica!”

  Then he ran back down the gangway, toward the line of vehicles emptying quickly. Behind him engines roared to life. Warning horns blared.

  The last vehicle was empty, but the Norsewoman with the unnaturally dark skin, his betrothed, stood there, staring behind them. In the distance, the flashes and sharp reports of stunners were fading, growing quieter.

  She turned, smudges of dirt on her tanned cheek. Her gaze was haunted.

  “We haven’t much time,” he said softly. “You must come now.”

  “I can’t leave him.”

  Did she speak of a lover? He well understood her horror. “If we wait, everyone risks capture. He will know to hide. One is much easier to hide than all of us together. And if he lives, he will find his way back to you. I promise you. If he lives, we will retrieve him. Come now.” He grasped her forearm and pulled her gently behind him.

  Her footsteps dragged, but she didn’t fight him.

  “Eirik!” Hakon shouted from the top of the gangway, waving them forward.

  He pushed the woman in front of him. “Run!”

  She gave a sob, but loped up the narrow metal plank. Once inside, Hakon locked the hatch. “Hold on!”

  The ship rattled, and shimmied, then rocked as it rose free of its moorings.

  They hovered for a moment, then suddenly the ship jolted upward. Eirik fell against the hull, pulling the woman closer to shield her from harm as the ship shot toward the sky.

  “I am Eirik,” he shouted in her ear.

  “And I am Birget.”

  Twenty-two

  Fatin was numb. Inside and out.

  Not from the cold, although she’d never felt the like before. Endless drifts of snowfall that froze her booted feet. Wind so cold it bit patches of exposed skin.

  Not from the enormity of the castle looming above her. Dark gray stone set against a mountain. Crenellated edges scraping clouds. Dark and forbidden. Disapproving of weakness.

  She hung back as the others rushed forward.

  Two days she’d spent in delirium, tended by her sister while the medica aboard the Daedalus closed the wounds striping her back. “You’ll barely have a scar,” her sister had assured her when it was done, but she couldn’t be happy about it.

  Nothing could lift the dark cloud that chilled her to the bone.

  Now that he was free, Eirik had abandoned her. He’d visited her only twice during her treatment, and when she’d been led from the dispensary, she’d seen why.

  He stayed close to Birget, who seemed impossibly fragile. Baraq had been lost in the explosions that destroyed the PG headquarters. Her grief had left the princess a hollow shell of her former vibrant self, but Eirik’s presence, his ready arm, bolstered her.

  Fatin had watched them the few times she’d crept to the captain’s deck as they sat side by side, their heads bent close.

  The few times his gaze had strayed to find her, his expression had been closed, remote.

  So much for his promises that they weren’t finished.

  “Sister,” Zarah said, falling back to take her arm. Zarah was bundled with blankets, just as Fatin was, to ward off the freezing cold. “We mustn’t stand too long out here. Night falls. And the temperature will drop as fast as a stone.”

  Fatin offered her a small smile, grateful for at least this much. Her sister was free. At last. “Where is Adem?” she teased, knowing she would draw a blush. Adem had hovered near Zarah throughout the long flight.

  “Eirik wanted him to be among the first to greet his brother, Dagr. I think he wants to make sure he shares the heroes’ welcome.”

  “Maybe he fears his own Wolfskins’ reactions to so many freakish creatures entering their demesne,” Fatin muttered.

  A frown dug a line between Zarah’s finely arched brows. “You’re hurting. And I understand why. Hakon told me about you and Eirik. It’s not well-done of him to abandon you like this.”

  “I’m only getting what I deserve,” Fatin said flatly, fiercely tamping down any emotion, afraid she’d tear up and her eyes would freeze. “Let’s go inside.”

  They climbed the steep steps and entered the plain rock-walled foyer. To one side, doors were opened onto a hall with bright walls and the scents of beeswax and roasted meat wafting through them.

  Zarah groaned. “Something to eat besides reconstituted gruel. Come. Are you not starving?”

  Fatin let her sister pull her inside. Vikings filled the center of the hall close to a raised dais with a long table that stretched its length.

  Above so many tall men, she could still find Eirik. Another man of similar build released Eirik from an embrace, then stood back, his hands clapped on Eirik’s shoulders. A broad smile cut across an otherwise harshly sculpted face.

  His brother, no doubt. The resemblance was impossible to escape.

  Fatin tugged at Zarah’s arm. “Maybe we s
hould find a place at the back. Lord Dagr might not be happy to realize I’m here.”

  Only fading into the back was impossible. A woman approached them. She was near middle age with soft features and figure and long brown hair. “’Tis warm in here. Let me take the blankets.”

  Fatin nearly groaned, but Zarah answered the Viking woman’s smile with a shy one of her own and let the blanket slide away, baring her wings.

  The woman’s eyes widened. Those nearest them turned at her gasp, then stared, captured by a sight Fatin knew they’d never beheld before.

  The brown-haired woman’s face softened; her hands reached out, tentatively, toward Zarah’s wings. “Are you a goddess?”

  Zarah’s soft laughter echoed around the suddenly quiet hall.

  “Tora!” Eirik called out. “She’s a woman. Though blessed with a falcon’s blood.”

  Blessed? Fatin met his gaze across the room, gratitude brimming in her eyes.

  The moment stretched, and then Eirik turned again to his brother, severing the connection.

  Fatin felt as though a door had closed, leaving her once again in the cold. The crowd of Vikings swelled around the king and his brother, then opened again. Birget stood within the shelter of Eirik’s arm, her head resting on his shoulder.

  Fatin couldn’t help the sudden searing hatred that swept through her.

  A soft touch stroked over her arm. She glanced blindly down to find Zarah’s fingers smoothing over her arm in comfort. “He’s home, Fatin. Surrounded by his own. Reminded of his place. His duties. Let go.”

  Fatin shook her head and pulled away. She wrapped the blanket tighter around her and fled through the door to the foyer, then shoved at the huge doors leading to the frozen bailey outside.

  She blinked hard, her eyes stinging, then plunged down icecovered steps. At the bottom one, she slid, her feet flying from under her. She landed hard, breath leaving in a hard gust, her head slamming against the edge of a stone step.

  Dizzy, she scrambled to her knees, tears at last falling down her cheeks. As predicted, they froze on her cheeks, but she didn’t care; she raced back the way they’d come, passing through the tall iron gate without seeing a single soul.