He’d gladly sleep with bears to win his falcon.
Twenty-three
Tora bustled into the small chamber where Fatin waited, bright spots of color on her cheeks. “Up, girl. No time for dawdling.”
Fatin slid up the wall she sat against and wiped her sweaty palms down the sides of her shift. “Is the transport ready?”
“There will be no journey for you today,” she said, her voice clipped.
“What’s happening?”
“It’s not for me to say. And you’d best not keep him waiting. He’s not a patient man.”
Fatin’s heart tripped faster. She wasn’t making a journey. And yet she was being summoned to Sigmund? He’d said he had the right to her. Did that mean he would expect her service in his bed? If it were possible, another piece of her heart broke.
Tora held the door for her and gave her a harried look. She waved her arm toward the hallway. “You look as though you’re walking to a gallows. And yet, I know you’ve done this before.”
Was she prodding her for being a whore? Tora had been all kindness to this point. Fatin’s breaths shortened, and she feared she might cry. Where in Hades was her backbone?
Her feet slapped on polished stone as she was led past the hall and up a flight of rough-hewn steps. At the first landing, they turned down a hallway. Tall wooden doors with wolves’ heads carved into the center lined the hall. Toward the end, Tora pushed open a door and stood to the side, waiting for her to enter.
Fatin hung back, her shoulders hunching.
“Fatin,” Tora chided, then gave her a soft smile. “Go in, love. All will be well.”
So perhaps he wouldn’t beat her. But she was far from reassured. She closed her eyes, giving a quick prayer for strength, then swept past Tora and into the room.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Inside, a brazier blazed with lumps of pure light. Warmth surrounded her. She stepped deeper into the room, heart in her throat, seeking Sigmund. She saw a huge bed with draping surrounding it, pulled back at one corner. Beyond it, a hearth fire burned.
“Come inside,” came a soft, masculine voice.
Was her mind playing tricks? She came around the bed to find a figure bent over the hearth, stirring embers of a wood fire. “I like the smell of wood smoke,” Eirik said, glancing over his shoulder to catch her gaze.
She shook her head. “I don’t understand. Did Sigmund give you the use of me tonight?” Not that she cared. To spend one more night in his arms was her most fervent wish. She took a deep breath to quell the tremors beginning to shiver through her.
“The use of you? Did Tora not explain?”
“I don’t understand,” she repeated, her voice breaking.
“Come, sit beside me,” he said, lowering onto a sturdy sofa in front of the fire. He patted the seat beside him.
He wore trousers, but no shirt. His feet were bare. Pink stripes gleamed against his lightly tanned skin.
Fatin sat on the edge of the cushion, her gaze clinging to him. His expression was shuttered. Impossible to read. But he reached for her hand and tugged her closer until she slid over his lap.
She sat stiffly, perched on his knee. A thousand questions whirling in her mind. Foremost being: Did he regret that she’d been given to Sigmund? Would he miss her? Had he forgotten that he’d said they weren’t finished?
Was that it? Was tonight to be an ending? Firelight shimmered as tears filled her eyes.
His fingers tipped up her chin and forced her to look at him. “I would know what you want.”
Again, she shook her head. “What I want?” she asked, her voice raw even to her own ears.
“Your heart’s desire, sweet Fatin.” His blue eyes narrowed as he studied her face.
You are my heart’s desire. But she didn’t dare say it aloud, not with him acting this way—watching her so closely but not giving a hint of his mood. Her heart couldn’t bear being mocked.
A hand cupped the back of her head, fingers digging into her scalp to tilt her head. His head bent, his mouth hovering just above her parted lips. “I need an answer,” he said, his voice tightening.
Held so close, she couldn’t hide the shiver that rippled down her spine. Her breath hitched, and her mouth trembled. “I desire you, milord.”
He grunted. “Milord? You’ve called me Viking, spitting it like a curse. Are you afraid of me now?”
She gave a subtle shake of her head. “It’s a term of respect.”
“Are you saying you respect me now?”
There was the mockery she’d dreaded. Soft, but sly. She rolled her eyes. “Just tell me what you want. I’ll give it, and we’ll be done.”
He was so still for so long, her neck began to ache. Then his fingers pulled her hair. “I want your mouth on me,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Service me.” Then he released her.
She slid off his lap to kneel between his legs, then reached to loose the tie at his waist. She opened his pants and slid her hand inside, stroking over his hard, lower abdomen, releasing the warm, musky scent of him.
Her nipples peaked, scraping at the linen, and she wished she’d paused to strip first, but she wrapped her fingers around his shaft and drew him out of the opening of his pants.
Without glancing up, because she didn’t want to see his face light with triumph, she bent toward him, closing her eyes as she licked around the satin cap.
She’d give him this. Be the best he’d ever had. And hope that one day he’d feel regret for letting her go. She’d spend a lifetime regretting her mistakes.
A sob caught her unaware, and her eyes opened to see whether he’d noticed. His head lay against the back of the sofa, his heavy-lidded gaze trained on her.
She let go of him and turned her face away, breathing hard.
“Why did you stop?” he asked, his voice a soft growl.
“I can’t do this.”
“I know that you know how,” he said, his tone neutral.
“I just can’t.” She dropped her head, resting her forehead against his knee. Zarah was right. He was back among his own people—safe, and no doubt rethinking everything that had passed between them. Remembering what she’d done. “I’m sorry. For so many things.” Her voice was thick. Her heart heavy and aching in her chest. “I can’t take anything back. Wouldn’t if I could, because then I’d be denying my sister’s freedom, but I . . .” She raised her face, let him see the tears filling her eyes. “I need your forgiveness, Eirik. I need to know you don’t hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, Fatin.” A fingertip traced the track of her tear, then spread it slowly across her lower lip. “Remove your shift.”
She gave a ragged sob and shook her head. “I can’t whore for you.”
“Can you make love to me?”
He said it so softly, so tenderly, that she blinked, tears falling freely now. “Will you take even the last piece of my heart?”
“If you will give it to me,” he whispered.
“I love you,” she blurted.
“So you’ve said.”
Her whole body quivered. Her heart thudded against her chest. He needed proof. But did he want it because he cared or because he wanted to take the last of her pride before she entered a lifetime of servitude as an act of final revenge?
Knowing she risked a crushing letdown, she pushed up and slowly drew the shift over her head. When she stood nude before him, she covered her mons with a hand and bent her head.
“Fatin,” he said softly.
She shook her head, trembling. “I can’t. Please, please, just let me go.”
“What if I can’t, elskling?” He eased off the sofa, and stood in front of her. His hands bracketed her cheeks and raised her face.
She shut her eyes, crying, sobs shaking her now. “Don’t be kind. I can’t bear it.”
Arms enfolded her, wrapping tightly around her.
Fatin stiffened, for only a moment; then she lifted her arms and leaned against him, digging her finge
rs into his skin to hold him. “I love you. I’ll always love you.” She kissed his chest, lifted her face to glide her mouth across his jaw.
He cursed and lowered his head, his mouth covering hers, his tongue sweeping inside to mate with hers.
It was a perfect, poignant moment, and over far too quickly, because he broke the kiss. “Sigmund has ceded you to me.”
Her eyes creaked open. “I belong to you?” she said, hiccupping.
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Because his daughter cried off our wedding.”
Fatin cleared the lump from her throat. “And you’ve known this how long?”
“Just a little while ago,” he said casually. “We’ve formed an alliance.”
“You knew this before Tora brought me here?” she asked, her voice rising.
“I asked her to bring you so I could tell you.”
“And you let me think . . .” She pulled from his embrace and slapped him.
His eyebrows shot up. “Not the reaction I expected,” he said, rubbing his cheek. His eyes narrowed.
But she wasn’t afraid of him, even if he was a big, hulking Viking. Anger flooded her body, making her hot, searing away her sadness and fear. Her head felt ready to explode. “You knew I thought I was being brought to Sigmund,” she said, her voice rising. “That I thought I’d be servicing him like a whore.”
His grin widened. “Surprise?”
“Auugh!” She launched herself at him, fists flying. He fell back on the sofa, laughing, and a haze of red blinded her. Fury lent her strength and she pushed him harder, climbed over him, straddling his waist as she reached up to pull his long black hair.
“Bastard! You let me think the worst. Let me think you didn’t care.”
“I had to know what you felt.”
“You wanted me to crawl and beg—and fuck! You made me cry!”
One hand caught her wrists and stretched them high, flattening her chest against his. “Don’t you feel better now? Tora always says a woman needs to cry to rid herself of stress.”
She wriggled and bucked, her face growing hotter and hotter. But her sex glided over his cock, which was hard and right there. Fatin bared her teeth, but backed onto him, forcing her pussy down his length, consuming him with a single hard shove.
When she was seated, she gave him a glare.
“Should I concede this battle?” he murmured, giving her shoulders a hard caress.
She wriggled again, but this time only to force the ridge of his glans to rub her against that inner spot. Gods, how his body pleased her. Her breath left in a long, slow ebb.
“Feeling better?” he asked, rubbing her bottom.
“I take it back,” she growled.
“Which part?” he asked with crooked grin.
“I hate you.”
Eirik settled deeper on the sofa and pumped his hips, digging his cock inside her, gliding deeper and deeper. “Liar.” He let go of her hands, grasped her hips, and held her firm against him as he slid sideways until he lay on the cushion, a foot on the floor for balance with her above him. “Make love to me, Fatin. You have a chance now to prove to me why I should keep you.”
He said it with such casual humor, she felt like screaming. “I don’t have to prove a damn thing to you.” But she pressed her knees close around his hips and began to rock. “I’m doing this for me.”
She cupped her breasts, fingers splayed, her nipples peeking between them. She gave herself a squeeze and slid forward and back, lifting her chin, before continuing, “I could get this same pleasure riding any cock.”
His lips thinned, but then eased again as he sighed. Fingers traced a healing stripe on her back. “I was insane with worry for you,” he said, his voice thick. “Ready to kill every Helio bastard in Aliyah’s employ for what they did to you.”
“And yet you ignored me,” she bit out. “Abandoned me, once we were safe.”
“Because Birget wanted you gutted. She’d just lost Baraq, or so she thought. He’s alive, by the way.”
Her eyes bulged. “And no one thought to mention it to me?”
He shrugged. “A lot was happening. Matters of state.”
“Much more important than relieving the worries of one little who—”
He pinched a nipple between her fingers. “Stop. I ignored you so that she wouldn’t know how important you are to me. I didn’t want to rub salt into her wounds and make her angrier.”
“You were protecting me?” she asked, eyeing him with suspicion.
“If I say yes, will you let me fuck you?”
She knew she shouldn’t let him off so easily, but she’d nearly stroked herself into a state of frenzy. Tension coiled deep in her core. Fatin rocked again, dragging her pussy along his thick shaft. “Eirik?”
“Yes, love?” he murmured, sounding distracted. His gaze lowered to watch her sexy glides.
“I’m very, very wet.”
A low growl vibrated his chest, and he jerked upward, almost unsettling her, but his hands clutched her buttocks and he stood with her still locked to his body and strode to the bed.
He dumped her on the mattress, his cock sliding free, but then he flipped her.
Coming up on all fours, she tossed back her hair and aimed a mock-glare over her shoulder. “Not without lube.”
“I want something else hot and wet surrounding me, elskling.”
Fatin grinned and faced forward, bracing as he entered her again. Then, as he began to thrust, she dropped to her elbows, closing her eyes to savor his strength, the way he stroked so hard against her. “Will I be your thrall?” she asked, not looking back.
“Would that please you?”
She bit her lip, considering. “I’d rather be a concubine, I think. Then I wouldn’t have to wear this thrall’s cuff.”
His thrusts halted, and he came over her back, his hands landing on either side of her. “What do I wear on my arm?”
She glanced to the side, seeing a gold cuff around his upper arm, like the one she wore dangling on her wrist. “Didn’t see that before. Did you grow accustomed to wearing one?”
Eirik bit her earlobe. “I should beat you. It’s a symbol of the Ulfhednar rulers. It marks you. Concubines and wives wear them.”
“Really?” She glanced back, wanting to see his expression.
His face was closed again, his icy gaze boring into hers. However, this time she wasn’t worried that it was because he didn’t care.
“Eirik, which will I be?”
His gaze broke with hers. But not before she saw a hint of deep emotion glittering there. “I would prefer to make you my wife.” His lips twisted in a parody of a smile. “But if your heart’s desire is to serve as my thrall . . .”
Fatin laughed. The sound surprised her. She faced forward and laughed again.
Eirik chuckled behind her and resumed thrusting. “Perhaps I won’t let you come until you answer.”
Fatin tilted her hips higher to let him slide deeper, then groaned. “Maybe I want you to take your time.”
“You are never a patient lover.”
“True. So wife—?” She gasped when he gave her a sharper thrust. “Are you sure? What of heirs?”
“Dagr will sire the heirs,” he said, his voice tight. “But I would have Falcons, feathered sons and daughters.”
“They may look just like you.”
“Then I will live with my disappointment.”
“Eirik, stop.” She reached back and shoved at his hips. Halting him. When he pulled free, she rolled beneath him, facing him.
When he hovered over her, his face hard, stark longing in his eyes, only then did she believe. Her Viking loved her.
She traced the hard blade of his cheek, the length of his stubborn nose. “Wife. I want more than anything to call you husband.”
He came down, his cock seeking entrance, plunging deep in a single glide. When they were close, arms wrapped tightly around each other, he spoke. “This will not be an easy life. Skuldelev will not b
e a peaceful place. Not for a long time.”
Fatin smiled, cupping his face, and lifted her head to kiss him. When she drew back, she said, “I have not had an easy life, so I think I am ready for whatever hardships lie ahead. So long as I have you.”
“My sweet, sweet Falcon,” he whispered.
“But no concubines.”
Eirik stifled a laugh at her fierce, proud glare. “No one but you, my love.” Then he stroked them both toward fulfillment, powering stronger and harder inside her honeyed walls.
As he moved, glorying in her sighs, he mused over how far he’d come. He’d lived a lifetime in Hel’s cold embrace. Fought a beast and escaped the fires of Muspellheim. But not until he’d tamed a Falcon did he feel as though he’d conquered all.
When her thighs clamped around his hips, and her body writhed like a wild thing beneath him, he let go, rising higher, lifted on the wings of her love.
About the Author
DELILAH DEVLIN is an award-winning author of erotic romance with a rapidly expanding reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. Whether creating dark, erotically charged paranormal and futuristic worlds or richly descriptive Westerns that ring with authenticity, Delilah Devlin “pens in uncharted territory that will leave readers breathless and hungering for more” (ParaNormal Romance). Ms. Devlin has published more than seventy erotic romances in multiple subgenres and lengths. To learn more about Delilah, visit www.DelilahDevlin.com.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
About the Author
Enslaved by a Viking Page 28
