Viking Claim (The MacLomain Series: Viking Ancestors Book 2)

by Sky Purington

  “I would think that would be a long process,” he said, unconvinced. “With much strife.”

  “It can be but in my time the defendant and plaintiff or prosecutor, depending on whether it’s civil or criminal proceedings, have lawyers, people who defend them and argue their case.”

  “Lawyer.” Raknar’s voice softened. “This is what you enjoy, yes?”

  So Megan had shared. No big deal. She nodded. “Yes, I’d like to eventually become a lawyer. I guess we’ll see.”

  Raknar contemplated this before he continued. “Sometimes there are cases where Naðr will wait to make decisions and talk to me and Kol first. Maybe you would like to join us one of those times?”

  “I would,” she said immediately. “Very much so.”

  Raknar’s lip didn’t just twitch but an actual smile crawled onto his face. “If this would make you happy, I will see it done.”

  She grinned in return. “That’d be awesome. Thanks.”

  Their eyes held and for the first time since meeting she didn’t feel like there were over a thousand years between them. He wasn’t a ninth century Viking and she wasn’t a twenty-first century American. No, they were just a man and woman connecting in the best non-sensual way possible. Not to say the sexual energy didn’t once more flare a second later. But that was the problem with staring into his eyes for too long…or for standing too close to him for that matter.

  “Time to get dressed,” Megan chimed, coming alongside.

  Veronica’s brows lowered as she pulled her eyes from Raknar’s. “That was fast. Why didn’t you just walk with us?”

  Far too innocent, her sister shrugged. “I knew what I needed to grab. Then it was just a matter of catching up.”

  “I see.”

  Raknar handed Veronica the tunic and material. Then he came so close that breathing became impossible. The miscellaneous sounds of horse hooves, children laughing, swords clanging, all faded away and simply ceased to exist when her world focused in on him. He stood that way, with inches between them, for a stretched moment, body tense, before he whispered, “Thank you for being kind to my boy.”

  Then his lips brushed her temple and he was gone.

  “Damn,” Megan murmured. When she looked, it was to see her sister staring after Raknar and shaking her head.

  “What?” she murmured but knew.

  Whatever this was between her and Raknar was taking on a life of its own.

  Megan’s eyes shot to hers and the corner of her lips curled up. “Nothing you don’t already know.” She wrapped elbows and they started walking. “Let’s go make you even more beautiful than you already are, Goddess.”

  Chapter Six

  Hel, the Nine Worlds, including Odin’s Asgard, the Vanirs’ Vanaheim and Freyja’s Alfheim were surely created faster than it was taking Megan and Veronica to join them at the Walpurgis fire.

  “Keep on scowling, brother.” Kol chuckled. “It will make winning over Veronica much easier for me.”

  “Good that you know you have competition,” he growled.

  Even as he spoke to Raknar, Kol stretched then grabbed the ass of a woman who sidled up next to him. “Is that what you are? Competition?”

  Raknar grumbled to himself but gave no clear response.

  “That’s what I thought.” Kol brushed his lips over the woman’s forehead then sent her on her way. “Even though you want Veronica, you won’t risk the pain. So I’ll take the burden off you.”

  Raknar’s eyes slid to his little brother, words low. “Will you then?”

  “You know I will,” Kol promised. “Besides, for all we know she's meant for me.”

  Arms crossed over his chest, Raknar returned his eyes to the fire. “True. But I wonder…”

  When he said no more, Kol didn’t quite take the bait. “I’m sure you do, brother. About many things.”

  Raknar arched a brow. Kol had changed since Megan arrived. Though he still lived by his cock, something had shifted and it was hard to tell just what.

  But that wasn’t entirely true.

  As of late, he’d come across his brother alone on the docks, staring out at the sea as though searching for something other than treasure, other than contemplating the next woman he intended to bed. Naðr and Raknar had spoken of the subliminal changes in Kol mostly because they felt it in their shared dragon blood. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t necessarily good either. Just different. Noticeable. Worth paying attention to.

  Suddenly, Kol’s eyes went wide and he muttered, “Loki’s balls,” before he wiped a hand over his face and shook his head.

  Like Kol, Raknar's eyes locked on Veronica.

  His cock turned to steel before he could draw another breath.

  Starting at her trim ankles, his gaze traveled up her sinfully long, leather encased legs before they drifted over the tunic he’d bought her. Fitted, it showed off curves he had no idea existed. And breasts. Firm, high, not overly large but more than enough. Slim, delicate arms.

  Then his eyes found her face…her hair.

  She might not have embraced Viking fashion last night, but that had changed. Now a few thin braids framed her face with several wrapped up and twisted back before threading down through a plush carpet of free flowing hair.

  And her eyes.

  Hel.

  A thin, barely there trail of charcoal outlined them then curved out on either side in a dainty vine pattern. Like branches spanning out from the verdant green of her gaze. Fire-lit stones dripped from her ears, brushing soft skin as if they were as eager to taste her as he was. A delicate necklace of stones hung around her neck. Raknar rolled his tongue, eager to chase them straight into her plumped up cleavage.

  Kol started forward, but Raknar put a staying hand on his arm. “No.”

  Say, ‘she’s mine.’ Just do it. Because you know it’s true.

  But he couldn’t push the words past his lips.

  Not yet.

  Maybe not ever.

  His little brother hesitated then yanked away.

  Raknar clenched his jaw and watched. What else could he do? There wasn’t another woman alive as beautiful as Veronica. But he needed to lose this erection or moving would not be possible. So he turned his gaze to the fire and thought dark thoughts.

  Still, it was hard knowing she was only a shift of the eyes away.

  “Hard, isn’t it,” Kjar murmured, joining him.

  Raknar glared at his cousin, knowing damn well what he meant.

  The shipwright shrugged, chuckled and handed him a horn of ale. “Drink, my friend. Especially if you're determined to torture yourself like this.”

  Raknar nodded and drained the horn in three long gulps.

  “F-father.”

  He handed the empty horn to Kjar and put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “What is it?”

  Heidrek stared at him wide-eyed, clearly not sure what he wanted to say. “I j-just wanted to s-say hello.” Then he looked at Kjar. “T-to you b-both.”

  “Hello, young Heidrek,” Kjar said, smiling.

  Raknar smiled as well but narrowed his eyes on his son. “Are you all right?”

  Heidrek stared back for a long moment before he took a mighty breath and said, “I am good. Thank you. Enjoy your n-night.”

  Then he bolted.

  Raknar frowned and stared at him.

  “He spoke well,” Kjar murmured softly.

  He did…didn’t he?

  There wasn’t much time to ponder his son’s strange behavior before a flourish of activity caught his attention. Kol was standing in front of Veronica defending her against three men, one of whom he recognized.

  Hamdir.

  The man who thought to claim her in England.

  Raknar shook his head as he strode their way. It proved how much she distracted him because he had forgotten about this potential problem. Yet she’d been bedridden since she arrived then near the King last night. Likely today Hamdir had been sleeping off more drink.

  But he was a
wake and wanting now.

  And there was no sign of Naðr or Megan.

  “She’s mine!” Hamdir declared loudly. “I claimed her on our last raid.” He looked at several men in the crowd. “Ask anyone.”

  Many nodded. Others shrugged. Those who were about to cast their vote stopped when they saw Raknar heading their way.

  “No more.” Raknar flipped out his dagger.

  Hamdir eyed the blade and shook his head. “You know I am right, Raknar.”

  “What I know,” he replied, flipping the blade over and over, eyes never leaving Hamdir’s. “Is that we are here to honor our Allfather, Odin, and what you do now does not do such.”

  Before Hamdir could speak, Raknar stood before him, dagger gripped tightly. “Do you wish to dishonor Odin this night, friend?”

  Hamdir’s eyes stayed steady on him, the spittle on his beard visible as he shook with rage. “By right, she belongs to me and I want her.”

  “We all want her,” Raknar said, bringing his face so close he could smell the stink on the man’s breath. “But until the king says so, she belongs to no man.”

  “How can the King say anything when he is so busy with his whor—”

  Raknar punched Hamdir and he went down hard.

  The minute he hit the ground, Raknar wedged his boot beneath the man’s chin and leaned down. He cocked his head and waited as Hamdir’s face started to turn red, as he struggled for air. “If you ever disrespect the queen like that again...” His eyes skimmed the crowd and he raised his voice. “If anyone does.” He lowered his boot a fraction, took his blade and wiped it slowly across Hamdir’s neck without cutting. “There will be no good end.”

  Then he braced his boot on his chest and twisted the tip of the blade against the area on the man’s neck that would release his air if Raknar thrust forward a fraction. He didn’t need to look at the crowd, only Hamdir, when he roared, “Am I understood?”

  Murmurs at first then a loud burst of approval.

  “To Queen Megan!” some cried.

  “She has brought nothing but Odin’s favor upon us!” others declared.

  “She has,” Raknar agreed and stepped back.

  Hamdir knew better than to move right away as Raknar looked down with disgust.

  Raknar gave voice to what Naðr would want to be declared at this juncture. “Our king is fair and Hamdir laid a claim. He will present his case at the next Thing.”

  The fallen man heaved heavily, wiped the blood from his mouth and stumbled to his feet.

  “Too long I must wait but will,” Hamdir grumbled before he staggered off.

  Raknar spit on the ground where Hamdir had just lain and tucked away his blade. Gods, he wished to hel it was soaked with the man’s blood. The swine never had any honor and was truly meant for Loki’s afterlife.

  When Kjar handed Raknar another horn of ale, he drank long and deep. Meanwhile, Kol had stayed by Veronica’s side, a blade drawn then sheathed; now drinking long from his own horn.

  Rage somewhat abated, Raknar turned to Veronica and murmured, “I'm sorry. Hamdir is not a good example of our people.”

  Naðr would have never said such a thing with so many listening but he wasn’t his brother and his anger was thorough.

  “It’s okay,” she said softly. When he didn’t respond, eyes still skirting the red dragon haze that had tried to surface, Veronica put her hand on his arm and repeated. “Raknar, it’s okay. Everything’s fine.”

  Raknar blinked a few times and realized the crowd was back to celebrating Odin. The only one left in his immediate vicinity was Veronica and he didn’t much like the look in her eyes. Concern. Worry. Sadness?

  Taken aback, he took another long swig and shook his head as he eyed her. “Are you well, woman?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” She nodded and touched his bicep. “Thanks to you.”

  He felt her touch as though lightning shot from the sky then sizzled over his skin. The dragon within reared and he growled.

  She pulled back her hand.

  “No,” he caught her wrist, met her eyes and whispered before thinking. “I liked it…your touch.”

  Their eyes held, yearned…so much need.

  Then they shook their heads at the same time and pulled away.

  Yet he couldn’t help but say, “You look beautiful, Veronica.”

  As if she worked to catch her breath, it took her a moment to respond. “It’s a gorgeous tunic. Thank you again…and for the other materials.”

  Raknar nodded but sighed in frustration. He wanted to drag her into the dark and consume her perfect body. He’d run his tongue over every smooth inch of her, laving and pampering until he found the singular spots that changed her expression and made her his.

  Yet the ghosts from his past were surfacing.

  The heartache.

  The hurt.

  Kjar came alongside and took his horn before pressing a fresh one into his hand. “For you cousin, my friend, let us drink to Odin.”

  Then Kjar handed Veronica a horn. “To Odin?”

  “God for me.” She held up her horn and locked eyes with Raknar. “And to your Odin as well.”

  They tapped horns and drank, never taking their eyes off one another until Naðr and Megan joined them.

  “I hear there was trouble.” Naðr nodded at Raknar. “And that you handled it well. Thank you, brother.”

  And where were you? Though he wanted to ask, he wouldn’t. Not right now. Not with so many ears listening. Because he’d been trained to be the king’s brother. To protect and be discreet. But he knew Naor sensed it which made him again wonder at his absence. How purposeful it might have been.

  The drums started and more and more people flooded onto the shore and around the fire to pay tribute. Raknar clenched his horn and nodded to his brother before turning eyes to the flames, to distraction. Anything to keep him from Veronica.

  Yet the flames made him think of the curl of the waves as she sat in Heidrek’s boat with him earlier. Restless, curious, he had followed them. What he ultimately witnessed still had him confused…adrift.

  They sat out there together talking, laughing, affectionate.

  Everything Heidrek’s mother never was with him.

  Raknar had warred between anger and thankfulness as he watched Veronica. Anger because she wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to charm Heidrek when none of them knew how long she’d be here. It would just be another heartbreak for his son when she left. Then he felt thankfulness because she was offering him something even Raknar himself could not offer.

  Genuine friendship.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  Startled, he glanced at Megan. He nodded but was pretty sure his head only jerked. “I am. Many thanks.”

  “No, you’re not,” she murmured, voice concerned, a heavy frown on her face. “What’s going on with you, hun?”

  “I’m fine,” he muttered and met her eyes. “I don’t trust the crowd tonight. You and Veronica stay by Naðr’s side, yes?”

  She hesitated before finally nodding. “Sure. Okay.”

  Then he left.

  Just walked away.

  Not down the docks toward the ships but along the shore, between the moonlight and shadows, with nothing but the ease of ocean and wind at his side. The dark mountains loomed silent and brooding, the perfect backdrop to his disgruntled mind. He walked and walked. His thoughts only grew darker until the fire and crowd were long gone.

  Furious, he whipped his now empty horn into the sea.

  Tried to let go.

  Then he crouched and hung his head. He stayed that way for a long time trying to sift through his past and present, trying to figure out how to make it all right.

  “Raknar?”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. Loki’s balls. “You’re not safe here, Veronica. Go back.”

  Yet he knew he wouldn’t let her go unescorted. He didn’t trust Hamdir and whatever small following he might have.

&
nbsp; “Come back with me then,” she said softly.

  And he should. Just like that. Calmly escort her back. But he was still too volatile. Lost. So he held out his hand and curled his fingers without looking at her. “Come here.”

  When she made no movement, he whispered, “Please.”

  That seemed to be the key because she made her way over. The moment she was within arm’s length, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her the rest of the way until she stood in front of him. He clasped her slender thighs and slowly ran his hands up until he grasped her hips and met her eyes, words hoarse, pleading, “You need to stay away from me.”

  “I know,” she whispered but didn’t move away.

  They stayed that way for several long moments. Him staring up, challenging. Her staring down, not fleeing. Unable to stop himself, he fell forward onto his knees. The shore declined just enough that he could wrap his arms around her lower back and rest his cheek against her stomach. He closed his eyes. “I don’t think you know a thing at all. Not about me. Not about this.”

  Her hand rested tentatively against his head, her words whisper soft. “And I don’t think I want to…but here I am.”

  Raknar turned his nose to her stomach, her womb, and inhaled deeply. She smelled of wet, hot desire, of something he hadn’t paid attention to in a very long time with a woman. Yes, he lay with women when necessary. Enough so that his seed didn’t dry up. But he’d not truly basked in the scent of a woman since his wife, now enemy, Yrsa…and her sister, Aesa.

  But even they had not smelled like this.

  Sweet. Innocent but not virginal. Defiant. Confused. Lost. Ready.

  Veronica smelled of needs he didn’t know he had. Foreign yet familiar. Something deep down inside started to claw its way up. Part man, part dragon, a strangled sound broke from his chest as he pushed up her tunic and pressed his lips against the silky soft yet firm plane of her abdomen.

  “Raknar,” she groaned, the sound strangled as she grabbed his head and whimpered.