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

by Sky Purington

  Megan’s lips twisted into a half-smile. “Poor guy.”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who reassigned him to keep an eye on me. He apparently did that himself.”

  “Kol needed a break.”

  “Sure he did.” Veronica wasn’t oblivious. She had watched Kol go into a steady decline from the moment he was tasked with watching over her. Did he continue to flirt shamelessly? Of course. Yet something changed and she couldn’t put her finger on it. Either way, it worked in her favor and made getting to know the guy beneath all the lustiness that much easier. “No worries, Sis. Kol truly is a cut above the rest.” She met her sister’s eyes. “But…is he okay? Really?”

  Megan hesitated a fraction of a second, but it was enough. “Yeah, he’ll be fine. He’s just under a lot of pressure.”

  Right. The whole repressed dragon thing which she still didn’t believe but was sick of saying as much.

  The king released a low whistle as he entered the holding, his gaze roaming over both women with appreciation before he pulled Megan into his arms and proceeded to kiss the life right out of her.

  Veronica had grown far more comfortable with Naðr over the past nine days and enjoyed their numerous conversations. She couldn’t help but appreciate that he took the time to get to know her better. Something Megan’s ex-husband had never bothered to do.

  As it turned out, Naðr Véurr wasn’t half the bully he initially struck her as. If anything, he had a surprisingly pleasant sense of dry humor and a remarkably intelligent mind which Veronica could wholly appreciate. But what she had come to like most about him was the thorough and unaffected way he adored her sister. Megan was put on a pedestal. A place she deserved to be. A place she should have been put long ago.

  After he had his fill of Megan, the king sauntered around Veronica, eyeing her up and down with appreciation before he crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “What are you trying to do to my poor brother, woman?”

  “I’m not trying to do anything.” She shrugged. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to go from New York to here?” Then an unintended smirk curled her lips. “I’m just trying to get by, my friend.”

  “Get by,” Naðr murmured but he offered a smirk in return. “You must cause a lot of trouble in this New York.”

  “Naw.” She winked at Megan. “I stay outta trouble.”

  More than most.

  Veronica thought of her high-rise apartment with the sprawling city surrounding her beyond wall to wall, floor-to-ceiling windows. The safety and solace found from behind the glass as she gazed at everything that couldn’t touch her unless she wanted it to.

  Since arriving here, she had spent ample time standing on the shore staring at the stars. In an era without electricity, they were astounding and widespread. Bright and strewn, they were more impressive than New York’s midnight skyline. The only difference? The glass between her and the world didn’t exist. It didn’t have to.

  Because now, approximately one thousand, one hundred twenty-nine years stood between her and her pain. In the warped reality she found herself, 2007 had yet to happen and somehow that helped.

  As if he sensed her change of thought, Naðr took her hand and squeezed. When her eyes shot to his, he released one of those warm smiles he usually reserved for Megan, his voice soft, gentle. “I’m glad you’re here. So are my brothers. You’re as good a woman as your sister.”

  Flattered, caught off guard, she didn’t know what else to say but, “Thanks. You guys aren’t so bad yourselves.”

  “Right,” Megan echoed.

  Naðr gave Veronica an unexpected hug before he pulled away then scooped Megan against him, his lips brushing her temple. She loved the way they loved each other. It was different than anything she’d seen back home. Real. Blatant. Honest. Never-ending.

  His lips hitched up as his eyes went from Megan to Veronica. “Raknar lived up to his name. Wait until you see the buck he downed.”

  Never a huge fan of hunting, Veronica shrugged. The bonus to this day and age was that they didn’t kill and toss aside. Every part of an animal was put to good use to warm and feed the people. Nothing went to waste.

  Naðr slid his arm into Megan’s and held out the crook of his elbow to Veronica. “Come. Let us join the Walpurgisnacht festivities.”

  So it was that the King joined his people at the great bonfire with Megan on one arm and Veronica the other. Everyone was rowdier than ever as they revved up for Odin to behold the Runes. Like Megan said, when the patriarch god grasped them at midnight, he supposedly died for an instant. When he did, all the light in the Nine Worlds was extinguished and chaos reigned. At the final stroke of midnight, the light returned in brilliance. Then the bale-fires were lit and the dead had full sway upon the earth.

  Drums pounded. Waves crashed. Sea salt rode the wind. The smell of smoke and brine saturated the chilled air. The sky once more burst with a million bright stars, a brilliant swath of light over dozens upon dozens of docked ships.

  They no sooner joined the wide ring of celebrating people around the massive fire when her eyes found Raknar. He must’ve recently splashed water over his head because liquid ran in gleaming rivulets over his jaw then down his nude, well-muscled torso. With nothing but black leather from the waist down, it was obvious he’d recently come back from the hunt. Fire and promise lit his pale blue eyes when they locked with hers.

  Veronica’s heart thudded into her throat as she held his gaze. The nine days he was gone had felt like a lifetime. While she could tell herself again and again she hadn’t dressed for him tonight, she would be a lying fool. She had liked the way he looked at her the last time she wore pants and though she knew it wasn’t good for either of them, she was unavoidably addicted to his desire for her.

  Enough so that she was willing to make the same mistake twice.

  Minus the heavy drinking.

  So when Megan handed her a skin of mead, she only took a small sip. Thank God Kjar had trudged into the mountains every other day to make sure she drank nothing but water, for the most part. Sure, she had a sip of ale here and there but not much. The stuff was brutal.

  Kol was nowhere to be found, but Veronica pretty much figured he needed a breather. She knew she did. Not to say he hadn’t turned out to be wonderful. Because he had. He was. But her initial feelings toward him were correct.

  He wasn’t for her.

  At least not romantically.

  Yet it had been the days she’d spent with him that had loosened her up considerably. Kol had continued to remind her so much of how Sean was before his accident three years prior. He was charming and fun and, who knew, pretty damn smart. She connected with him in a way she never expected. Once he realized he wouldn’t be ‘getting any’ he turned into the perfect gentleman and escort.

  For the most part.

  Save the haunted look in his eyes that seemed to grow day by day.

  “Come, my King, let’s dance,” Megan purred as she took Naðr’s hands and started to sway backward toward the fire.

  Naðr wasted no time following, a less-than-apologetic look tossed over his shoulder before he yanked Megan against him and they entered their own world.

  Veronica smiled when a soft muzzle pushed against her hand and Megan’s dog, Guardian plunked down beside her. Naturally, Heidrek came up on her other side, arms crossed over his chest as he eyed the fire. “Father really likes you.”

  His stutter was completely gone when they were alone now and she couldn’t be more pleased. He had taken her advice and was advancing far faster than she expected. If that wasn’t enough, Heidrek allowed her to help him practice endlessly on her. Still, he caught on fast. Then again, he was a strong boy and Raknar’s son so she wasn't all that shocked.

  Heidrek had become her number one friend here and they’d spent a great deal of time together. She’d made a point of avoiding children since she lost her son but being around Heidrek was unexpectedly comforting. “Your father is a nice man.”

/>   Heidrek pressed his lips together, but his eyes were soft when he said, “He is but does not know how to show it all the time.” His eyes went to hers. “You are nice for saying so though.”

  Veronica wrapped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. “Like you, he just needs to start seeing things differently when he talks to people.”

  Heidrek said nothing but she knew he understood. He nuzzled against her side then pulled away. “Come Guardian. Let us go find some meat.”

  Then he was gone and Raknar was heading in her direction.

  Though tempted to take a healthy swig from her skin, she didn’t. Instead, Veronica stood up straighter and waited for him to approach. Believe it or not, she had never seen Raknar look quite as intent as he did at this moment. As if the devil was coming for her soul, but he’d get there faster. Purposeful, focused, he strode up to her. Before she could say a word, he yanked her against him.

  Not a kiss.

  Not quite.

  But so very close.

  Eyes nearly shut; his mouth hovered centimeters from hers, his hot breath a whisper over her lips. It was as if they were reliving that moment when he first pulled her down onto the Drekkar ship. Save now they were far closer, unparalleled need pulsating and palpable between them, like a living, breathing thing.

  “Raknar,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

  Her eyes slid shut. His lips came closer, hovered, rested against hers but didn’t move. Nothing existed but the feel of him against her. A renewed fire, a blatant want that had been there since the moment they first laid eyes on one another.

  A shiver raced through her.

  Lightning fast, he dug one hand into her hair and the other around the side of her neck. Still they didn’t move. Lips close. Breath mingling. Heat didn’t just flare but roared between them, an untouchable element made to mock, to accentuate the place both fought but needed so very much.

  Somehow they were better at this. Wanting but not taking. Needing but avoiding. Pushing but not going all the way. Yet they had that in common. An unwillingness to scale the walls they’d erected.

  His lips moved away and his cheek pressed against hers, his whisper close to her ear. “Come. Dance with me, woman.”

  In any century.

  Raknar gave her no chance to respond before they moved closer to the fire and she was in his arms, her body swaying slowly against his. Veronica dropped the skin of mead, not interested in her drink as she floated, lost. Just like she had been that first night. Gone within his arms.

  Gone within him.

  Though it only felt like moments, the night drifted away. The planet turned. The stars moved. Vikings laughed, danced, partied, sang, but never once did Raknar let her go. They swayed, moved, touched, but never kissed. His hands drifted over her body not lewdly but worshiping, as though he memorized her every curve, every line that made up her form.

  For the first time in her life, through him, she became wholly aware of every single inch of the body encasing her soul. It was odd but powerful. Different but unavoidable.

  Amazingly welcome.

  “Not much longer then,” Kjar murmured in passing.

  His words sounded so far away that she ignored them.

  Not Raknar.

  He pulled back slightly and cupped her cheeks, eyes intense. “I want to show you something.”

  As if their fate had been pre-ordained the minute he pulled away, Hamdir appeared. As far as she knew, the brute had been out to sea as well. It seemed he came home just in time and was more than willing to pick up where he left off.

  “Raknar,” he grunted, eyes quick to go to Veronica. “I'll have her now.”

  Not a question but an assumption.

  Raknar, ever the diplomat but simultaneously her savior, looked at her. “Would you like to go with Hamdir?”

  She narrowed her eyes at Hamdir as she answered Raknar. “Absolutely not.”

  Hamdir’s lifeless eyes swung to Raknar. “I see you and her this eve. Now I want some. The law says if the King hasn’t made a decision yet, she belongs to no man.”

  Brows slashed down, lips set in a heavy scowl, Raknar went nose to nose with him, eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t want to go with you. Are you going to argue that?”

  “Yes,” Hamdir bit back, not budging an inch.

  Raknar stayed silent, but he didn’t need to speak. Everything he felt was in the venomous way he stared down the other man.

  Mutters came from the crowd.

  “Hamdir’d do good to let ‘er go.”

  “Loki’s fool, that.”

  “Hel’s death for him.”

  But Hamdir didn’t back down. No, the piece of shit kept his eyes locked with Raknar's.

  “She’s my bitch,” Hamdir seethed, defiance in his eyes.

  A blink. No, half a blink if that, and Raknar’s blade was across his throat.

  This time it wasn’t a mock swipe but deep and true as he clenched the man’s hair and held him up. Jaw set, gaze lethal, he looked into Hamdir’s eyes as blood poured from his neck. All the while, Raknar’s words dripped with loathing as he watched death take his enemy. “She’s nobody’s bitch.”

  Silence fell over the crowd as Raknar continued to hold Hamdir up even as his eyes slid shut and body went slack. Only when drool fell from the corner of his mouth did Raknar let him drop.

  More silence.

  Too much silence.

  Then the king.

  “Tonight is for Odin,” he roared, coming out of nowhere. He looked at Raknar, words low and dangerous. “Go. Now. Take her with you.”

  Jaw clenched, not fazed in the least, Raknar grabbed her hand and pulled her after him. Stunned, likely in shock, Veronica stumbled along until she found herself plunked down in a boat. Shivering, out of it, she was still trying to process that she just saw a man killed right in front of her.

  Raknar started to row viciously. Time passed. She had no idea how much. Until more silence.

  Again, too much silence.

  Yet this time it was different.

  Water lapped. Ocean surrounded her. Raknar sat silently one bench seat in front of her, shoulders not slumped but tense. Everything about the moment was surreal.

  “What just happened?” she whispered, frightened, barely able to form the words. It was no easy thing seeing what she just had, but her mind was kicking into overdrive despite how dumbfounded she was. Veronica wasn't clueless. She didn’t ask what happened because she was scared of the violence. No, she asked because she loved law. If she wasn’t mistaken, Raknar had just broken it to defend her…in an overly violent way.

  One she normally would not approve of.

  But then she had never been the potential rape victim in a case before. And she would have been raped. Without doubt, violently.

  Veronica tried to loosen her death grip on the bench. No such luck. Her limbs were frozen. When she tried to speak again, nothing came out. Just wouldn’t. So she hung her head and wondered why tears leaked from her eyes when she wasn’t crying.

  “Raknar,” she whispered, desperate.

  Again silence. Too much space. Chill.

  Then he was beside her.

  When he wrapped his arms around her, she buried her face against his chest because she didn’t know what else to do. When a sob broke, she tried to hide it. She didn’t cry. Ever. Unless she was alone. But that had been intense and she felt more than a little out of control.

  “I’m so sorry,” he murmured into her hair and pulled a fur over her shoulders.

  Grasping on to logic, anything tangible, she tried to detour from her own vulnerability and murmured, “Where’d you get the cloak?”

  Raknar offered no response but continued to stroke her hair as he held her tight. Time went by. Waves lapped. Still, he held her and waited for her to find as much peace as she possibly could.

  Eventually, after she had calmed and softened in his arms, he again whispered, “I am sorry.”

  So was she.
For so much. But he shouldn’t be.

  Stable enough, she pulled back a fraction and met his eyes. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Thank you.” Then she pulled away entirely. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

  “No,” he said without hesitation and leaned forward, taking hold of the oars. “You have nothing to be sorry for either. I saw a problem and dealt with it.”

  Veronica couldn’t help but appreciate his honesty. But would that stand up in a court of law, or the Thing, when dealing with murder? Then again, he lived under a monarchy, the king being his brother, so who knew.

  Regardless, a crime, even if one of passion, had been committed. Though she didn’t want to ask, she couldn’t help herself. “What’s going to happen to you now?”

  Again, Raknar gave no answer. Instead, he rowed one oar and turned not only the boat but the subject. “This is a beautiful vessel.”

  Still coming out of the stupor she had been under, she muttered, “It is.” She eyed another set of oars. “I’m being lazy. Let me help you.”

  When she made to stand, he grabbed her wrist and shook his head. “I can manage.” His eyes roamed over the boat. “Do you not recognize it then?”

  Her eyes traveled over the three bench mini-longship and she was about to shake her head but stopped.

  It couldn’t be.

  Yet she knew it was.

  Veronica ran her hand along its side and met his eyes. “Megan built this boat.”

  “And her friend, Sean.” He offered a small smile. “Don’t ever say otherwise or she gets upset.”

  Too true. Megan might have done the majority of the work, but this boat would always be her and Sean’s. Torn from the trauma of the night, she peered around, truly impressed. “I saw it sitting in her garage back home but look at this,” she declared with pride. "It's doing great on the water.”

  “After Kjar laid eyes on this, he allowed her to help him build our ships.”

  “I believe it.”

  Settled down as much as she could manage after what happened, Veronica became wholly aware of how alone her and Raknar really were out here. How intimate the setting. He stopped rowing when they faced the distant shore. Bales were being lit and mountains towered behind as they watched tradition unfold.