“Keep an eye out,” Eirik said softly. “If they give us the break we need, I will signal you.”
Despite the fact most of the men here were Bearshirts or from southern clans, they had listened to him from the start, respect for his family’s name and reputation giving him an edge. Someone needed to be in charge.
“And if we don’t get that break?” Hakon said, his brown eyes flashing from beneath blond eyebrows. Hakon had become Eirik’s de facto second.
“If we don’t get an opportunity now, then we wait. We may be warriors and prone to act first, but we are also Icelanders. We have thrived on a planet where weaker men would have perished.”
Hakon’s lips lifted in a fierce snarl. “These Utlending bastards will not stand a chance against our might.”
“When the time comes,” Eirik cautioned.
Hakon’s jaws ground together, but he ducked his head, the closest to a nod of agreement he would give Eirik. Of a similar size and strength, Hakon wasn’t swayed by Eirik’s rank or reputation. Which was what made Eirik trust him all the more.
Footsteps stomping closer on the metal grate flooring drew all the Vikings’ gazes.
Fatin and the white-coated bitch, Miriam, strode at the head of a long column of soldiers, wearing helmets and armed with laser guns and stun batons.
Eirik shot a glance down the line of cages and gave a subtle shake of his head. Not yet. Maybe not at all this day.
Fatin stopped in front of his cage. Excitement glittered in her black eyes. “You really shouldn’t worry all that much.”
Eirik grunted and gave her a sharp, deadly glare.
“Posturing still, I see.”
She came closer, close enough he could have reached through the bars and broken her neck, but the glint of humor in her eyes said she knew he wouldn’t risk the consequences. Not yet, he repeated to himself.
“Don’t get so worked up, Eirik Wolfskin. Your life won’t be so bad. You could have a very comfortable one, filled with privilege, if you cooperate.”
“You have said I will be a whore to the women of your world. How can I accept such a fate?”
“By making the best of the opportunities you will have. As long as you live, Viking, you have a chance to earn your freedom.”
Why she said such things to him while her expression brought to mind of one of the soulless creatures from Hel’s cold realm confused him. As did his reaction to her presence. The thin fabric of his pull-on pants couldn’t hide his automatic response to the spicy scent of her skin or the sight of her slender curves.
Her lips curved into a lush smile. “Such a shame we have no time ...” Then she laughed while a low, warning growl rumbled from his chest. “They will love you. Give them raw. Let them think they tame you into tenderness.” She turned.
Eirik watched as she waited for a door to be opened at the side of the ship. When it swung open, she grasped both sides of the doorframe and leaned out, her chest rising as she inhaled. A trill of laughter erupted, and she flung back her head.
Eirik continued to stare. Wondering. The woman seemed triumphant. Was it only the successful delivery of her cargo? He didn’t think so. So many things didn’t seem to align—not her coldness or her quiet concern. Not the cool demeanor when she stood a distance from him and the other men or the heat that rolled off her skin and darkened her eyes when she stepped closer.
He’d take heed of her warning. Play the game she suggested. By rights he shouldn’t trust a word she said, but he’d watch and wait.
Fatin flung him a dark, enigmatic glance, then stepped into the sunlight that gleamed through the open doorway.
Honora sat once again in her captain’s chair, fidgeting, adjusting her seat up and down, making the cushion plump, then deflate. For some reason, her chair didn’t feel as comfortable as it once did. Worse, her authority didn’t feel natural. Just days had passed since she’d acted as the rightful captain of the Proteus, but her entire life had changed, even her way of thinking.
All due to the man who stood behind her and whose large, warm hands cupped her shoulders, calming her as they crashed through the armada’s front line at light speed. “Rear view,” she said quietly, waiting as the microscopic creatures in the viewing screen realigned to give those on the command deck a visual as Consortium ships peeled away one by one to join the chase.
“Turk, how long until we make the wormhole?”
He didn’t reply immediately, the set of his shoulders—hunched toward his console—indicative enough of his worry that she didn’t ask him again.
“For ward view.” Gods, she felt the need to vacillate endlessly between the two views, but decided to keep her focus on their destination—as far as they could get from the other transport making its way now through the gaps they’d widened in the armada’s coverage. Cyrus would have to worry about his own ass now.
She pressed her forefinger into the long indent beneath her finger to call the computer. “Can we tap into the chatter on the command freqs?” she asked.
“We are being jammed, Captain Turgay.”
Dagr’s thumbs pressed into the back of her neck, just beneath her hair.
Honora groaned and let her head fall back. “You shouldn’t do that,” she breathed, watching him watch her. “I need to concentrate.”
“There is nothing you can do. I would ease your tension.”
Searching his face, she wrinkled her nose. “Your touch doesn’t soothe.”
A smile stretched across his features.
Gods, he was a handsome man. His fingers sank into her hair and pulled back her head even farther. Then he bent and kissed her, still upside down. Softly. Just lips rubbing against hers, his nose pressed against her chin.
Her mouth stretched now, and when he pulled away, she realized she did feel less tense. “Thanks.”
“Captain!”
She jerked upright.
“A ship is bearing down from straight ahead,” Turk said, excitement raising his voice. “They’re pinging our calling freq.”
Honora pressed her forefinger indent. “Go ahead and open the channel,” she said, and then turned to Dagr. “All you have to do is speak.”
“This is Dagr, the Black Wolf.”
“I am Commander Arikan,” came a terse response. “You have violated Consortium laws. Surrender now, or we will be forced to destroy the ship and kill everyone aboard.”
Honora lifted her finger to break the connection. “How far to the entrance of the wormhole, Turk?”
“Three minutes. They must know that’s where we intend to go. They’re trying to cut us off.”
“They won’t give us three minutes. They’ll have us surrounded sooner than that.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Dagr, what do you want to do?”
“Let me speak.”
She hesitated, her gaze taking in the determined set of his face.
“Trust me, Honora.”
She opened the circuit again.
“Commander Arikan,” Dagr said, his voice taking on a sly tone. “I am considering my options. I am a businessman and would strike a deal with you for the return of your valuable ship and crew.”
“We don’t deal with pirates.”
“I take offense to that term. And I understand you must set standards or the riffraff of the universe would think your ships fair game. However, I seek no ransom. Nothing is damaged, no one killed. So far.”
“You captured our ship. That brands you. Surrender first; then we will talk.”
“How foolish would I be? I would lose any advantage I currently hold.”
Honora’s stomach tightened until she thought she might vomit. Arikan’s voice was hard, merciless.
“From where I sit, wolf, you have no advantage. The Proteus has only limited defenses. My vessel is a warship and fully armed. If I give the order, you will be obliterated.”
Dagr grunted. “Then you will not only lose this ship and her crew, but something else even more valuable.”
“I
haven’t time for you to be vague.”
“Then I won’t waste words. I’m a businessman. I traded Proteus crew members for a king’s ransom in pure light.”
“Are you trying to bribe me?” Arikan said slowly.
“Never,” Dagr said, arching a brow at Honora, who shook her head at his audacity. “I’m only proving that I have a working relationship with the leadership of the strongest kingdom on New Iceland. I and my men will surrender to you, and you will give me your word to hear me out before you decide our disposition. I have a proposition which I will not discuss where anyone else might be listening.”
Honora stiffened. The thing he’d alluded to before. The plan he hadn’t wanted to share in front of anyone else so that if questioned, they wouldn’t be able to divulge any of it. She hoped like Hades he knew what he was doing.
A long silence ensued. Then the viewing screen changed, without Honora having done a thing. The Commander’s face appeared, so large every wrinkle and even the hook of his aging nose were amplified.
“They’ve taken over the controls,” she said calmly, assuming a neutral expression now that Arikan was watching them.
“Silence!” Dagr bellowed, his hands clamping harder on her shoulders.
She understood. The deception had begun. She was back to being the captive. At least while in sight of others. Honora didn’t have to pretend to feel trapped and defeated. From here on out, she was flotsam, drifting on the whim of the higher-ups. Her life was bound to change, possibly to end.
“My men and I are prepared to gather for transport to your vessel,” Dagr said.
“That’s not acceptable. We will send a boarding party to the Proteus.”
“And my men will capture them or die trying. You will do this our way. The Proteus was only a stepping-stone in my plan. I needed your attention. Now that I have it, I would speak with you directly.”
Honora wondered what he could possibly say that would stave off death or imprisonment. And why be stubborn over the location of the surrender? Did he think she would be better off if her ship wasn’t invaded by her own people? That might be true.
Arikan’s eyes narrowed to tiny slits. Fury glazed his leathery cheeks. “Captain Turgay.”
She straightened her shoulders, ignoring the press of Dagr’s hands. “Yes, sir.”
“You will resume command of your ship once the pirates are transferred. When I give the order, you will proceed directly to the Heraklion port on Helios.”
She nodded her acceptance of the command, even knowing he was telling her she delivered herself into custody. Heraklion wasn’t the military port. Any military ship forced to dock there would be overrun by law enforcement.
Arikan thought she wouldn’t balk at the order. And the old Honora would not have thought twice, regardless of the personal price.
“Black Wolf, make your way to the cargo bay. We will transport your entire party aboard at the same time. Captain Turgay, you will verify the ship is free of infestation.”
The viewing screen darkened.
Dagr grabbed her arm and forced her from the chair, bending her arm painfully behind her, making her grimace. But once he’d walked her into the corridor, he pulled her into his arms. Vikings walked past them, having heard the instructions, their faces grim.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him hard, sinking her face into the corner of his neck to hide her tears.
“I will find you,” he said, his voice roughening.
“You’ll be dead.” She sniffed. “Fuck, we’ll both be dead.”
His hand clutched the back of her hair and pulled until she met his gaze. “I have something your commander will not be able to resist.”
Tightness clogged her throat and she swallowed hard. “You don’t know them. He will follow protocols. He has no flexibility to act.”
“He has pride and ambition. He will hear me out. Do not do as he commands, Honora. Do not head to Helios.”
“I must. They will track the ship. I can’t deviate from the path without drawing fire. And to cloak again ...” She shook her head.
“Find a way to escape. Make your way to Karthagos.” His gaze was intent, searching. “I will find you there.”
Honora nodded, knowing she’d do no such thing.
Dagr glared, his hands tightening on her upper arms like he wanted to shake her.
She gave him a small, trembling smile and cupped his cheek. “We will both do what we must to survive. That’s the best I can promise.”
He nodded, then grabbed her hand and headed down the corridor to the ladder leading into the cargo hold. A portal had already been opened; his men stood to the side of it, waiting.
Honora didn’t dare cling, because she feared she’d fall apart. When he dropped her hand, she hung back, watching as he approached his men, giving each a steady stare. When his gaze fell on Frakki, the other Viking came to attention, his hand on the pommel of his sword.
Dagr slid his own sword from its scabbard and raised it above his head. “For Thor! For New Iceland!” The Viking’s shouts reverberated around the hold, echoing off the metal hull.
Their shouts were accompanied by ferocious smiles. Swords were resheathed, and Frakki led the men through the portal until at last only Dagr remained. Alone with him in the hold, Honora curled her fingers into her palms. “You shouldn’t keep them waiting.”
Dagr curved his fingers around her face.
She leaned into them, storing his scent, the scrape of his callused palm in her memory.
His head tilted; his lips hovered just above hers. His ice blue eyes, always so cold and hard, melted with his heated stare. “I have always believed that warriors should guard their hearts against the softer emotions. That they would be weakened. It was a lie, told father to son. I suspected it to be a lie when my brother was taken and I knew I couldn’t rest until he’d been returned.
“I thought it might be a lie when my rage set me on a path to punish those responsible for the abductions—because only great love for my world, my people, could have made me so very furious.
“But I wasn’t certain until this moment that I do love. For I love you, Honora. Believe me when I say—I will find you. Live, so that I can find you.” He pressed his mouth against hers, gave her one last dark, penetrating glance, then turned on his heel.
Honora couldn’t have given him the words if she’d wanted to. Her jaw was slack, her throat tight and burning. Her gaze clung to his tall, imposing form as he stepped through the portal, blinking out in an instant.
At the sight, her shoulders slumped, but she firmed her jaw and turned away. Then she heard the stomp of booted feet and turned back. Soldiers, five of them, entered the hold. So the commander hadn’t trusted her after all to return to dock.
“Captain Turgay,” one of the new arrivals said, his hard gaze sliding down her body in a quick, dismissive gesture. “We are your escort.”
Thinking quickly, she said, “Are you crew for the ship or strictly security? We’re shorthanded ...”
“Security. When we infiltrated your systems, we ascertained you had sufficient crew to pilot the ship. The women can continue to service the canteen. We are here only to ensure another incident doesn’t occur.”
“You think you’re equal to a Viking invasion?” she snorted, but decided not to continue the argument.
His head shook. “A larger contingent couldn’t be spared. Not with command planning an invasion.”
A chill of horror crept slowly down her spine. “An invasion?”
The man’s lips twisted into a nasty smile. “A lesson the Consortium has approved. They’re heading to New Iceland. Since it’s apparent the pirates have knowledge of the Ulfhednar mines and keep, they will provide the intel needed to launch an attack.”
“Too bad you’re sitting this one out.” Without betraying a flicker of emotion, Honora made an excuse to head back to the command deck. Somehow, she had to find a way to warn Dagr’s people. Having seen how eff
ective the Vikings were in hand-to-hand combat, she knew they wouldn’t be vanquished easily. The thought of the pain Dagr would suffer if he lost even one of the people he loved had her mind racing to devise a plan. She had only herself and Turk to carry it out.
Her stomach roiled at the thought of what Dagr must be facing aboard the warship this very moment and hoped her warrior had one heck of a plan, or he’d have front-row seats while he watched the destruction of his kingdom.
Nineteen
Dagr gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes to fierce, angry slits, but otherwise didn’t flinch. Fiery flicks from a laser whip had laid open a dozen bloody stripes on his chest and back. He stood with his wrists locked in stocks, his ankles shackled. His torso was naked and gleaming with sweat and blood.
No sooner had he and his men stepped through the portal than they’d been placed under arrest—his men whisked away to the brig while he was marched to the bowels of the great ship.
The master interrogator set aside his whip and smiled a toothy grin that raised every hair on the back of Dagr’s neck. Given the large assortment of tools he’d laid out on display on a metal tray at the start of the torture, the old man was only warming up.
The scrawny, wizened man made a great show of selecting just the right instrument, his hand hovering over a delicate picklike tool.
Dagr wondered what kind of damage such a tiny implement could do, until he saw the man hold it up to the guard who stood just inside the closed hatch door, nearing the man’s eyes. The guard flinched, but the old man merely turned the pick to catch the flickering light.
Dagr glanced away, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was concerned about his intentions, knowing that any resistance, even holding back his screams, would make the coming tortures all the worse.
Pride held him still and quiet. His captors didn’t know it, but they were torturing a Viking king.
He held on to the belief the Consortium commander was only trying to soften him up before questioning him. That this gruesome indignity was meant only to intimidate. As state-of-the-art as the rest of the ship had been, the interrogation room was pure theater. Dark and shadowed. Flickering lights. The cloying, sickly sweet smell of blood. So warm that everyone inside the room sweated.
Ravished by a Viking Page 24
