by Rae Monet
"If you don't, I will have no power over what will happen."
"So be it."
Her statement ignited his fury. He grabbed her and swung her underneath him. She struggled, which only incited his physical response. His cock hardened as he used his weight to pin her down. She groaned, her rage evident, but she didn't have a chance against him. His Viking ancestors had gifted him with superior height and a muscular frame that dwarfed other men, let alone one small woman.
Crying out, she struck him in the shoulder. Eirik grinned at her puny attempt to hurt him. She hadn't hit him hard. He sensed her will to injure him did not match her desire. She was skilled enough to put up a good fight should she want to.
"You are beautiful when you are angry,dýrr ."
She grunted and tried to strike him again. He grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head. Her back arched, thrusting her bare breasts into him. He groaned. Having her naked body underneath him again had his cock running his brain.
"Gods, you stir me, woman.” His statement was a curse. He didn't want to be affected like this. With any other woman or any other situation, he would have followed the Viking code. Rape and pillage. Although most of the time the edict was nonsense, he was beginning to understand why his descendants earned their reputation. It was so much easier not to be emotionally attached to your slave.
"You will do as I have instructed and not place yourself in peril, or I will...” He stopped and glanced toward her wolf. His jaw hardening, he continued, “I will release Midnight to the hunters."
She gasped. “You would not.” Her eyes searched his face.
Drawing on the blood of his descendents, he cleared his expression. “I will."
She tried to arch underneath him, growling and struggling. He eased down more of his weight on her.
"Do not hurt Midnight,” she pleaded
Sensing Sable's distress, her wolf rose in her pen and started to paw the wooden prison.
Eirik turned toward the animal. “Stop. Now!"
The wolf stopped and lay down in the pen.
"How did you..."
"I am gifted with wolves. They say it is in myBerserkers heritage. It is said my grandfather was aBerserker . Some say he was part wolf. I seem to be able to speak to the wolves."
She stopped struggling and stared at him, her eyes wide. “God's Blood, surely you jest?"
He laughed at her expression. “There are many tales about Vikings, their gods and their ghosts,dýrr . Do not doubt what I tell you."
"Why do you call medýrr ?"
"Have I?"
"You have."
It's a term my mother always used. I forget sometimes. English is a second language to me, learned so I may travel and trade."
He didn't tell her it meant my dearest and was only used as a term of endearment with close loved ones.
"Please do not hurt Midnight."
Her appeal hit him straight in the gut. But he had to be stern. For her own safety.
"Hear me, Sable. Mind what I am saying and all will be well.” He couldn't help himself; he leaned down and kissed her. She was so kissable with her full rosy lips, wet and cool. Just looking at them made him want to explore, to touch, to claim. Every time his lips touched hers, he felt overwhelmed with a need to plunge his tongue in her mouth and lap up all he could. Her lips were made to be loved. And he was the man who had the pleasure of capturing them.
Eirik angled his head and deepened the kiss, his tongue coming out to mate with hers, to tease her and challenge her. She picked up the gauntlet and tangled her tongue with his. He felt her hands curl into her hair. He loved the feel of her, the taste. The tightening of her hands in his hair turned him on, taking him to another level of arousal. His body craved hers.
There wasn't a better sensation than this woman's tongue in his mouth—except to have it coupled with his cock buried in her to her womb.
He moaned. He was losing control again.
He jerked away, his eyes running over her expression. Her hands loosened from his hair and stroked his neck. She had done it before, touched the scar on his neck. The look that flickered across her face was priceless. He sensed her emotions. She was ready to kill whoever had harmed him.
She was getting as attached to him as he was to her.
Eirik tried to remember how tight she had been, how she had cried out in pain when he had first entered her.
He couldn't love her again. It was too soon. He tried to slow his pounding pulse. Groaning, he lurched off her body. Staring down at her as she laying back on his pelt bedding, he almost jumped back on her.
"We seem to have a connection, you and I.” He couldn't believe he said that, revealing vulnerability he hadn't wanted her to see.
"Yes, we do,” she said without hesitation. Sitting, she pulled the fur around her. She dropped her chin in contemplation, then raised her eyes to look at him. “A dangerous connection. We are enemies, you and I. As long as you hold me as your captive, we will remain so."
Eirik was immediately angry. How could she say that? He hardened his heart. “You will do as I have instructed for the ceremony."
She tilted her head and glanced at her wolf. Sighing, she eased down onto her back, pulling the fur with her. She made a spectacular picture, the woman of his dreams, wrapped in fur and lying in his bed.
"I will try."
He breathed a sigh of relief. That was the best he would get from her. He reached over to grab his clothing. Once dressed, he settled on the bench next to her and began polishing his long knife. The same knife stained with the blood of her people in battle. He felt even further regret now that he had gotten to know Sable. She turned toward him.
"When?"
He knew what she was asking.
"At sunrise, no later than three or four hours. Go back to sleep. I will wake you when it is time."
She closed her eyes, then popped them open. “Eirik?"
"Yes,dýrr ?"
"Must we do this in front of them?"
He sighed and dropped down on the blankets. As he stroked her head, she leaned into his hand. “I will do my best to shield you from them, but, yes. If we don't, they will have legal claim to take you from me. It will be rough,dýrr . I can't promise it any other way. Your life is at stake here. They have expectations we cannot stray from, or it could be my life as well. There are over twenty of them. I am vastly outnumbered. I have only two men left, simple farmers, not warriors.” She nodded and laid her head on the pelt, closing her eyes again.
He rose and resumed his position.
"Eirik?"
He smiled, “Yes?"
"I am not now, nor will I ever be, well-versed in surrender. Fighting I can do, surrender..."
"I know. Get some sleep."
Eirik watched her until she closed her eyes and her chest rose and fell with a consistent cadence. The morning would bring the challenge of his life, to take his woman and in front of other men. The thought sickened him. He had to think of something.
Chapter Four
When Sable next awoke, her wrists and ankles were bound again. A rumbling of noise came from outside the tent, as if a hundred men had gathered in festivity to drink the eve away. She heard laugher and shouting, followed by the clash of swords meeting.
She didn't bother trying the bindings this time. She glanced around and noticed Midnight was not in her pen. Crying out, Sable jerked her arms. Instead of giving, the ropes tightened. She sucked in a breath and tried to calm down.
Suddenly, three huge men walked into the tent. They wore leather armor with animal pelts draped over their chests and tucked into wide leather belts. One had a round wooden shield, intricately decorated, attached to his belt. Long leather boots completed their dress. The men were armed as if they were going to battle, one with a broad sword, a larger man with an axe. Another leaned on a spear, a long knife tucked into his belt. Sable eyed that knife. If she could possibly get to it...
"You come us—no trouble,” the man with t
he axe said in broken English.
Sable arched her eyebrow and nodded toward her bound hands. “You release me?” she said slowly.
The men looked at each other. After a long pause, the largest man stepped forward and pulled a short knife from his boot. He stood in front of her, twirling the knife between his fingers. Then he made a motion with his fingers, running them across his throat with a slicing gesture.
"You fight, you die."
Sable nodded. He eyed her as if he didn't trust her, but leaned down and quickly sliced each of the bindings. Wrapping the fur around her body, Sable glanced up at the man. He clamped his large hand on her arm and hauled her onto her feet. Sable winced and tried to jerk away. Growling, he snatched a handful of her hair and yanked her head back.
He thrust the knife to her throat. “You fight, you die."
Sable's warrior instinct kicked in. Dropping the fur, she reached up to grab the knife. Wrapping her fingers around the blade, she held it from her throat. This was an age-old warrior defense technique. Slicing the hand was better than the throat. Her palm burned as the knife cut through the skin, then she felt her blood dripping down her throat. The man whispered foreign words into her ear. Although she didn't know the meaning, she recognized the hate. His rancid breath wafted over her, making her want to retch.
Sable collapsed her leg at the same time she slapped the blade away from her throat, positioned her leg behind the man's knee, and pushed. He yowled and went down. Sable used his surprise and off-balance position to wrench the knife from of his hands. She could feel the other men slide in behind her, heard a blade being drawn, but she didn't care. If she were going to die, it would be fighting. Jamming her knee into her victim's throat, she took the knife and positioned it between his legs, positioning the blade within a hair's breath of his penis. He made gurgling noises.
"Don't ever threaten me, Viking, or you won't be fathering any more children."
She pressed the blade further in his crotch. She stilled when the point of a sword touched her naked back.
"Release him."
Sable stopped. Staring down at the man on the ground, she weighed her options.
"Eirik told me to tell you—remember vow."
Sable turned toward the man, her knee pressing farther into the man's throat.
"Are you his man?” she asked, he nodded.
"Remember, Eirik tell you.” He held out his hand for the knife.
His English was broken, but she got the message. She turned back around and stared at the man below her knee. His face was turning a lovely shade of purple, spit leaked from the side of his mouth. She sighed. Pulling up the knife, she twirled it around in her hand, spinning it through and around her fingers, then she settled it back into her palm. Finally, she twisted and handed it to the man. She lifted her knee and stood. Eirik's man grabbed her arm. The other man sheathed his sword.
Sable leaned down to pick up her fur to cover her naked body. As she straightened, a fist came flying at her face.
Her cheek exploded with pain. She grunted, fell to the ground, rolled and came back up, ready to fight. The man was screaming in his native language. The other man held him, screaming back, trying to keep him from her. Eirik's man grabbed the fur off the floor. Wrapping it around her, he led her out of the tent into a gathering of Viking warriors wilder than any wolves she'd known.
Men were everywhere, laughing, drinking, wrestling in the dirt and fighting each other. In the midst of the chaos, a circle of men stood in the center of a grassy clearing. Some wore full armor with chain mail; others were barely clothed.
Eirik's man led Sable to the clearing. Before he let her loose, he shoved his hand into the fur. She felt the hilt of the knife she had used on his friend press into her palm. Her eyes met his. He looked toward the crowd. Her eyes followed his. In the center of the ring, Eirik stood.
Sable's breath caught. Besides his leather loincloth, a wolf pelt covered his body. The head of the wolf rested on top of his head, the body fell down his back and his buttocks, ending at his calves. A wide leather belt held the pelt in place. His hair fell wild around his face, down to his shoulders.
He looked magnificent! Fierce and incredibly sexy. Despite the carousing men, her stinging cheek and the ordeal ahead of her, her body began to hum, heating from the inside out. Her heart pounded in her chest.
Then the men in the circle began to scream and cheer. But when her gaze met Eirik's, the voices seemed to fade. She tried to read his emotions, but his face didn't give anything away.
Looking stern, he shouted in a foreign language and pointed to the center of the ring. His man shoved her ahead of him and kept shoving until she was standing within ten feet of Eirik. At Eirik's next command, the man walked away. Eirik shouted into the air, inciting the circle of men to yell back with a volume that made her cringe. They still yelled as he walked slowly toward her, one step at a time, until he stood so close all she could see was his large, wolf-clad body. He leaned toward her, his hands reaching for her shoulders.
"Who struck you?” he whispered.
She met his angry gaze. He looked ready to leave the ring and defend her honor.
"One of the men,” she said, her voice low. “Of course, that was after I placed a knife to his crotch after he tried to slice my throat.” She opened her hand.
He glanced down and growled at the blood dripping slowly down her palm. “I will kill him. No harm was to come to you. I will kill him."
His vow softened her heart. “Let's do this, Eirik."
He gaze met hers. “Are you ready?"
She gave a slight nod.
He stepped back and ripped the pelt off her body. The shock made her gasp. She bent her knees and raised the knife. He dropped his head back and yelled in Norse. Then he turned in a circle and howled.
Her jaw dropped as all the men joined in. Glancing around, Sable took in the hardened circle of men watching them. She had never seen such a fierce group of seasoned fighters.
Her Warrior impulse triggered. She raised her knife and dropped in a classic Wolf Warrior position to one knee.
Eirik spun around until he was in front of her. He seemed stunned for a moment, then yelled to his man and held out his hand. A long knife came flying from the crowd. He caught it as casually as a piece of fruit, no fear in his expression. He faced her, weapon in hand.
* * * *
Eirik shouldn't have been surprised she chose to arm herself. He wasn't concerned about disarming her. She was skilled, but not up to his level. Much to his annoyance, he became aroused instead. Watching her stand totally naked and vulnerable, yet proud and strong, he couldn't have wanted her more.
His cock stood at attention. He circled to her left, his knife displayed. She watched him but didn't move. He was vaguely aware of the shouts of the surrounding men. He had tuned them out after he shouted his claim that Sable was his slave and no one else's.
"Come, Viking, take what you claim is your own,” she said, breaking into his thoughts.
He smiled at her. “Oh, I will, slave."
"You will try, you mean."
"I will succeed."
He stalked closer, enjoying the chase until he noticed the blood dripping from her mouth, reminding him how serious the situation was. If he didn't make a good show of this, she could end up with the man who had hit her.
Continuing to circle, he assessed her weak side. He chose his position carefully. He had seen her fight. He knew she dropped her left when she was tired. He would use that fact and his superior skills to his advantage.
She followed his movement, eyeing him with concentration. He wondered what she was thinking. Another woman would have made this easy for him, but not Sable. Why that thought pleased him, he didn't know.
Reaching the correct position, he lunged at her.
She spun and met him. Her hand lashed up to strike him with her knife. He knocked her arm aside with ease. His forearm locked with hers as they battled for her knife. She moved quickly
, her other fist making contact with his jaw as she punched him.
He jerked back, dropped low and spun. His leg coming out, he took her down to the ground. She tried to roll but he was on her, pinning her to the ground with his weight. He reached up. Locking his much larger hand on hers, he pressed his thumb into the joint below her thumb.
She cried out as he finished the move with a twist, forcing her to drop the knife. He grabbed it and flung it and his own aside. It was over. Breathing heavily, he thanked the gods. His plan had fallen into place perfectly. Had she gotten into a lengthy battle, her adrenalin and instinct might have driven her to fight to the death.
She made a lightning move and scooped up the knife. His heartbeat pounded. He realized if he didn't move fast, she would be in grave danger. He tackled her and they crashed to the ground together. Squirming underneath him, she howled. The cry sent shivers down his spine. He steeled himself against the hurt and anger in her voice. He needed to be done, and be done quickly.
Anchoring her hands above her head, he pinned her legs down with his, imprisoning her with his body so she couldn't get up. He yelled out in Norse, his gaze running over the troop of men surrounding them.
"She is mine. I claim her now. No other will touch or harm my slave or they will face my sword."
"Aye,” a voice yelled. Then a chorus came. “Aye, aye, aye."
Relieved, he turned back to Sable.
She was wide-eyed, her pupils enlarged as if she was going into shock. Although she stared at him, he doubted she saw him. She seemed to be slipping away from him.
"Sable, stay with me,” he murmured, his voice urgent.
She shook her head and blinked, as if coming out of a sleep. She stared at him as if she saw him after a long absence.
"Hold on,dýrr , I'll be quick."
He shifted. Releasing her hand, he ripped his loincloth off, throwing it aside, then recaptured her arm before she could register it was free. Pressing his body on hers, he thrust into her.
She moaned and bowed into him. Her hands tightened on his and she cried out, her eyes closing. For the benefit if the crowd, he arched his neck and howled again. He moved hard and fast. Her body began to move with his. Her legs wrapped around him and dug into his ass. Despite his mind's distaste for what he was doing, his body reveled in mating with her like an animal in front of twenty men. It was an instinct older than time, claiming a woman sexually. Filling her now was so satisfying. So good. He tried not to let the pleasure roll through him, but he couldn't help it. Leaning his head down, he let his hair shield her face from the men.
