Ravished by a Viking (16 page)

She shrugged, and sat up as calmly as she could manage, given that her belly still quivered. “I refused his invitation to join his many women back home.”

Cyrus’s mouth dropped open. “I’m shocked he asked.”

“Because I’m not Viking?” she bit out, and then clamped her jaw.

“No, because he rarely bothers thinking about women or their problems. He disallows catfights or discord. He considers them unimportant. The taking of another concubine is significant.”

Climbing down, she straightened her clothing, not meeting his frowning gaze. “He considers women unimportant?”

“Not the women; the problems they bring. Women themselves aren’t unimportant, Honora. A woman is the center of the Norse life. The mother. Women provide comfort and service. That is what a warrior needs and cares about.”

Although irritated beyond anything, she appreciated the insight. “Do all Vikings feel that way? That women are to provide service?”

He shrugged. “Women understand the warriors. They mind the home and children so that warriors can worry about defending their lands and carving up the planet to get at the ore.”

Honora felt like steam was rolling from her ears, she was so furious. “And when he takes a concubine, is she ‘mother’ or ‘whore’?”

Cyrus’s frown deepened; so did his voice. “Concubines are cherished for their service. Cared and provided for. Not bought. I’m sure there’s not a Viking on New Iceland who wouldn’t offer you the same arrangement. It’s a hard life and they’re hard men. They’d be happy for a strong partner.”

“You admire that in them, but you’ve lived in a more developed culture.”

“More developed? I was raised with more amenities, perhaps, but I would never think of the Icelanders as primitive.” His head shook and his mouth pressed into a thin line. “They value honor and courage. They enter battle prepared to die for each other.”

“He wants me to service him like a sex worker.”

“He’s offering you a permanent place in his household. That’s far above a whore. You insulted him.”

Insulted him?
Her jaw dropped. “I think you’ve spent too much time among them. You’ve inhaled their ice-cold air and let it freeze your brain.” She swept past him, her chin high. “I’m captain of my own ship, of my own destiny.”

Cyrus grabbed her arm and pulled her close, his gaze intent. “Your ship was forfeit the moment you allowed bounty hunters to kidnap men from their world.”

Struggling to grasp a small bit of hope, she tugged her arm from his grasp. “This isn’t over. I’ll go to Karthagos and act the cowed captive, but when we’re done and he gets what he needs to find his brother, that’s it. That’s the end of my cooperation. I’ll retake this ship.”

“I know you’ll try,” Cyrus said, his back stiff. “And I won’t blame you. I would have fought to the death for the right to continue to captain my ship.”

She fell silent, remembering his fall. “Why didn’t you just say yes? Why didn’t you follow orders? They were mutants.”

“They were half-human and I couldn’t in good conscience deliver them to their owners.” His fist rocked against his thigh. “They were to be baited for entertainment, then released as game for pleasure hunters.”

“Is it true you slept with one of them?” The sharp edges of his cheeks and jaw sharpened like blades and she knew she’d gone too far. “I’m sorry. I just don’t understand.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t question an order because you’re too scared to end up like your father. Your father fell in love with a spy who led him to betray his oath. You’re sleeping with your captor and loving it. What do you think they’ll say?” He leaned close, his lip curled in a snarl. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, sweetheart.”

He turned on his heel, and for the second time, the door to the canteen slapped closed, leaving her wishing she could restart the day. Her shoulders slumped. She didn’t like feeling small. And she especially didn’t like the feeling that she might have hurt Dagr, as improbable as that might seem.

He’d stolen her pride along with her ship. Why the bloody fuck should she feel guilty?

Thirteen

Dagr didn’t find keeping Honora on a very short leash difficult or even particularly distasteful. In fact, the whole business of collars and lengths of braided leather made him hard.

Honora strode before him, her ass twitching as she angrily stomped ahead. He’d insisted that she strip to her skin-suit, seeing as how she was a captive and he didn’t want anyone watching them to think he valued her modesty.

And he’d managed to say it without breaking into a grin. However, he was feeling a lot less smug the longer he followed in her wake.

The skin-suit hugged her bottom like his palms itched to do, defining the deep crease. The looks she received from those they passed made his teeth grit, because he knew how lovingly her attire molded her feminine folds and areolas. He’d taken the time to caress her nipples just before the dock’s gate had opened and the gangway was extended to the ship. He’d done it purposely to make sure the little berries pressed impudently against the thin suit mainly because she’d groused a little too loudly and long about the indignity of wearing just her suit among the Karthagoans.

All the while he’d tweaked her nipples, he’d done his best to arouse her. Her eyes had glittered with anger, but she’d kept silent, her chin rising proudly even while he’d felt the tremors slide over her skin. Honora couldn’t help but surrender her responses each and every time he demanded.

They hadn’t spoken directly to each other since she’d thrown his offer to make her his concubine in his face. He hadn’t told her he’d wanted to make her his
only
concubine. Especially not after she’d let him know just how little she valued the honor he extended.

She thought service to a king demeaning, but what other choices did she have? His muscles tensed. Would she really choose life as an outcast or death by execution over living with him?

He swung the end of the braided leash and snapped it at her buttocks. She shot him a deadly glare, but he smiled back, truly enjoying the game they played now.

As soon as they’d entered Karthagos airspace, contact had been made with the ground control. Dagr had transmitted the message, asking for permission to dock after confirming the rumors that had already reached the colony that Vikings had indeed pirated a Consortium ship.

Permission had been granted, their business stated—they had a shipment of ore to barter for goods and information.

Aware that Karthagoan spies trailed their steps, Dagr stayed alert, his gaze scanning for trouble, as did his Vikings and his future sister-in-law. And while Honora went nearly naked and weaponless into the streets, Birget had armed Baraq, giving Dagr a shrug when he’d leveled a glare. “We need all the warriors we have.”

At the end of the gangway, he’d paid the port checker for docking and for information regarding the bounty hunters’ transport without giving away the nature of their inquiry.

The port authority had been unwilling to divulge privileged information, but had directed their party down a rat’s warren of narrow streets to the transport’s offices.

The sun that warmed the atmosphere of the planet enough to keep it habitable didn’t produce an intense light, so shadows loomed around corners and under stoops. A hundred pairs of eyes watched from the shadows or from behind darkened windows, but Dagr didn’t worry. He’d seen the size of the average Karthagoan and knew he and his warriors were intimidating enough to make them hesitate. As well, besides the crude weapons they carried, they still had the
Proteus
officers’ stunners hidden in their furs.

The alley they followed opened onto a street less claustrophobic in dimension than those they’d traveled so far. Shadowed by the dusklike afternoon sun, he eyed the street up and down. “Vikings, stay alert.”

“We see, Captain,” Grimvarr said. His men had been cautioned not to call him “milord.” To the people who might overhear them, he was Captain or the Black Wolf.

And what his men saw was a deserted avenue. Shades drawn over windows. Wind whistled between buildings, stirring dust and dried vegetation. The air smelled of burning fossil fuels.

Dagr stepped out of the alley and headed to the right, toward the hunters’ office, jerking Honora’s chain to keep her abreast of him. They walked along a planked sidewalk, passed a tavern with tinny music spilling over the tops of half doors, the only sound besides the whistling wind.

The hunters’ office sign read CLOSED but Dagr tried the door handle anyway. It swung inward. Inside, the office furnishings were sparse and tattered, the floors dirty cement, the walls weathered wood. A counter halted their progress. The outer office was deserted but a clicking sound emanated from a room behind the counter.

Dagr nodded to Grimvarr. His cousin raised the counter ledge and quietly folded it open. He slipped beside the doorway, his stunner raised, then nodded to Dagr.

Dagr dropped Honora’s leash, pressed a finger to his lips, and pushed her behind him, then straightened his shoulders and walked through the door.

Inside, the tapping continued, but the desk where it came from was empty. He heard a slight sound to his right, then felt the nozzle of a weapon press behind his ear.

“Easy now, barbarian,” a woman drawled.

Two men, dressed in trousers, long jackets over lace-edged shirts, and tall leather boots rose from behind desks with weapons aimed at the doorway behind Dagr.

Dagr slowly raised his hands. “I’ve come to conduct business with the proprietor of this company.”

“You’re talking to her. How opportune for you since I’m rarely in port. But you did see the sign on the door. I’m closed at the moment. You should come back tomorrow.”

However, her dry tone implied he’d have an even harder time to find her then. “Seems odd for you to be closed so early in the day.”

“Word’s out that Vikings landed,” she said, humor in her voice. “And they have a Consortium ship. The very same one colleagues of mine were aboard just days ago. Funny coincidence, isn’t it?”

“It’s no coincidence, lady. I followed your colleagues here.”

The nozzle pushed harder against his head. “State your business.”

“May I lower my hands?”

“I don’t think so. And no more of your crew can come through that door if they don’t want to wear your brain matter,” she said, nudging behind his ear again.

Dagr grimaced at the stab of pain. “I want to barter for the men the hunters aboard your ship took from New Iceland.”

“That won’t be possible. The cargo is already promised.”

“I can double your asking price.”

“You don’t understand. I wouldn’t stay in business long if I didn’t keep my promises. I was paid well for that cargo. If you’re interested in more Vikings, I can arrange another shipment.”

Behind him, Honora’s soft hand rubbed his back, a silent caution not to push too hard.

Irritated at yet another obstacle thrown in his path, Dagr ground out, “If we can’t barter with you, can we approach those who purchased the men?”

“Why are you so interested in this cargo?”

“One of my men was captured. I don’t take kindly to being raided.”

The woman’s laughter was soft and sexy. “You don’t like being bested or caught by surprise, do you?”

“Do you?” he said, turning his head to get a look at the woman despite the weapon that scraped across his cheek.

Her hair was long and black, and fashioned into small, tight braids that fell past her breasts. She was dressed in a silk shirt with bell sleeves, her middle cinched by a corset. Her legs were encased in leather breeches and her feet stuffed into tall black boots. She was a beauty. Her lush mouth curved at his inspection. “Do you like what you see?” she asked, a dark brow arching.

A faint stirring roused his cock, purely male, but not terribly urgent. “Perhaps. But I don’t like women pointing weapons at my head.” With an economy of movements, he raised his arm, shoving up her weapon, which exploded beside his ear, the round showering them with plaster from the ceiling. But he was on her, the wrist holding the gun slammed against the wall. With one hand, he raised her by her neck until her feet dangled.

His men entered the room, Grimvarr rolling, then coming to a crouch with his weapon trained on the men who failed to protect the woman’s back.

They raised their arms, their guns tilting from their fingers.

Dagr grunted, then returned his gaze to the woman.

Her dark brown eyes glittered with anger, but she didn’t betray any fear. He lowered her slowly, moving in to trap her with his body, using his size to intimidate and letting her feel the press of his superior muscle against her slender frame. “I will know where the captives have been taken,” he said, pitching his voice low.

She hesitated, then gave a small, tight nod, her lips crimping with displeasure. “I’m not the one you need to talk to. I didn’t arrange the transfer of the cargo.”

Dagr gave her a chilly glare, a silent warning that he wouldn’t abide any tricks. “Honora,” he said over his shoulder. “Check for weapons.”

Honora snorted, then eased under his arm, coming between his body and the female pirate’s—for the woman couldn’t be anything else dressed as she was.

Dagr almost smiled at Honora’s action. Was she jealous that he stood so close to the other woman?

Honora pried the weapon from the pirate’s hand.

“Hand it behind you,
elskling
.”

He couldn’t help it; standing with Honora’s body pressed against his front, knowing Honora’s breasts were flattened against the lady pirate’s, Dagr began to harden. He thanked the stars he didn’t wear anything as revealing as a skin-suit because anyone seeing him now would know his thoughts were of sex.

As it was, his nostrils flared, dragging in the mixed feminine musks.

The lady pirate was tall enough she looked right over the top of Honora’s head and smiled. “You made a thrall of a Consortium crew member?”

“She’s the
Proteus
’s captain,” he drawled. “I keep her close to assure her crew’s good behavior.”

The pirate arched a brow, admiration glinting in her dark eyes. “I’m Captain Roxana.”

“I’m the Black Wolf,” he said softly. Honora stiffened between them, but he couldn’t worry about her jealousy now. He needed the other woman’s cooperation.

Roxana’s head leaned against the wall behind her, and she blew between pursed lips as Honora ran her hands down her body. “This is the most interesting pat-down I’ve ever had. Do you two tag-team your sex too?”

Honora popped up and pressed her body closer to Roxana, standing on her toes to meet her gaze directly. “Don’t you wish,” she growled. She raised a long, slender blade she’d pulled from somewhere on Roxana’s body and placed the tip against the woman’s jugular.

“Honora, love,” Dagr said softly. “We need her to talk before you gut her.”

“Are all your thralls this possessive?” Roxana said, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“Honora, was that all?” he said, lowering his voice in warning.

Honora took her time pulling away, making sure to rub her bottom against his groin—an unsubtle reminder of whose ass he should be thinking of.

Dagr let go of Roxana and stood back. “Who is it I need to talk to?”

“You’ll need an introduction to the person who handled the money for the captives. Will you follow me?”

Dagr swept his hand to the side to indicate she should precede him. She swept past, her spicy scent tickling his nose, her ass swaying enticingly. “Boys,” she said over her shoulder, “lock up, then follow us.”

Honora glared daggers at Dagr, but he shrugged. No other solution existed. He was dependent on the lady pirate’s cooperation. Still, Honora’s jealousy amused and aroused him.

His contingent trailed them out of the office, weapons concealed, but ready for trouble. Dagr placed his hand around the pirate’s hip and leaned close. “You do know that I will kill you if you betray me.”

“Do you think that lessens my attraction for you?”

He swatted her bottom and grinned, enjoying the verbal play. Roxana was a strong, intelligent woman, qualities he admired, but he wasn’t truly interested in bedding her. However, Honora didn’t need to know that. Fury reddening his captive’s cheeks and the tight set of her features promised a fiery retribution later when they were alone—something he intended to milk for the greatest satisfaction.

They walked the planked sidewalk back the way they’d come, halting in front of the half doors of the saloon. Music tinkled from within. The scent of ale hung sour in the air.

Roxana pushed through the doors and every head turned their way, gazes widening on the appearance of his warriors, then homing in on Roxana’s proximity to Dagr. The music quieted; voices trailed off.

She stepped backward, pressing against Dagr and lifting her face to his, the pose intimate. “Your men will need to fan out and take seats. Pretend not to be looking for a fight.”

Dagr gave a subtle signal to his men. He didn’t need to tell them to keep their heads clear and their weapons handy. The atmosphere inside the bar was so thick an ax could have cleaved it in two.

Roxana flung back her hair and walked straight for the bar.

Dagr followed on her heels, all the while watching the rest of the room out of the corners of his eyes. But his attention strayed almost immediately, snagging on the face of the barman.

The creature’s skin was striped gray and black with fur as short as a mouse’s. His lip was split like a cat’s, his eyes gold, large, and unblinking as he stared back at Dagr. The cat-man grinned, the tips of his white fangs appearing beneath the upper lip. “First trip to Karthagos?”

The voice was human enough if one discounted the underlying purr. Dagr nodded, then aimed a glance at Roxana.

Her lush mouth curved into a delicious smile. “Billy isn’t a pet.”

The barman laughed. “What can I get you? Would you like dark mead?” he asked, eyeing Dagr’s furs.

Dagr nodded, not trusting his voice because a growl was working its way up his throat.

Honora snickered beside him. “Billy’s a hybrid. So are they,” she said, pointing her chin toward two nearly naked barmaids, both brown-haired and pale-skinned. But they appeared human, their bodies free of hair. While their bodies were more deeply muscled than most females, their shapes were feminine, their breasts tipped with rosy nipples and their skin a smooth pearl white.