Viking King (The MacLomain Series: Viking Ancestors, Book 1) (15 page)

Some might think she was goading her former husband not only with actions but words. But Naðr knew better. Megan was exercising freedom and likely revenge on Nathan. And while some men might find it offensive to be used in such a way, Naðr wasn’t one of them. He understood the aftershocks of heartache. He also knew she wasn’t in love with this man anymore. Which was too bad for Nathan. He’d only met Megan a few days ago but already knew she was irreplaceable. Strong, beautiful, courageous, any man would be privileged to call her theirs.

When Nathan leaned forward to grab the mug Naðr had moved away, Raknar put a hand on the table and shook his head. “You are no longer a guest but a prisoner.”

Kol stepped away as several warriors came forward. One yanked Nathan’s chair back and the other pulled him to his feet before they led him away.

Naðr nodded at the chair Megan had abandoned then at her. “Return to it if you like.”

It was a chair that gave her great honor. Not only that, it gave her freedom from his lap.

She eyed the chair then Meyla in the one next to it, angling her backside over his arousal as she contemplated, voice raised a fraction. “It’s a good seat. Is it truly mine?”

It was important that she knew it was, but he suspected she had a reason for asking. Still, he’d not take from her a sense of belonging. “Yes. It is. As long as you would like it.”

Megan nodded, a lovely, far too innocent smile on her face when her eyes met his. “Then I’d like Valan Hamilton to take it for tonight.”

Raknar snorted.

Kol chuckled.

A sunbeam of pure joy covered Meyla’s face.

“Of course you would,” Naðr muttered but appreciated the way she’d outmaneuvered him. His people had heard him give her the chair, one that openly declared her as his. That meant she could do with it what she wished. Cornered, he nodded his consent.

And damn if the Scotsman wasted any time plunking down next to them.

When Megan made to stand, Naðr wrapped his arm securely around her waist, offered her a devious grin and shook his head. “The only place for you besides that chair is right here.”

Her eyes didn’t shy from his in the least as the corners of her lips twitched, fighting a grin. “And here I thought you were working at being a gentleman.”

“Gentleman?” Kol asked as he sat next to Raknar.

“It means civilized and polite,” Megan offered.

Raknar snorted again and shook his head. “Civilized, barely. Polite? Never.”

But the way he said it encompassed him and his brothers with pride.

“I don’t know.” Megan stopped Naðr’s hand before it wandered to her breast. “I’ve seen you all be polite one way or another since arriving.” She paused. “Sort of.”

Naðr pulled Megan so that her back rested against his chest and her thighs neatly straddled one leg. This not only gave him the benefit of feeling her backside against his arousal but allowed him to keep a close eye on Valan. So far the Scotsman was being respectable enough and both hands were where he could see them.

Though the crowd was less boisterous than the past few nights, many danced and ate, enjoying what time they had with loved ones before more ships went out. There was constant traffic in and out of his ports and more lives lost than usual lately.

He knew King Rennir was behind the added violence. Though his patience was wearing thin, Naðr had yet to act on it. So his men grew restless. They wanted revenge. Not only that, they wanted to raid new territory. The Kingdom of Northumbria for the most part was fine, but its uppermost point, Lothian, was off limits. That area was too connected to Adlin MacLomain and he wouldn’t have it.

“He didn’t tell us everything he knew,” Raknar said softly.

Torn from thought, Naðr received a horn of ale and drank deeply. No, Nathan had not told them everything but he would. In time. “He’s somehow connected with Rennir.”

Not only his brother’s but his daughter’s troubled gaze landed on him.

“Who’s Rennir?” Megan asked.

“A rival king.” Kol frowned as he looked at Naðr. “What makes you think such?”

“My gut.” But it was more than that. It was in the questions not asked and answers not given. “We’ll question him more effectively on the morrow.”

“What of the Scottish magic that was written of in the scroll.” Valan’s eyes met Naðr’s. “Did it have to do with Adlin MacLomain?”

That the man sat next to him was enough. He had no desire to converse with him. Instead, he decided to focus on more pleasant things so ran his hand along Megan’s slim shoulder and collarbone. And though she might have shivered at the touch, she still tilted her head and cocked a brow. “You gonna answer Valan’s question?”

“No.”

“Because you don’t know the answer or you’re just determined to make life hard for Meyla?”

If anyone else said such, he’d be aggravated. Instead, he was amused. “I’m determined to make life better for Meyla.”

“So is Adlin at work here then?” Valan said, jaw set, clearly trying to keep frustration from his voice.

Naðr knew the Scotsman was a warlock. Little good it did him when faced with a dragon though. But that wasn’t what truly ate at him when it came to Valan. Though the man was ultimately here to keep Torra MacLomain safe, he’d done things before so dishonorable that it was hard to see genuine decency in him.

If that wasn’t enough, Meyla had to go and fall in love with the traitor.

The king was not daft. He knew the difference between simple infatuation and true love. And what his daughter felt for the Scotsman was the latter. And, though it irritated him to no end, he knew Valan felt the same. Which only proved love like that could happen twice in one lifetime. After all, the only reason Valan was here was because he’d loved Torra MacLomain so completely.

But that didn’t help Naðr any when trying to push past the man Valan had once been.

Still, he knew Adlin would want Valan to have an answer to the question he’d asked. “Yes, Adlin is at work here. Not sure how yet but because there is such a connection between me and Megan I’d say the MacLomain wizard spoke with the seers or perhaps even the gods and somehow shifted the tide of all that’s happening.”

Megan seemed cautiously relaxed as she studied the horn of ale in her hand. “I wish I’d taken the time to read the manuscript more thoroughly.”

“Not part of your story, I’d say,” Meyla murmured and while she leaned closer to Valan they didn’t touch or hold hands. A far cry from how they’d acted before Megan arrived. A change, Naðr admitted, he rather liked. 

But even as he kept an eye on his daughter and Valan, Naðr grew tired of analyzing them so focused on Megan. Burying his nose in her soft hair, he inhaled deeply. Though she’d been bathed, her hair still held the faint hint of sea salt. Caught on the wind when she stood upon his ship, it was a scent that belonged to her. A scent that no soap would ever wash away.

Megan was of the ocean and wind, of adventure and ceaseless craving. He wondered if she truly realized how restless her soul was. How freeing a woman like her was to
his
soul. His brothers had sensed her essence as thoroughly as he did on the ship earlier. While they’d certainly lusted, there was more. Somehow Megan belonged to them all. As did those closest to her.

Viking men had no issues sharing their willing women any more than male dragons did. Their society was far different than the one she came from. One nurtured by hundreds upon hundreds of generations who worshiped the Christian God. Even so, there were several in their Viking society that preferred one partner and none took issue with it.

This would be such a time.

Because he would not share Megan with his brothers.

Unless she wanted such.

Naðr gritted his teeth. He wasn’t such a fool that he’d say no if she decided she wanted Kol or Raknar. Not only his Viking but his dragon blood wouldn’t allow him to. But hel if he’d ever deal well with it.

Still lounging against his chest, Megan turned her head and whispered in his ear. “The whole ‘smoldering’ look on your face doesn’t really translate that you’re at least trying when it comes to Valan.”

“You assume he was on my mind at all,” he said softly, enjoying the warmth left on his ear by her words.

“I could only hope. That would mean you were paying attention to how good they’re being.” Her lips stayed close, tempting. “What else could you be thinking about?”

Naðr adjusted his hips to remind her of his ceaseless arousal. Then, to see if he could make her squirm, he said, “I was considering sharing you with my brothers.”

Megan stilled but didn’t jolt away as she would have even a day ago. “I made it clear how I felt about that sort of thing.”

“When first you met us.” He trailed a lazy finger up the soft skin of her arm. “Much can change as you get to know people.”

“Not that.” Gooseflesh rose from the tips of her fingers up to the edge of her tunic. “I’m into monogamy.”

Familiar with the word, relieved, he pressed his lips to her temple but gave no response.

But it seemed his lack of verbal response didn’t sit so well because she leaned forward, robbing his chest of warmth. Megan said nothing at first until she turned the conversation to Valan and Meyla. Naðr finished his ale and grinned. Let her be defiant. He was good at that. Though he spoke to Raknar, he gripped the top of her thigh and swiped his thumb over the top of her center, dusting the knob he knew she wouldn’t be able to ignore.

Mid-sentence, Megan snapped her mouth shut abruptly.

Kol, with a rakish twinkle in his eyes, looked at Megan. “What was that? You didn’t quite finish your thought.”

“She didn’t, did she?” Raknar said, out of form but likely ready for some light-heartedness regardless of his brooding nature.

Meyla shook her head and pulled Valan’s conversation her way.

Obviously referring to his restless hands, Megan lowered her brows and frowned at Naðr. “Getting bored?”

He grinned. “Almost.”

Again, she surprised him when she got up, pushed aside the plates and cups then sat on the table in front of him, legs not quite spread. “Okay, then let’s talk about dragons.”

Megan would be the first to admit it. The warm, strong ale was going straight to her head.

But then so was Naðr Véurr.

The man was an intoxicating blend of hot dominant male meets honor gone wild. Careful not to show her arousal, she didn’t squirm. Careful not to show how nervous she was sitting in front of the king with her legs too spread to be considered anything but a challenge, she white-knuckled her hands over the edge of the table. “Well then?”

Meyla cocked her head in what might almost be pride.

Valan buried his head in a long draw of ale.

Raknar and Kol gave her their undivided attention.

The king? He lounged back, muscular leather-strewn legs spread, horn braced in a loose fist as his eyes did a slow, appreciative crawl from the tips of her toes to the defiance in her eyes. After making a thorough visual project of everything she had to offer, he drawled, “I thought you didn’t believe in dragons.”

“I don’t.” Her brows slowly pulled up. “Yet.”

Arrogance smoothly draped over his words, Naðr’s gaze stayed with hers before his eyes lazily went from Kol to Raknar. “What say you, brothers? Do dragons exist?”

Raknar gave a small shrug, eyes never leaving Megan. “Hard to say.”

Megan wasn’t shy in the least as she met Raknar’s eyes. “I would expect nothing less than honesty from
you
.”

Then, poker face intact, she swung her gaze to Kol. “But you?” She twisted her lips. “Are another story.”

Kol wasn’t offended in the least. Nope. A wide smile split his face. “I love you, woman. Turn from Naðr and I’ll keep you satisfied.” He shrugged loosely and winked. “Until I get around to lying again.”

This earned a few laughs from nearby men.

Naðr offered one of those deep chested chuckles he was so good at and directed his question at his middle brother. “And what of you, Raknar. How truthful are you really?”

Raknar sat on the table next to Megan and eyed her up and down. “Truthful enough.”

If she was learning one thing quickly, it was that these brothers weren’t quite as predictable as they seemed. But then again, she surmised there was always an ongoing game being played between them. While she’d like to say it was the Viking mentality, it was really just brothers being brothers. This behavior wasn’t all that different than what she saw between close friends, family and fellow seamen back home. They protected one another because their life was always one made of unpredictability.

The sea was friend to no man and didn’t always send you home in one piece. Add the whole warrior, raider thing into the package and the possible death sentence was all that much more likely.

But eye on the ball.

And that ball was dragons and the unbelievable possibility that they existed.

Better yet that these brothers
were
such.

Megan’s eyes flickered between Raknar and Kol before landing squarely on Naðr. Fun aside, she wanted a solid answer. So she ignored her trepidation and handled this situation as she had so many others when in real estate.
Directly
. “Do dragons exist? Are you one?”

Interesting that though the world narrowed down to Naðr’s singular answer, those around her continued to drink and party despite how loud and clear she’d addressed him. The king, too comfortable in his skin for his own good, remained relaxed, curious eyes studying hers. “And what would you say if I said no? Better yet, what would you say if I said yes?”

Megan wasn’t slowing down. Spreading her legs a bit further, she braced her hands between her thighs and leaned forward. “If you said no I’d say I thought as much.” She licked her lips, determined to disarm him. “If you said yes…”

One black brow slowly raised and the cobalt in his eyes magnified as she left her words hanging. Eyes drifting down to the erection between Naðr’s legs, she twitched her shoulder, almost as if she meant to shrug but couldn’t quite do it. Lips pursed, she considered, before at last saying, tempting, inciting with her next statement. “If such a mighty creature existed I can’t imagine a man like you,” she dragged her eyes languidly between his brothers then back to him, “being one.”

Though Naðr and his brothers didn’t seem amused in the least, Kjar, the mega Viking and boat builder she’d met the first night, offered a full, throaty laugh. Then he plunked onto the table next to her, facing away from the brothers. After a hearty rip into a bone of meat, he tossed a glance over his shoulder at the king. “I
like
this one.”

Megan drank deeply from her horn and nodded at Kjar’s meat. “Is there more where that came from?”

Kjar’s lips curved up. “There is. But how ‘bout a dance first?”

She’d been watching everything the past few days. Kjar was not only Naðr’s cousin and master boat builder but someone the king cared deeply for. If she could safely dance with anyone, it was him. Grinning, she nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Kjar tossed aside his meat, grabbed her hand, whipped her around and pulled her off the opposite side of the table so fast that Naðr and his brothers spun away in a blur. The shipwright Viking released a heady burst of laughter and moved with surprising agility as he brought her close.

He was young, maybe mid-twenties, but he had the bearings of a man much older. As though he’d been watching the world through hard eyes since he was old enough to stand. Yet somehow the hardness in his eyes didn’t translate to his skin. Where Sean already bore the lines of a man who spent far too much time on the water, Kjar’s was surprisingly smooth.

Tattoos wrapped everywhere on his strong body, including a few on his bare head. Thin tendrils made of Norse markings. They almost reminded her of the vast symbols she’d seen carved into her longship on the bottom of the ocean. Startled, Megan realized those
same
symbols had not been carved into Naðr’s ship sitting in port.

Her eyes shot to Kjar, but his gaze was averted.

Was this just some warped coincidence?

No. Not at all. And she didn’t know
why
she thought that.

“You protect him somehow,” she whispered.

Kjar’s strong, silent gaze met hers moments before heat came against her back. This time Naðr wasn’t letting her play the field. This time he meant to claim his territory. Unlike the first night, she wasn’t sandwiched between two men long.

The shipwright brushed his lips across her temple then moved away.

Naðr kept her back against his front, wrapped an arm around her waist and the other across her chest. Though her arms were pinned to her side, his body swayed slowly, gently, as though he wanted to let her know there was no anger…only passion.

Caught in the protective, possessive embrace, her eyes slid shut.

While she’d flirted with the idea that he and his brothers might actually be dragons, she didn’t believe it. Not really. Yet as she sunk into the blackness behind her eyelids, she recalled all too well the flashes she’d seen on the ship and the otherworldly sensations she’d felt.

Could
such a thing really exist?

Had someone asked her a week ago if time travel existed, she would have said ‘hell no’ yet here she was. Immersed in an era so unlike her own.

Still.

Dragons
?

When nothing but flesh and blood men stood before her?

Naðr’s lips nuzzled past her hair and warmed against the sensitive skin above her collarbone. Just like that, thoughts of dragons and ‘what if’s’ went flying out the window. Groaning, she pushed back against him. Not caring in the least that they stood within a thin crowd, his hand left her stomach and his long fingers grazed just above the area between her legs.

Though she hadn’t known him long, it already felt like eons.

The whispers on the wind, his name in her mind and on her longing tongue for so long. He’d done impressive things today, mostly putting Nathan in his place. But even more, he’d shown her that she had a place in this,
his
world, if she wanted it. All she had to do was sit by his side and say yes. And she had…until she didn’t.

Megan wanted the truth no matter how scary.

And she’d get it.

Until then…her lips fell apart when one strong hand cupped the side of her breast and the other curled lower. It might have been a dance floor throbbing with flashing strobe lights and hundreds of swaying people for all anybody paid attention to his near lewd groping. And, though she supposed for a second she should push him away, Megan drowned in a moment she never allowed herself.

Lust. Pleasure. Need.

Back home, she’d watched people behave like she did now from the sidelines. Her and Nathan took their potential clients out, wined and dined them. All the while, Megan had stayed stoic by his side. Neither of them, or so she thought, had any desire to dance as well, certainly not put on a lewd display. No, they’d only help finance what it took to loosen people up. Anything to land the next big deal…and it always paid off.

Now she was the one on the dance floor. She was the unabashed exhibitionist. But even as she tensed, caught in memory, Naðr’s hand left her breast and cupped her jaw, turning it until his lips folded over hers. The gesture wasn’t violent but welcoming, as if he’d been waiting to do it for decades.

Though his fingers stilled, blood rushed to her lips as she swirled her tongue around his. There was nothing but pure temptation here, from the burn of his lips to his moan into her mouth. He was hungry for everything she was willing to give.

This was the moment.

The one that she could pull away
or not
. The one that kept distance between them.

Whether back home or here in the ninth century, it didn’t matter. They’d arrived at the tipping point. Either she could step back from the edge or dive head first. Three days. Three months. Three years. It didn’t matter how long they’d known one another. Everyone had their moment.

Theirs was
now
.

Megan knew it like she knew how to breathe.

She turned and looked into his eyes. Naðr looked right back, eyes dark with primal heat. But it was clear. She
still
had a choice. The king cupped her cheek, face expressionless as he kept his gaze locked with hers. Caught in the tumultuous blue depths of his silent inquisition, she almost faltered.

But didn’t.

Instead, she stood on her toes, drew his lips down and closed her mouth over his. He offered no response save the tilt of his body so that their lips could more easily find one another’s. Time seemed to stretch as he allowed her lips to play over his. And,
oh
, did they ever. She didn’t just press and lap, but used her teeth to clamp onto his lower lip as she released a low, feminine snarl.

Violence came soon after.

Not because she’d bit down too hard. No, if anything her bite had inflamed the beast. Naðr pulled back, eyes round before he released a sharp burst of laughter then scooped her up and swiftly flung her over his shoulder. The world flipped fast then all she could do was watch the ground pass beneath his long legs.

Megan knew better than to fight.

“Are you really doing it like this?” she asked, heat flaming her cheeks.

Naðr said nothing as he tromped along, the cheering crowd, and they
were
cheering the king’s departure, were soon left behind. They left the main building and entered another. Megan thought for sure he’d fling her down, spread her legs, and have his way with her.

But she was wrong.

Instead, he set her on her feet and nodded toward the mammoth fur covered bed with an intricately carved dragon headboard. “
This
is where you sleep now.”

Bewildered, she watched as he poured ale into two mugs then turned; face rather bland considering the passion he’d just shown in the hall. “Well.” He nodded toward the bed. “You best get there as that’s where you need to be.”

Absolutely clueless, she looked from him to the bed then back. “Weren’t you supposed to toss me onto that and have your way with me?”

Amused, Naðr’s lips curved slowly as heat gathered in his eyes. “Yes, I was supposed to.”

The way he said it, his voice so low and sexy, made her knees weak and she lowered to the edge of the bed.

“And would you have wanted it?” he murmured.

Heck yes. But he was supposed to take that from her so she didn’t think too hard on the fact she was sleeping with a guy she’d known less than a week. That would have…who knows, made it somehow more acceptable. Modern day girl gets taken by the brutish, uncivilized Viking sort of thing. That washed. Right?

“Let’s just suppose,” he said softly as he sat next to her, eyes direct. “That I
am
part dragon. What would you say?”

To begin with, Naðr was being far too passive. Eyes narrowed, she set aside her drink, gaze never leaving his. If any of this was true, then she’d give a like response. “If.” She eyed him. “And not to sound cliché but
if
that were true…” Megan paused, not sure where she wanted this to go. But then she did. All or nothing. “I’d want honesty about it. I’d want proof.”