Enslaved by a Viking Page 2

  Eirik gave him a sharp glare. “I’ve said it before. Don’t call me that. And don’t use my name. I do not want them discovering too soon who I am.”

  “Do you think they would kill you rather than letting anyone know they kidnapped a noble?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s possible. The offense is punishable by death among the Consortium worlds. To be safe, for now, simply call me Wolf.”

  Hakon chuckled. “A slur the men will have no trouble remembering.”

  “Ugly Bearshirt,” Eirik rumbled, suppressing a grin. He panned the room again, and then caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar slender figure. His entire body tensed. His fists curled at his sides.

  That his cock stirred right along with the rest of him reflected only his zeal to exact revenge.

  The crowd of painted and perfumed women swelled, drawing closer, and then parted. Now he saw her clearly.

  Fatin, the bounty hunter. Fatin, the procurer. An enigma he hoped was more than the sum of her beautiful parts. He wanted a worthy adversary upon which to concentrate his anger.

  She stood out from the others, not by physical appearance, but by her dress. Her long black hair, worn in a braid down her back, and her dusky skin weren’t all that different from the other Heliopolite women. But she wasn’t dressed in silken robes that draped in soft folds from one shoulder, skimming a slender body.

  She dressed as he’d last seen her, in figure-hugging olive-colored trousers tucked into shiny black boots. Gone was the brown, fur-collared jacket, and in its place was a sleeveless black shirt that melded to the contours of her small, uptilted, unbound breasts.

  Unbidden, his cock filled.

  Again, Hakon chuckled beside him. “At least I’m not the only one finding them hard to resist. The smell of them . . .” He breathed deeply and groaned. “’Tisn’t fair.”

  Perfume, floral musk for the most part, filled Eirik’s nostrils, but he knew Fatin’s scent wasn’t the same. Her skin smelled of spicy nutmeg. He’d been close enough the first time they’d met, with her woman’s channel swallowing him whole, that he’d licked her, tasted her, smelled her—losing his mind and his defenses as she’d skillfully distracted him until that last moment when his body splintered away.

  That had been two weeks ago, or so he’d been informed by the other Vikings who’d witnessed his arrival. The longest days of his life. His current circumstance was so foreign to anything he’d known, but so familiar now, that he sometimes wondered whether, if he stayed here long enough, New Iceland would seem like a dream.

  His fists tightened as he glared, following her progress across the room. She had yet to meet his gaze. Did she think that if she never looked his way, she would be protected from his wrath?

  “Be careful, Viking,” came a soft voice at his side. The whore-mistress, Aliyah, touched his hand, a silent warning to smooth the anger from his face and stance. Her lips formed a pretty pout. “A grim scowl might arouse them from afar, but you wouldn’t want our clients so afraid they won’t venture closer.”

  Eirik suppressed the growl rising up his throat and schooled his face into an impassive mask. He didn’t give a frig about their clients, but he also didn’t want her knowing how eager he was to escape.

  “Much better,” she said, lifting her hand to trail her tapered nails along his jaw. “Harsh and proud. You shall earn me a fortune.”

  His head swiveled toward her, and he glared down his nose.

  Her eyes widened for just a second, and then she chuckled and withdrew her hand. “Perhaps too proud. Heed my warning.”

  Or what? He ground his teeth in frustration at her vague threat. But something in her smug expression said she had a secret. Something she was eager to reveal. Although he wanted more than anything to simply explode into action, act like the proud Viking he was, that hint of excitement simmering in her brown-black eyes held him in check. For once, he’d proceed with caution, learn all he could about his new circumstance and his new prison before he acted rashly.

  After all, following a wild impulse had landed him in this unbearable mess.

  Slowing his breaths to calm his temper, he eyed the slender woman beside him who held his slave’s papers. Did she have no fear at all? She stood next to a phalanx of battle-tested Vikingar. Eirik leveled a killing glance on her, but her expression never wavered. She had courage to accompany her careful beauty.

  Although tall for a Helio, the top of Aliyah’s head reached only the edge of his shoulder. Her crow black hair was swept into a knot high on her head. Her eyes were rimmed with kohl and her lips darkened with a berry gloss. A white, whisper-soft gown clung to slender curves. A large, diamond-encrusted amulet lay nestled in her cleavage. Diamond earrings in the shape of delicate chandeliers dripped from her ears. She was beautiful, and had she been any other woman, he might have been tempted to give her a toss.

  However, now she was their captor. The highest bidder at the auction, where he and the rest of the Vikings had been sold like cattle, her deep pockets supplied by a government contract that funded her newest enterprise. And although the men had been offered at auction, the outcome of the sale had never been in question. The sale had been staged as a way to whet Helio appetites for the new manly fare the brothel would offer, to highlight the recently procured, exceptionally breed-worthy specimens.

  Norsemen plucked from New Iceland would supply sperm to birth a new, physically stronger generation of Helios. While not being milked for their sperm in the adjoining research facility, the men would be available for pleasure.

  Two days earlier, minutes after they’d arrived at their new prison, Aliyah had calmly explained why the Vikings had been taken.

  Eirik had grown hot and cold, rage and a hideous horror rolling through him in waves. She’d been smart enough to deliver the news while the men were still caged in the docking area beneath the facility after they’d been transported by rail-tram from the arena where the auction had taken place.

  Aliyah had given them a day to digest everything she’d said, and then appeared again yesterday in their common area, surrounded by a contingent of armed guards. The brothel had been inundated with requests, and she saw no reason to postpone their unveiling.

  She’d then schooled them in how they must appear—their hygiene, their manners. She’d given graphic instructions about how they had to please and entice the women who would purchase their services.

  Lessons that had left each and every Viking bristling with outrage, as though they were mannerless savages and didn’t already know how to fully pleasure a woman.

  Eirik had wanted to rail at her, to tell the whore-mistress that his favors were his to give, not for sale. But something Fatin had told him before he’d left her ship made him hesitate.

  As long as you live, Viking, you have a chance to earn your freedom.

  He had no intention of earning his freedom through giving these Helio whores sexual release, but he did have to bide his time. Acting now would only ensure that the guards they placed on their quarters and around this salon would remain alert and perhaps double in number.

  Yes, he would wait and plan. And one day soon, he’d turn the table on his captors and force the coldhearted Fatin into the life she’d pressed on him. Silently, he added Aliyah to the growing list of those who would suffer his wrath.

  Aliyah lifted a finger, and a servant appeared at her elbow with a tray of drinks. “Take one. Each of you should relax. If you must, pretend to enjoy the attention.” She gave a wry smile. “Where is the harm in partaking of the pleasures that await you?”

  Eirik firmed his lips to hold back his retort. The harm was to his pride. A man without choice was no man at all. He took a beaker of amber liquid, arched a brow, and drank. The alcohol, although not a sweet honey-mead, a Viking preference, was tasty if a little tart. He took another swallow and ignored her widening smile. Did she hope that a little intoxication would cool his anger and set fire to his loins?

  Nodding to the other Vikings to
do the same, he forced himself to relax and let his gaze sweep the room again.

  The twenty Vikingar warriors held the rapt attention of more than a hundred eager women. He shook his head in disgust. This wouldn’t end well, or at least not with his men’s dignity spared.

  Aliyah shot him a final warning glance and mingled again with the women moving ever closer, their curiosity overcoming any fear of the tall savage creatures who’d been captured and tamed for their pleasures.

  Again, Eirik searched for Fatin, wanting to keep her whereabouts fixed in his mind before the debauchery began. If he was given even a sliver of a chance to sidle up beside her, he’d make her suffer.

  “There, by the doorway,” Hakon murmured, then made a face as he took another sip of his drink. “She looks ready to bolt.”

  Eirik didn’t bother asking who “she” was. The focus of every man here was tuned to the one responsible for their current plight. “If she strays nearer . . .”

  “One of us will delay her.”

  “Save her for me.”

  “Why should you have all the joy of killing her?” At Eirik’s swift glare, Hakon grunted. “Have her first, then hand her to me if you haven’t the stomach to snap her neck.”

  Eirik didn’t answer. The image of her body wilting beneath Hakon’s deadly grip stirred a toxic blend of emotion. He recalled something else she’d said to him aboard her ship. Something that had made him squirm inside.

  You never questioned how Fatin the sex-thrall came to be in the miners’ camp. Did you care? Give it even a moment’s thought?

  Thor help him, he hadn’t cared. From the moment he first saw her kneeling naked beside the fire pit awaiting his pleasure, he hadn’t thought at all—only reacted—with lust for her dark beauty and sweet, slender curves. With long silken legs, a narrow waist his fingers could enclose, small, apple-shaped breasts—she was perfectly formed, if a little too small for his taste. Her long black hair, bronze skin, and pretty features had been too enticing, too exotic, for him to proceed with any caution.

  He’d sat on the edge of the mattress, dragged her over his lap, and impaled her. When he’d heard her gasp, he’d felt a momentary remorse and forced himself to gentle his assault, despite the knowledge she was a thrall and accustomed to giving herself to rough men.

  Fatin had tossed back her hair, her eyelids lazily drifting down—she’d enjoyed his actions. He knew it by the ripples that had caressed his shaft. He’d promised her reward, wondered briefly how he could keep her for a while, but then she’d betrayed him.

  And he still wanted her. Not just for revenge, but to slake his appetite and rid himself of his unwise obsession for such a lowly creature. Eirik Wolfskin was destined to rule Thorshavn, the Wolfskins’ kingdom, and no lowborn procurer would ever find a place inside his keep.

  And yet, he did wonder at the shadows he’d detected in that first moment of attraction that haunted her almond-shaped eyes and made her seem vulnerable even when her chin jutted in challenge.

  There was more to Fatin than what she projected—something that had made her what she was. By the time he was through with her, he’d know her secrets; he’d own her heart.

  And only then would he exact the cruelest revenge.

  Two

  Fatin Sahin mingled among the crowd, wishing she’d dressed less conspicuously so that she would blend in with the beautiful, pampered women who filled Aliyah’s salon. But she hadn’t expected to be invited to stay for the unveiling. Such invitations were coveted, limited to only the wealthiest patrons. Fatin clearly didn’t fit that description.

  She’d hoped to gather her payment from the whore-mistress, inquire about her sister, perhaps even attain a private meeting with her sibling, and then slip away before the festivities began. However, this was an invitation she couldn’t refuse.

  Everything she’d done, every dirty trick she’d played, had been to get inside the most exclusive salon within the brothel. And she was close. Closer than she’d been in four years. The building that housed the captured Vikings sat next to the women’s saray.

  That her sister was sequestered there, offered to only the wealthiest patrons, sickened her. Most days, the thought of her sister, sweet Zarah with her delicate, ethereal beauty and tender soul, forced into prostitution, was more than she could bear.

  Fatin was so close, and still she’d never catch even a glimpse to assure herself that Zarah was safe, not unless Aliyah granted her that audience. Which seemed unlikely. Tall walls enclosed the saray, hiding away the living treasures housed there—the most beautiful creatures, the “exotics” of Aliyah’s collection.

  The whore-mistress liked to play games. Liked to string her along with vague promises. To bring her here among the slaves she’d captured and to taunt her with proximity to her only living relative . . .

  Fatin sighed. She should have expected Aliyah to twist the knife. The woman had never been a good loser. Surrendering Fatin’s papers all those years ago still stuck in her craw, and having Fatin at her beck and call again had to be satisfying.

  Without any other recourse, Fatin had entered into a devil’s bargain to provide suitable breeding material and entertainment for those who could afford entrance into the private brothel compound within Pandora’s Garden.

  Most would kill for the privilege she’d been given. And yet, the last place she wanted to be was here. Too many painful, shamefilled memories clamored inside her. The smell of the room—cloying perfumes, garlands of fresh-cut flowers, and the potent scent of arousal—made her feel slightly nauseous.

  But she couldn’t really blame the smells for the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. As much as she’d tried to steel herself against feeling anything at all about her part in this “triumph,” guilt roiled inside her belly.

  Firsthand, she’d experienced the humiliations that would be visited upon the captives. And yet, she’d eagerly entered into the venture with her former mistress. The gold had been tempting enough to make her consider, but sly Aliyah had sweetened the pot, offering her something she couldn’t walk away from. Something she’d thought completely beyond her reach.

  Laughter interrupted her thoughts. The women milling in the room pressed closer to the front, eager for a clearer view of the nearly naked captives.

  “Have you ever seen men such as these?” came a tremulous voice behind her.

  “Only in the lists,” her companion whispered. “They each possess a gladiator’s build.”

  Sighs sounded. “I wonder how deep I will have to dig into my husband’s pockets for a first taste.”

  Fatin smirked. Faithless bitches all. Every bit as depraved as their husbands. But she could understand the allure of the temptations housed within the walls of the Garden. She too felt the sensual thrill that wafted like an airborne aphrodisiac.

  Unbidden, she grew warm from simply a glimpse of the men all lined up in a row. A familiar tableau. Bodies washed. Oil rubbed into muscle to emphasize the bulges and hollows of their hard flesh. Every one of the offerings was handsome—she’d personally seen to that—and so virile the testosterone could be licked from the air.

  From blond to red to black hair, lean to burly in build—something to please even the most discerning palate. She hesitated over that one dark head and sinfully brawny set of shoulders she saw above the crowd and moved on, her heart skipping a beat. She didn’t think he’d seen her yet. She didn’t intend to get close enough for him to know she’d come.

  She wasn’t here to gloat. Or to receive praise for her feat. One lone woman had conquered them all. Aliyah said she’d be a legend. But for what? Luring men into a life she herself had hated and escaped?

  Most of the men had followed the crook of her finger into a dark corner, and before their hands could strip away her clothing, she’d hit the button on her communicator to let her crew know when she was ready to transport. As soon as she’d dropped them with a prick of the sleep-drug, they were stripped of their weapons and clothing, and then caged. Re
adied for the start of their journey.

  Men never thought too hard about how a beautiful woman came into their midst. Not with their brains. They’d followed their baser instincts, ready to take her at her first flirtatious glance. Each time, she’d told herself they deserved their fate for the casual way they treated the women who served them.

  But the acid boiling in her gut said she’d lied. She’d been where they stood now. Standing in a line, nearly nude, while strange men walked by and combed their fingers through her hair, cupped her breasts, her ass, and even fingered her pussy to test the fit. Every indignity imaginable—she’d suffered through it. But here she was delivering a fresh batch of unbroken slaves to the whore-mistress.

  The Vikings’ appearance, so tall and strong, caused an upswell of excitement in the crowd around her. No one pretended a jaded nonchalance. The fabric draping the warriors’ loins did little to hide their attributes. Accustomed to men of their own race, the women couldn’t deny the attraction. The Vikings’ larger bodies and matching cocks were lethally seductive.

  Not that Aliyah had left anything to chance. The drinks pouring from burbling fountains were spiked with sexual enhancers. Familiar with the effects, Fatin knew the women would grow warm, their pussies swollen. Damp heat would begin to slip down their thighs. Their bodies readied for sex, they’d be eager to part with their gold and credit for a chance to feel the thrust of a barbarian’s thick cock.

  Only their relief would be brief. The drug’s powerful effects were slow to abate. The orgy would likely last throughout the night until all were exhausted and happily sated. They’d leave with a reluctance that would have them parting with more of their wealth for future appointments with their favorite stud.

  But first, there would be a demonstration, proof of how well controlled the barbarians were. Of how they would perform on command for the women’s pleasure. However, that would happen only after each woman had examined the men.

  Once Aliyah gave the nod, women would pass along the line and bid for the privilege of the “first taste.”