Ravished by a Viking Read online

  He’d given her that, along with hints of tenderness when her emotions spilled over, rough handling when her body craved it—empathy a man shouldn’t possess. This pirate knew more about what she craved than she did. And she wanted more.

  Honora pumped up and down, aided by his large hands cupping her butt, moving faster, grinding harder. She’d pay tomorrow for the effort, but gods, the tension was there again, curling tightly around her womb, building until she moved desperately against him, gliding now in the sweat slicking both their bodies.

  His expression lost its shuttered stoicism. His jaw tightened, flexed. His cold blue gaze, always so intense, lost focus and his mouth opened around heavy, gusting breaths.

  She rode him, pounding against his groin, her hands grasping, kneading, then clutching his hair to bring his face against her neck as she came apart again, shattering like glass. She cried out, then groaned as his arms wrapped around her back and he thundered upward, spearing her deeply and erupting, his seed coming in hot spurts to bathe her inner walls.

  They slowed their opposing motions. She did so reluctantly because the convulsions rippling up and down her channel pleasurably faded away.

  His hand cupped her head again and she leaned into it, giving him the weight because she felt so boneless it might have lolled on her shoulders like child’s rag doll. Again, the comfort she derived from his touch, from the way his body crowded hers, inside and out, surprised her.

  “This space, your room, isn’t adequate,” he growled, gliding his mouth across the top of one shoulder. “Find another.”

  She opened her eyes, startled by the implication. “Will you be here long enough for it to matter?”

  “Since I didn’t find what I was seeking, yes.”

  “The captives,” she said, reality sharpening the edges of her consciousness again. She pushed at his chest, wanting him to relax his embrace so she could rise, but he continued to hold her tightly.

  A deep breath eased from his chest, and then he slowly raised his face. His features were set in granite again. “I must know where they’ve gone.”

  Disappointment tasted bitter in her mouth. She’d known this was an interlude. She meant nothing to him. He was a pirate, a marauder. And she’d fucked him. Stupid, stupid.

  “If I tell you where they’ve gone, will you leave my ship?”

  Eyes flashing, he shook his head. “When you tell me, we will follow them.”

  “But you can’t. My command will know something’s up as soon as we leave this planet’s orbit.”

  “Cyrus says the ship can be cloaked to prevent detection.”

  “If we disappear, we’ll get the same result. They’ll dispatch another ship to find us. And if they get close enough, cloaking won’t help. They’ll be able to detect the particle waves emitted by the ship’s engines.”

  “Then we will capture them as well.”

  Honora let out an exasperated breath. “Why are these men so important to you?”

  “Where are they?” he asked, his voice dead even.

  How odd it was, she thought, that their bodies weren’t yet separated, hadn’t even cooled, and here they were at odds again. Honora knew he wouldn’t relent. She sighed. “Another transport, privately owned, came yesterday. They were all removed to the other ship.”

  A muscle flexed along the edge of his jaw. “What is the name of the ship?”

  “I told you. I don’t know.”

  His glare said he didn’t believe her this time either.

  She gritted her teeth and tried to slide free of his cock, but his fingers bit into her hips, pinning her there. Honora trembled, unable to match his stare, not with her body still wet, and still stretched so deliciously. “I don’t know. I swear it. Part of my instructions were to turn a blind eye to their mission. No contact. They ate their meals at specified times so that my crew didn’t intermingle. The cargo bay was off-limits during their stay.”

  “You never poked your nose inside?”

  She cringed, because she had. And the sight of all those cages filled with men had disturbed her. “Once.”

  Perhaps he read the regret in her expression, knew she hadn’t been as callous as she should have been. His fingers eased a fraction. “Where are they headed?”

  The man was as persistent as a migraine. She hedged again, deciding to parlay for more information from him. “You’re very interested in this cargo. Why?”

  “Not your concern. You’re very good at minding your own business. Worry instead about answering my questions.”

  “I did that once before, and it ended in disaster. Make me understand,” she said, smoothing her hand over his chest. “Why do you want them? Is it for ransom?”

  Dagr’s lips pulled away from his teeth in a fearsome snarl. His hands slid up and curved around her upper arms, tightening hard enough to bruise. “I couldn’t care less about any riches your cargo might bring me. One of the kidnapped men is my brother.”

  Honora froze, dawning horror cramping her stomach. Kin. There’d be no bargaining with him.

  “You will tell me where he’s been taken—that, or I’ll begin to kill your men.”

  She read the deadly intent in his eyes. “They’re being taken to my home world,” she whispered. “Helios.”

  His face appeared cut from stone—no expression at all unless you counted the ripple of muscle that slid along the edge of his jaw. He lifted her slowly off his lap, his cock sliding from her body—the connection, the warmth, severed. She stood on shaky on legs.

  “Dress.”

  “I need to clean up.”

  “Do it quickly.”

  She opened the small cupboard that hid the sink and ran warm water, splashing her face and wetting a cloth to clean between her legs. She wet another cloth and handed it to Dagr. “For your face.”

  Dagr grunted but rubbed the paint from his skin, turned the fabric, and washed his cock while she tried to catch her breath after her first glimpse of his face free of the distorting blue lines. Arousal stirred anew. Gods, he was handsome. All sharp, masculine edges and brooding eyes.

  A knock sounded at her door and it swung open. The one called Frakki glanced at her naked body, but showed no surprise. His glance darted to Dagr. “Cyrus has a party ready to begin bringing aboard the ore.”

  Dagr pulled on his clothing. “Tell him I will be up in a moment. I’ll accompany the team. And get the crew in the hold ready.”

  Frakki nodded and closed the door.

  “What is he talking about?” Honora asked, removing uniform trousers and a jacket from a cupboard over her bed as well as a second skin-suit to wear beneath it for insulation.

  At his frown, she blew out an irritated breath and placed the collar of the skin-suit on the floor, then stomped on it to crush the microphone. “Satisfied?”

  He nodded, pulled his weapons belt around his lean hips, and buckled it. Then, with hands fisted at his sides, he drew a deep breath. “The air is thin. How do you breathe?”

  By the hardness of his expression, he didn’t expect an answer; he just wanted to complain. And she didn’t dare tell him that the atmosphere was thinning because too many people were aboard the ship. The bastard might start pitching crewmen out the waste disposal unit.

  She tried again to engage him in conversation. “You’re leaving the ship?”

  “You’re coming along. Make sure you dress warmly.”

  A gasp she couldn’t stifle escaped. “You’re taking me to the surface? But it’s an iceberg!”

  “Finish. Without talking.” He crossed his arms over his chest while she stepped into the suit and pulled it up to slip her arms inside. Once she’d closed the collar, he flung open the door. She grabbed the rest of her clothing and stepped out, hurrying to the ladder and not looking to see whether he followed because she heard his stomping footsteps behind her. She climbed up the rungs, conscious of him beneath her every step of the way.

  She wished she’d had time to thoroughly bathe, but she was anxi
ous to see what was happening now and whether the activity of moving cargo from the planet to the ship might give her a chance to get a message out to the high command. And what did he mean about getting the crew ready?

  Outside the bridge, she finished pulling on her trousers and boots. When she entered, all heads turned her way and it took every ounce of her composure to keep from blushing. Everyone knew what had passed between her and the Viking pirate since she hadn’t come back bloody and bruised.

  Turk was seated now in the navigator’s chair. Baraq was still planted on the floor with a guard hovering over him. The female Viking sat slumped in the science officer’s seat, frowning at the multicolored warning lights.

  Cyrus swiveled the captain’s chair around. He watched her as she approached, a brooding discontent in his expression. “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

  She stiffened. “What do you care?”

  “I wouldn’t want to see you hurt, Honora.”

  She snorted and shook her head, letting him see her pain. “What you and your new friends have done,” she whispered harshly, “has damaged me irrevocably. I’m ruined.”

  He glanced away, his jaw hardening. “If it’s any consolation, there was no way I could have known you’d be the captain of this ship.”

  Honora curled her hands at her sides. His regrets didn’t change a thing. Her ship was still being held hostage. Her career as a ship’s captain was over.

  Dagr walked up beside her, his gaze going from her to Cyrus. He raised a thick, dark brow.

  “We know each other,” Cyrus said. “From the academy. It’s awkward.”

  “You’d do well to remember she is no longer your friend.”

  Dagr could have been warning the other man to remember the mission, but the possessive glare he gave her said something else. She was off-limits.

  Cyrus narrowed his eyes, then cleared his throat, getting immediately back to business. “We can’t warn the men on the surface that you’re coming without worrying about our transmission being intercepted.”

  Dagr exhaled. “If you can put us on the beach ...”

  Cyrus nodded. “Who do you want accompanying you?”

  “She goes,” Dagr said, his gaze landing on Honora. “Birget, too. I’m sending her back.”

  “Frigg!”

  Honora heard the low curse and turned to the woman who’d fought alongside the Vikings.

  Dagr aimed a deadly glare the woman’s way. “Harald will see you safely to the keep.”

  The woman’s mouth curled into a snarl. “If Odvarr couldn’t keep me, why do you think another old man will?”

  Cyrus chuckled softly and turned back to Dagr. “You’ll need another to wheel the cart. You’ll be too busy corralling women to use your own muscle.”

  Dagr grimaced.

  Cyrus’s grin stretched. “I’d come just to watch, but I’m a little busy here.”

  Dagr glanced around the deck, his gaze landing on Baraq, who stiffened. “You. And Frakki. I need you in the hold.”

  Frakki jerked his head in a sharp nod, then shoved Baraq’s shoulder to hurry him to his feet.

  Cyrus held out his hand, palm up. A small black locator clip lay in the center. “Dagr, attach this to your clothing. It has a timer. In one hour, wherever you are, we will retrieve you and whoever stands close by.”

  Dagr accepted the clip and attached it to the edge of his fur vest.

  Honora thought fast. Everything was moving too quickly. Now was the time to act if she had any chance at all of turning this around. She sucked in a deep breath. “Dagr, I’ll need my cold-weather gear. My coat’s in my cabin.”

  Dagr gave her a hard stare. “Get it, but be quick. Meet us in the hold.”

  She nodded and gave Baraq a quick warning glance as she passed him.

  Baraq’s chest rose, but otherwise he didn’t give away that he knew she was up to something.

  As she left the bridge, Honora’s heart raced. It might not be the smartest plan, but it was the only recourse she had left. She just hoped her crew could take advantage of her ploy before the Vikings adapted.

  She couldn’t underestimate them. They might seem primitive and savage, but they had managed to board a starship and take it without any damage to the craft or loss of life—something she wasn’t sure the best-trained starfighters could manage.

  Seven

  Once she was out of sight of the bridge, Honora picked up her feet and ran. She headed in the direction of the lift in case anyone looked, but when the doors slid open, she ducked down the right wing of the ship, moving as fast as she could to get to the atmospherics room.

  Luck was with her. She passed no one. The closet was locked, and she slapped her palm against the identifier, thankful it still answered to her DNA code. A soft snick and she opened the door and slipped inside, closing it behind her.

  The room was filled floor to ceiling with the computer components responsible for maintenance of all the life-support systems aboard the ship. The component she wanted was at the bottom. The green, glowing safety switch was located behind a panel that she had to squeeze deep inside to reach.

  With her hips wedged in the panel door, she reached, stretching her arm, her fingers tipping the toggle the first time, but the switch clicked back in place. Holding her breath, she reached again, not letting herself think twice about her plan or the consequences if she failed. This ploy would give her and her crew their only advantage against the Vikings’ superior brute force.

  She couldn’t let her crew be moved from the ship. If that happened, there’d be no one left to help her retake the Proteus. No matter how tempting the Viking leader made her captivity, she wasn’t ready to concede defeat.

  Dagr was a dizzying temptation wrapped in fur and leather, but she knew she was merely a diversion. That fucking her gave him a way to ease the edge of his frustration over his failure to locate his brother. Sooner or later, the satisfaction he gained from forcing his enemy to submit would wane. She didn’t want to consider what that might mean. Whether he’d still be as cautious about causing harm to her and her crew, or turn savage when he failed in his quest.

  She reached again and a fingertip touched the toggle switch. With a quick prayer that her crew would indeed take advantage of her scheme, she flicked it down. Wiggling backward, she grinned, wishing she could see the look on Dagr’s face when he realized what she’d done.

  Dagr stood beside Cyrus in front of the transporter console that overlooked the open cargo bay. Below, his men had the prisoners lining up in two columns for them to funnel through a portal after the ore was transferred to the ship. He’d taken the precaution of having the prisoners dress in heavy clothing. A myriad of expressions played on the faces of the prisoners from worry to anger, and some displayed curiosity. They’d already been warned they were being sent to the surface where few Outlanders with any status had ever been. They would have none and would be quickly put to work or spend their time on New Iceland learning how cold a dungeon could get.

  Cyrus turned to him. “She’s taking too long.”

  Dagr crossed his arms over his chest, feeling tension tighten his body. “And that worries you?” It worried him too. Honora was a clever woman, but he’d given her just enough rope to hang herself. If she proved unworthy of his trust, he’d have to enforce stricter rules for her captivity.

  “She knows this ship inside out,” Cyrus said, turning to a screen and searching through security video feeds to find her. However, all the corridors were empty.

  “What can she do? Have you considered all possibilities?” Dagr asked, staring at the screen, willing her to appear. “Is there some way she could retake the sh—”

  Lights flickered overhead, then continued their static hum.

  Cyrus froze and glanced out the window to the open bay, a small, tight smile tugging at his mouth. “Even she wouldn’t dare try that ...”

  “What?”

  That incessant hum that had become part of the background noise
aboard the ship quieted.

  “Clever bitch,” Cyrus muttered admiringly. “Better grab hold of something.”

  He said it so calmly that Dagr didn’t move for a second. Or at least he didn’t make a move. The room seemed to tilt, and suddenly, his feet weren’t planted quite so firmly on the floor.

  Cyrus whooped, gripping the edge of the console.

  Dagr floated upward, and he stuck his arm out to catch hold of the doorframe, but the sharp movement propelled him feet-first toward the ceiling. “What has she done?” he shouted, irritation sharpening his tone.

  “She’s turned off gravity. You won’t be able to do battle as you’re accustomed to, milord. You won’t be able to crack any heads, other than your own if you don’t adapt quickly.”

  Dagr flailed and pushed against the ceiling, turning to get his feet beneath him, but again the movement was too large and he careened against another wall. “Bloody Frigg!”

  “Make gentle shoves in the direction you want to go,” Cyrus said, calmly, his hand still curved around the console. “No big movements, milord. Oh, boy, take a look at the cargo bay.” Cyrus pointed toward the window.

  From upside down, Dagr watched as laughing prisoners floated away from his men’s frantic grabs.

  “Small movements,” Cyrus reminded him. “You’d better get out there. I’m heading to the atmospherics closet to turn it on again.”

  Dagr grabbed for the edge of the doorframe and glanced back at Cyrus. “What does she hope to achieve?”

  Cyrus shrugged, floating calmly away. “I don’t know. Confusion. If she can keep your men floating on the ceiling, her crew might be able to make their way back to the deck, barricade it, and take back control of the ship. That’s my guess, anyway.”

  If she’d wanted to cause confusion, her plan was working rather well. Dagr pulled himself under the top of the doorframe and floated into the large cargo bay. “Small movements, wolves! Gather the prisoners!”

  It didn’t escape him, the laughter from Honora’s crew as they floated just beyond the grasp of their captors, using their feet to shove the Vikings in the opposite direction every time they drew close.