Ravished by a Viking (6 page)

“I would send a message to those who still fight.”

Cyrus nodded and pressed the universal comm switch. “Just speak.”

The black-haired Viking’s gaze settled on Honora.

Her breath hitched, and she acknowledged deep inside that she’d been beaten and was completely at the Viking’s mercy. Her life had changed, veering on an uncharted course.

Satisfaction gleamed in the warrior’s ice blue eyes as his stare bored into hers. Tension rippled along the edge of his jaw. “This is Dagr, clan-lord of the Wolfskins. We’ve taken your ship. I have your captain. Surrender your arms or die.”

Honora stood beside the captain’s chair while the Vikings seized her ship. Through force of will, she kept her back straight, her chin high, and her expression ruthlessly neutral.

Inside, acid gnawed at her stomach, making her nauseous. She clenched her hands together at the small of her back to hide the fact they trembled. Not from fear. Death would be easier to face.

She’d failed. And her blunder was far worse than the one committed by her father. An act that had hounded her all her career. While he’d had his command romanced from beneath him by a rival, his honor compromised beyond repair, she’d allowed her entire ship to be stolen by a primitive band of barbarians using only metal swords.

As the first captain of a Consortium ship to lose her command to pirates, she knew her career was ruined, her name destined to be listed among the commanders whose failures were a lesson to all—unless she could find a way to retake the
Proteus
.

But how? Close-quarters combat had failed to defeat the invaders. They were simply too powerful. The stunners, her crew’s only onboard weapons and only worn by officers to stave off mutiny and protect crewmen traveling to hostile planets, had been seized and stuffed into the pirates’ belts and pockets.

Superior intellect and cold, calculated cunning were now their only weapons. A conspiracy of silence had already begun.

Since their surrender, the crew had stayed off their communicator patches, knowing their use was the only advantage they still held. The touch-sensitive circles built into the collars of their uniforms looked like an adornment. And they were so new that Cyrus might not know their function.

However frustrating it was not to know what was happening throughout the ship, she took comfort in the fact every Heliopolite aboard the
Proteus
was ready to do their part. Even if their only strategy now was silence.

The Vikings had boarded an hour ago, but already, the changes were profound. The atmosphere felt thin and cold, likely because the atmospherics computer was struggling to compensate for the extra men. The noises, the creaking of the ship, the whir of the venting, even the chirps from the navigator’s and security officer’s panels seemed overloud.

No one tended them. No one poised around the deck knew how.

Most of the crew members who’d been on the command deck when the ship was attacked had already been led away. Only Turk, Baraq, and the shift engineer remained, all seated cross-legged on the ground. All sported bruises and split lips. Baraq looked the worst, his face misshapen from blows to his cheeks and lower jaw, blue and purple bruises mottling his skin. However, his pride never wilted. His hot glare followed the warrior who’d bested him.

Honora wished she could mirror his strength of will, draw on a belly-deep hatred and stay focused, but her mind and body were confused—out of sync with what was happening around her. All the while she cast around her head for a plan, a strategy to resolve this disaster, her body reacted to the presence of the Vikings on an unexpected level—and to their leader in an all-too-familiar way.

She found herself unaccountably aroused. Curious about his body and superior strength. It didn’t seem to matter that he was a barbarian with a primitive brain.
Watyie!
she cursed the traitor residing inside her skin. Maybe she
was
just like her father—weak of flesh.

“Milord, the crew has surrendered,” Cyrus said, glancing past her as he addressed the tall, silent man who stood at her back.

Did Cyrus gloat? Or did he feel a smidgeon of guilt? Once upon a time when they’d both been fresh from the academy, they’d dreamed of sharing a captaincy before they’d realized their partnership would be a never-ending war of wills.

“Any injuries?” the Viking asked from closer than she’d expected.

His words stirred her hair and caused the finer down on the back of her neck to rise. Her hands curled, nails digging into her palms.

“No injuries worth noting to your men, sir,” Cyrus said.

A grunt sounded behind her, but she didn’t turn, didn’t want the leader of the pirates to see the defeat in her eyes—or question the glow heating her cheeks. The only injuries “worth noting” had been to her own crew and their pride. The raiders’ victory had been decisive and humiliatingly swift.

Cyrus glanced at the panel before him. “The ship’s surgeon has been identified and escorted to the makeshift brig in the ship’s hold.”

Another soft grunt. “Begin the search. We will need the woman’s next in command to assist.”

“Navigator!” Cyrus called out.

Turk, who sat on the first step of the dais cradling his head and using his shirt to wipe the blood from his nose, straightened and cast a glance at Honora.

Her lips curled in self-directed disgust. She wasn’t his captain anymore. “Cooperate. This will soon be over.” At least, she hoped that was true.

Turk uncrossed his legs and pushed up from the stair.

Dagr moved from behind her, his hip nudging her backside, reminding her of her unwanted attraction. “We’ll scour the ship for the captives you are hiding.” He tucked a finger beneath her chin and raised her face. “You could make this easier on yourself and your men by telling me where they are.”

Shock caused her to rock on her heels—from the flare of heat that left her sweating because he touched her and from realization of what he sought. But she remained silent, wondering why the hell he cared about the savages who’d been plucked from the planet’s surface.

Pirates weren’t known to be sentimental and wouldn’t care that their land-bound brethren had been spirited away. Perhaps they intended to ransom them back to the kingdoms below. The wealth of the planet’s fiefdoms was immense—considerable enough to keep a Consortium ship in their planet’s orbit at all times, ostensibly to protect the ore shipments leaving the planet, but in fact to remind the rulers that they were once slaves and would be again one day.

She held the pirate’s icy gaze, fighting her growing alarm at the intensity of his expression.

When his thumb swept her bottom lip, she fought the inappropriate urge to lick it.
Balls!

Captives
, she reminded herself.
He searches for the captives.

She dragged her gaze from the Viking’s and slammed it into Baraq’s. She read the quiet fury there. He’d argued bitterly for her to raise a complaint over the nature of their mission to this planet after she’d confided what she’d discovered in the ship’s hold.

It was one thing to conduct an attack, he’d argued, but there was no honor to be found in kidnapping men. And for what purpose? She hadn’t been willing to ask the high command why, believing they had reasons, that they kept the greater good in mind.

And her crew hadn’t extracted the Norsemen. They’d only housed the bounty hunters, fed them food and ale. Given them access to the teleport. The
Proteus
’s crew wasn’t directly responsible.

A distinction this pirate would probably not allow, she was sure. Not that she would admit a thing. The longer she and her crew held out, the longer they stayed out of communication with the Consortium, the better the chance they could solve this problem themselves.

The rasp of his callused thumb scraped her lip again. Honora swallowed hard and glared.

“Perhaps you aren’t so eager for us to quit your ship,” he murmured.

Honora’s breath hitched. She didn’t dare breathe, didn’t want to inhale the scent of him—sweat and male musk, yes, but the underlying freshness, an herbal scent she couldn’t quite place, drew her. She swayed closer.

“Breathe,” he whispered. “Or you’ll faint.”

She tugged her chin from atop his fingers and turned away her face. “I won’t faint. I don’t fear you.”

“I know.”

Her gaze shot to his. His eyelids dipped as he raked her body with an assessing glance.

Baraq’s low growl pulled her back. He was the only one who understood what was happening. Being lovers in the past clued him in to her body’s reactions to an aggressive male.

Dagr’s hand fell away and he tipped his head to Turk, telling him to follow. Only when they disappeared down the corridor leading to the lifts did she drag in a deep breath.

Cyrus’s low chuckle made her cheeks burn. “Good to know some things never change.”

“And you’ve come so far?” she sneered.

“Careful, kitten,” he said, his voice soft. “You wouldn’t want Lord Dagr to return to punish you.”

“I’m not afraid of him.”

His head tilted as he studied her features. “No, I don’t suppose you are.”

“Tell me, Cyrus, since you seem to be the brains of this operation, do you really think this is going to end well?”

“The brains?” He chuckled. “Sweetheart, you’ve a thing or two to learn. Just a friendly warning—from an old friend—don’t underestimate them.”

Honora scoffed. “Don’t count me out either.”

Five

Dagr, his patience at an end, pushed the navigator against the wall of the last cabin they’d searched and gripped his throat. The smug little rodent had shown him every closet, every latrine and storage bin. “The men who were taken—where do you keep them?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the slender man gasped. “We’ve been over every inch of this ship. You know they aren’t here.”

“But they were.” He squeezed harder.

The navigator’s face turned red, then purple. His lips pulled away from his teeth, but he didn’t try to fight Dagr’s hold. Wouldn’t give him the battle he wanted. He likely knew Dagr was ready to strangle him.

“Dagr, you will kill him,” Frakki said beside him, although there was no chiding in his tone. His oldest friend, Frakki didn’t care whether he killed the little man or not, and left the choice to him.

Dagr growled. He’d hoped his mission would be simple. Board the ship. Free the men. Disable the ship and send it hurtling toward the Helio sun—the Consortium warned not to send another of their prized fleet to rape his world. But nothing had been simple and clear-cut since he’d stepped aboard this metal, star-jumping boat.

Dagr released the navigator’s neck and turned on his heel as the man wheezed and slid to the floor.

Frakki kept a step behind him as he stomped away. “The men aren’t here, milord.”

An obvious statement, but Frakki was reminding him that they should think of next steps.

Dagr slammed his fist sideways against the metal wall, the sound ringing up and down the corridor. The impact vibrating through his arm and shoulder felt good. “Do you think he still lives?”

“I am sure of it, milord. Eirik’s too valuable for them to slaughter.”

Dagr tightened his jaw. “We will bring war on Helios if I find him harmed.”

Frakki grunted. “However outnumbered we may be?”

“They cannot stand against our wrath.” His fists clenched.

This time Frakki laughed. “They are a puny race. The battle didn’t give our men a chance to even break a sweat.”

“They are slender, barely muscled.”

“Are you speaking of the female?”

Dagr shot a glare over his shoulder. He was, but didn’t like the fact Frakki had noted his interest.

“Interesting where your mind traveled,” Frakki drawled, his tone teasing. “Did Astrid not dull the edge of your sword?”

“My sword doesn’t dull with use,” he bit out.

Frakki laughed again. “I’ll head to the brig and see how our prisoners are faring.”

Frakki’s footsteps veered away, and Dagr strode back through the narrow, suffocating corridors, up a ringed, metal ladder to the bridge, ready to unleash his anger and frustration—and he knew exactly whom to punish.

Her head snapped toward him the moment he stepped onto the deck. The ship captain’s gaze swept his face, and her expression shifted from shuttered to wary in the space of a heartbeat. She knew he’d found nothing.

While frustration fueled the anger boiling inside him, the woman herself provided another source of consternation. Physical awareness itched along his skin. Her slender frame, so delicate in comparison to the women of his clan, gave him pause, made him subdue the violent tension in his body. Which infuriated him. He didn’t want to show restraint toward any Outlander.

Her short, dark brown hair was smooth and shiny as any subterranean crow, feathering against her cheek whenever she sharply turned her head. And her golden brown eyes, tilting at the corners, gave away her wariness every time her glance rested on him.

Even in the midst of the fighting, he’d noticed her creeping toward the chair, her slim body crouched low, her bottom and even the outline of her pussy so perfectly revealed by the black skin-suit. He’d clipped the large warrior, sending him to the ground, and stalked toward the woman whose attention was so focused on the indentations on the chair’s arm that she never noticed him behind her until he grabbed the back of her neck and shook.

As well, her courage when he’d swung his blade toward her neck had impressed him. Although her golden skin had drained of color, she hadn’t flinched. That she’d betrayed attraction even while he’d threatened her existence only fueled his lust. Her amber gaze had raked him head to toe, her nostrils flaring in her small oval face, her pupils dilating. Her nipples had sprung, the areolas swollen and outlined. She’d been aroused, which had sent an unwanted spike of desire south to harden his cock.

He’d been irritated then, but was furious now for the distraction. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry to put space between them, he might not have wasted time scouring the ship top to bottom.

Still, the search hadn’t been a complete waste of time—it had taught him much about the crew and the workings of the ship, and the exacting nature of the woman in charge.

Dagr slowed his pace as he approached her now. He hardened his expression, flexed his fists and his arms.

The large, unusually skilled man whom he’d fought on the bridge stiffened and started to rise when he saw Dagr’s direction, but his cousin Grimvarr clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder to hold him down. “This is not your fight, Outlander.”

When Dagr stood inches from the woman, he glared down his nose. “Where have the men been taken?” he asked, adding a razor edge of tension to his softly spoken words.

The deepening furrow on her forehead said she didn’t like having to lift her gaze so high. But she didn’t step back. “What men?”

Dagr gave a low growl and crowded closer to her body. “We can play this game, but you will not win. Save yourself unnecessary pain.”

She arched a brow. “Will you beat me? Do you want an answer that pleases you or one that is closer to the truth?”

Blood pounded in his ears, and he tightened his fists, wishing she were male because he wanted to trade blows. But there were other ways to conquer. Ones that appealed more than they should.

The glint of stubbornness in her golden brown eyes decided him. When was the last time anyone had defied him?

“Before you interrogate her,” Cyrus said, his tone dry, “you’ll want the communicators removed from all the crew’s uniforms.”

Dagr’s head whipped toward Cyrus. “Communicators?”

“I think the patches on their collars are radios. They don’t wear utility belts anymore, so I wondered where they put them. Check the patches on their collars. They’ll be set to allow the crew to talk among themselves and to the ship’s systems, but they can be reprogrammed to access an external channel.”

Dagr jerked his blade from its scabbard and held it in front of the woman’s face. Her skin whitened, but again she didn’t flinch. When he tucked his finger beneath her collar to drag it open, the pulse at the side of her throat leapt. He pressed his finger against the spot and noted the quickening of her heartbeat.

Her glare was withering, which amused him.

He glided the finger under her chin and raised it, then fisted the banded collar and carved out the small patch, taking more material than he needed, baring her throat and the top of her chest. Holding the fabric between his fingers, he dropped the collar on the floor and crushed the patch beneath his boot.

“Give the order,” he said to Cyrus, not tearing his gaze from the woman.

Her cheeks were reddening, her body quivering. With anger now.
Good.
He ducked, shoved his shoulder into her belly, and lifted her off the ground.

“Khasi-bastard!”
she said, her fists swinging at his head and kidneys.

“Cyrus! Check the computer. See whether another ship has docked here recently.”

“Aye, Captain,” Cyrus shouted after him, laughter in his voice. “I’ll check the logs and the manifests while you’re ... busy.”

The woman bucked hard, legs and arms flailing to escape, but he clamped an arm around her thighs and strode toward the maintenance lift at the side of the corridor.

“Your cabin,” he bit out, nearly smiling because she wiggled harder than a black-headed eel. “Where is it?”

“Find it yourself, bastard!”

“Shall I take you against the wall, where anyone might see?” He didn’t mean it, but he wanted her nervous. He’d dull the edge of authority from her stubborn chin. Didn’t she know women were meant to be soft and yielding?

“That’s right. Prove you’re a
watyie
pirate. Rape me!”

When her toes slammed perilously close to his groin, he swatted her backside. “It will not be rape. We both know that.”

The wriggling calmed, but only because she’d worked a hand beneath his wolf headdress and was pulling his hair. “I’ll fight you.”

He grimaced. Her grip was fierce, and his scalp stung. “You’ll only make a show of it because you should,
elskling
.”

The doors of the lift closed, and the conveyance slid downward. When the doors opened again, he stepped into a deserted corridor, narrower than the one that tracked along the spine of the bird-shaped ship. “Which way?” His hand rubbed her bottom, and she squirmed harder, trying to break his hold. “Make your choice. Will I take you here, where anyone might see us? Or in your room?” To prove his threat, he slid his hand between her legs and stroked her folds through the thin black skin.

Her body stiffened, and her gasp echoed in his ear. “Damn you. End of the hall.”

The corridor was barely higher than the top his head, and he pushed forward, crouching slightly but not caring that her bottom hit the ceiling here and there.

Her hands clasped his hips to steady herself and he grunted, enjoying the fact she was already adjusting, adapting to his control although she likely thought she was only trying to avoid further injury.

He came to the last door, pressed down the latch, and pushed open the oval metal hatch. He ducked inside and halted, remembering it from his search. The room was barely larger than the many closets he’d seen. The bed was little more than a shelf and too short for his body. Her furnishings were sparse—just the bed and a small built-in cabinet beside it with a gooseneck lamp jutting from the wall.

There were no pictures, no art or even maps on her walls, which were no more than cabinet doors. Not a single note of color warmed the small, airless, gray room. No softness was betrayed whatsoever. And yet she was fully feminine. The curves surrounding his shoulder and digging into his back were proof.

He set her on her feet, ignoring her as she sputtered and slammed her fists against his chest as any woman would when furious with a mate.

Standing still, he waited while she regained control of herself. Her fists landed again, but froze on his chest, which rose and fell in shallow swells while hers billowed wildly. Her gaze flitted up, perhaps to gauge his expression and see whether she’d angered him.

She hadn’t. He couldn’t be more pleased with her womanly tantrum. It revealed passion, and the hardness of her blows proved her wiry strength. She might be slender, but she wasn’t truly delicate. He could already imagine how tight her woman’s passage would be, how it would squeeze deliciously around his cock. A small, tight fit like the tiny space where she slept.

Her furrowed brows remained set, shadowing her eyes, but her hands flattened on his chest. With her soft, shiny hair mussed and her mouth soft and pouting, she was lovelier, more tempting, than she should have been, dressed as she was in the ugly black skin-suit.

He waited, letting the thud of his heart tell her of his attraction, his muscles rippling as she curled her fingers and pulled her hands slowly away.

With slow steps, she backed up to the far wall, her eyes glittering with anger, but her body quivering with something else. Her intense arousal perfumed the thin, stale air of her cabin.

Remembering that he did have a purpose for bringing her here, alone, he hardened his expression. “Where are the men your people captured?”

“Not here. Obviously,” she said, her features neutral. Her eyes, however, betrayed her. She blinked.

Dagr grunted, wondering why he enjoyed her defiance so much. He hoped she’d force him to take stronger action. “Why aren’t they here?” he said just as evenly.

“Another transport arrived to take them away.”

“I want the name of the ship.”

Her jaw tightened. “I don’t know it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t care what you believe.”

Annoyed now, he bit out, “You should. Your life and that of your crew depends upon my mercy.”

“You and your men are criminals. The Consortium doesn’t negotiate. They’d sooner destroy the whole ship than see you reap a profit from this ... venture.”

“So we are at an impasse ...” he said softly.

“Looks like it.”

Dagr shook his head, wondering at her mental state. She faced a foe who weighed easily twice her weight, and yet she wouldn’t back down an inch. Perhaps she needed a little softening first. He dragged off his wolf headdress, toed off his soft leather boots.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a catch in her voice.

“What we both want.”

“You just captured my ship, throttled my crew,” she said, her voice rising. “You threatened to cut off my head, you barbarian. You think I want you?”

She did. He was sure of it. “Next time you decide to tell a man you don’t desire him, dress in a few more layers.” With deliberation, he dropped his gaze to her chest, to the nipples that spiked hard against the thin, oiled skin.

Her gaze followed, then jerked back. “You arrogant ass! I don’t want you.” Her chin jutted upward.

A gesture that was beginning to amuse him. He stepped toward her, crowding her against the wall she hugged, and stuck his hand between her legs, cupping her sex. “If you say it again, I will leave you here. And we will never know. This isn’t punishment. It’s not rape. We shed our clothes; we shed who we are.” A shoulder lifted in an easy shrug. “When we are done, we resume the battle. I find I enjoy your resistance.”

Her mouth opened around ragged breaths. “I won’t be used. My surrender won’t be held up for you to mock later.”

“Lady Captain, we will use each other. Whatever passion we share remains between us.” He held her stare, keeping his expression set, waiting for her to decide.