Siren Slave (20 page)

“No.” He chuckled, then noticed she was shivering. She always was cold. “Come here.” He grabbed her, hauling her small body against him. Her ass fit nicely against his cock. His hand rested on a high, plump breast, his fingers on her piercing.

“Ah, Siegf—, er, Master?” she asked.

He waited for a complaint. Surely she’d protest about spending the night against him like this. Damned if he wasn’t hard again, her ass rubbing against him as she…edged closer?

“Odd question, but what would you have done had I been one of your supporters? I mean, in this situation.”

“I would have asked for your help. I have women who admire me, Freya. I don’t put them in chains and make them my concubines. I saw Swan last night, yet she isn’t here.”

“And if one of your supporters got Marked like I did?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t let her fall into danger, Freya. Why these questions? What are the odds of that happening?”

“What…what did you think of Swan?”

He’d expected anger, not another question. “Skilled, driven, fair enough. No, Freya, you’re not going to try to divert my attention. You’ll be the one satisfying my needs. The role suits you. You can use all you’ve taught yourself with me.” He turned her nipple ring in his fingers, enjoying the soft moan that ensued.

“Oh. Good night then.”

“Not yet.” It felt good with her warm body against him, someone to touch, to hold. “Are you all right?” He still felt callous after what he’d done. How easy it had been for him to go that far, especially after she’d suffered so much. But she seemed to have forgotten her troubles, hadn’t seemed bothered in the least.

“You tired me,” she said with a yawn. “Not bored tired, but physically tired. I’m a little sore, but not injured or anything.”

“I promise, I won’t let you come to harm, as much of a monster as you might think I am. I meant my promise to you. I don’t want to hear about your admiration of Rome, but other things, you can talk about them with me. I’ve lost people before, too.”

“Thank you. I knew you meant what you said.”

She adjusted herself against him. How had he ended up with a mermaid beside him, a mermaid entirely his? He still hadn’t seen her tail. His hand moved from her breast to between her legs. A mermaid who was wet for him again. It was a shame they had to wake early.

****

“Did they take them?” Odilia was frustrated, angry that Freya had escaped the catacombs. She’d sent others to the catacombs, and there had been nothing alive there, and no Freya corpse either.

“Them?” Angelus, the newly appointed Captain of the Guard asked. Angelus was tall and black-haired. If Odilia found any human at all attractive, she would have liked Angelus. Yet men or women kindled no such desires in her. They were simply animals begging to be controlled.

“Copies of the proscription lists.”

“Yes. I gave them the copies and the other items you insisted upon.” Angelus stepped forward, back as rigid as the plain wooden chair in which Odilia sat.

“Good.” She had gone through Freya’s chamber. She had already skimmed a bundle of the scrolls, incriminating and disgusting things. She should have watched Freya’s mirror more often instead of assuming the princess would always be drunk. It would have been clear then. There were no mirrors in the dungeons, as there was no good reason to put them there.

She would, of course, check the mirrors again later. She had been able to watch Freya with Siegfried, see their disgusting acts. She’d watched for a time before darkening the mirror. It had all affirmed that even though Freya had inhuman powers, she was still governed, like so many others, by her primal desires. Those other things…the clamps, the irons, the leashes, the oils in the princess’ mattress…Freya must have been spreading her legs for the soldiers like some bitch in heat.

“The people are going to need our protection from a pirate, rebels, and their demonic princess. If their businesses are being burned, they cannot be expected to run their businesses.” She smiled at Angelus, who kept his eyes on her, demonstrating his rapt attention. She had not asked him to sit, and so he remained standing before her. “The Roman soldiers must protect their businesses, and as repayment, take three quarters of the money. The Roman soldiers will also see to distributing rations to the people. If shops are being burned, they cannot eat and drink to excess. Nothing valuable is to be sold either. No need to attract pirates. Besides, if they’re selling valuables, they might have purchased them from pirates. All valuables will be confiscated and given to me and to Rome. All the people will be assigned tasks, as many will no longer have their market stalls unless they are approved.”

“Brilliant,” Angelus said. “They are afraid now, and they will see that this is the only way for them to be safe.”

“Oh, and Angelus, why have you been feeding the dogs your meat?”

“Always had a soft spot for the animals, milady. They looked hungry.”

Odilia shook her head. “Fine. But do not start having such a soft spot for people.”

****

Siegfried was having a pleasant dream, a blonde astride him, her wrists chained to the ceiling. Her head was tipped back, and he could not see her face. Her pussy was tight and wet on his cock, her hips working him hard and fast, despite her restraints. Her breasts jiggled with the fervent motions of her slender body. All she wore were high black boots.

A load moan woke him, his own. Freya was lying beside him, a small hand closed around his cock. She was propped on one elbow, and one of his hands palmed her breast.

“Good morning.” A smile curved her lips. It was precisely dawn, the time Siegfried always awoke. “I knew we needed to wake.”

He could only respond with another groan as she lowered her head again, hair falling over his hips, mouth fastened to his cock. She took him deep and fast, tongue circling the tip. Her small, warm hand worked the base of his shaft, a blissful counter to the quick rhythm of her mouth. The pace increased, her hand sliding from his cock to cup his balls. With a wicked growl, she cupped him and lightly squeezed. Siegfried’s hands twisted in her hair as his seed spilled into her waiting mouth.

When the haze of lust cleared, he realized something in the room was different. He levered himself onto his elbow to have a look. The little table in the corner was set with a diaphanous green cloth, trimmed with what looked like onyx. In the middle of a chipped, clay platter was a potato drenched in melted goat cheese and cut in four wedges. One of Siegfried’s favorite foods. Beside it was rare venison, cut, like the potato, into four chunks. In the center of the table, surrounded by a circle of autumn leaves, was a bottle of what he hoped was wine. Yes, he recognized the bottle. Trier red. A clay goblet, painted with faded flowers sat beside it.

“Did you get all of this?” He gestured at the food.

“Balder fetched it,” she said. “It’s not fey food. I’m not trying to enslave you or anything. I don’t think that’d work in these circumstances. Got clothing for us, too. Balder made it, because I’m still wearing this.” She tapped her iron leash.

“Freya…you…this is good.” He was still foggy from the way she’d woken him. It was time to return the favor, at least partially.

He delved his hands between her thighs, which immediately parted. She moaned, eyes half closing. Her juices coated the tender flesh. Did he want to sate her? Or did he want to keep her this way, savor her torment?

He gave her a sidelong grin and removed his hands, rising, but his gaze never left the pale flesh so vulnerably exposed. She whimpered, watching him in puzzlement.

Siegfried situated himself on the chair at the food-laden table. He patted his thigh. “Come here, Freya. Sit on my knee.”

She settled on his lap as he took a bite of the potato with his dagger. He fed her one, watching as she nibbled it from the tip of the blade. She was utterly tense and squirming even as she ate.

“You’re tempting me to unlock this collar. I don’t know if that is your aim. It should be, but I’ll not remove it yet.”

“I didn’t think you would. What do either of us really know about this power you have over me except what we’ve read? At least I’m not losing control now.”

“But is it the metal or is it me?” No, he’d test that when he was ready. Preferably with Enbarr nearby. Neither he nor Freya wanted her to lose control. She was testing his control in other ways already. “Why all of this when I didn’t order you to do any of it?” He gestured at the food.

She squinted one eye while raising a brow on the other one. “Balder had to return to Asgard for a bit. He asked if I needed anything. We did.”

“The
other
part of the morning, too,” he prompted, hardening at the thought of her hot mouth closed around his length.

She shrugged. “You don’t seem like you’ve had much happiness. Last night was terrible. I thought we should both take whatever joy we can get.” She adjusted herself on his leg, frowning.

“Well, thank you.”

She gave him a big, goofy grin, so wide her eyes were almost closed. This, at least, was genuine and oddly disarming.

He kissed her, a brush of his lips before he worried her bottom lip with his teeth. She moaned and he felt dampness on his thigh. Was she in a state of perpetual lust? After last night and this morning, he was beginning to think she might find him attractive, scars included. He had been told he had a fine face. Some women liked scars, but these were too deep and brutal to be that kind.

She returned his kiss, slow. Her cold hand rested over his heart, where his largest scar was. A mark from an opponent, a tribesmen, in his last gladiator match, the one that had given him his freedom.

She tasted of mint leaves. So, she’d chewed some before she’d woken him. His mouth was probably not so pleasant for her.

When he broke the kiss, he gave her a sip of his wine. “We’ll leave as soon as we finish our repast. We head toward the Rhine and Vercingetorix. Are you still limping? No, we’ll take Enbarr no matter. We need to make good time.”

“There’s another way, Master. I don’t know how your control over me works, but I’m guessing it’s pretty absolute.” Her speech was slow, fraught with pauses, as if she were struggling to assemble her thoughts into coherency. He’d tease her more, but what she had to say might be important. “If you want to take the collar off and there’s a deeper stream nearby that leads to the river, I can get us there. I can get us underwater all the way to your boat. I’d have to kiss you in the water though. Hedwig explained it to me. Some sort of magic Finfolk kiss. It’s how she takes men to her Deep Sea Caves.”

“I’d prefer to travel by water,” he said, liking the plan very much. He’d remove the collar to see her tail and to avoid having to ride. He slipped a finger into her damp folds, watching the way her head lolled back onto his shoulder. He’d intended to only tease her a bit more, but then her nails dug into his thighs, her face flushing. Her eyes were open, riveted on his face as her tight pussy spasmed around his finger.

****

“Master, what were you planning? Why were you pretending to be Etainen? Were you going to marry me?” Freya bound a fresh loincloth around his hips, kneeling at his feet. They had finally finished their repast.

“That had been the plan. You can thank your men and Rome’s inability to capture Swan. Now I have you anyways. A mermaid of my very own.”

“Oh, and I have good news for you.” She grinned up at him before returning her attention to his loincloth. She fumbled, almost dropping the cloth. Her cheeks heated, and she bit her bottom lip. “I’d forgotten to tell you, because of the…distractions. Balder told me this morning that everyone is on a large rock, along the Rhine, far from the Remi. Everyone being Hartwin and Faramund and your men. That’s all I know. Morrigan did manage to get some of them out. But they still want a few days to investigate what exactly happened last night.”

“I’ll give them the right of parlay aboard the
River Queen.
That means they may come aboard and speak with me. Neither party can do any harm.” There was plenty of human metal aboard his vessel. He would keep Freya close as added insurance.

When she’d finished tying off the loincloth, Freya presented him with his clothing—a pair of loose black breeches and a loose black tunic. The tunic had a deep V over his chest that he could lace and billowy sleeves, a comfortable garb for being aboard a ship, sword-fighting, using his bow…and practical for sneaking around Roman ports in the dark. This was, in fact, exactly what he wore aboard his ship.

There was more garb, too. The breeches in this set were brown leather, or at least a leather-like material. It had a very subtle shimmer to it, a luminosity leather should not have. There was also a vest of the same material, trimmed around the neck with fur.

“Freya, why did you have Balder make this?” He gestured at the black garments.

“Is there something wrong?” She glanced up at him as she finished tying the loincloth.

“Answer the question. Why?” Silence. “Answer me, Loreley.” When she started to rise, he placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her on her knees. One of his hands took hold of her lead; the other remained on her shoulder.

“Remember, I asked Ulf a lot of stuff?” Her gaze locked on his hand closed around the lead before drifting upwards, following his arm to his face.

He gave her a nod.
Yes, Freya, you are mine.

She swallowed and moistened her lips before continuing. “He was my informant. I got a description of you. There wasn’t much about hair color or your face, because you always wear a mask. I did know about the goatee. I gave you two choices, in case someone else knows what you usually wear and you want to remain hidden. But then, when we’re out of here, you might decide you’re tired of wearing a toga.”

He looked at the empty plate and bottle. “How much else did you ask Ulf?”

“I thought it would be helpful to know if anyone came to Folkvang wearing all black, ate rare venison and potatoes with goat cheese, who loves
hnefatafl,
has a strange obsession with the number eight and women’s backsides, as well as liking Trier dry reds aged ten years minimum, wakes precisely at dawn, sleeps on his back, snores if he’s had too much wine, does things twice when he’s nervous, eight in extreme cases, hates the number six, happens to like Cato’s opposition to the Triumvirate, likes to read some of Diogenes’ writings, enjoys bawdy ballads—especially ones about harems—shoots two arrows every time, hates riding horses, likes the color gr—”