by Marsh, Anne
She didn’t let go, just hung on tighter. His good Pure.
He rewarded her, licked harder and deeper, sucking her clit into his mouth until her cry rang in his ears and her hips rocked up in silent demand. Yes, his baby really liked that. He raked his tongue over her, and she came for him, long and slow, riding his mouth as mewls of pleasure spilled from her lips.
He needed to give her more.
Needed to make her share the same sensual desperation burning up his body.
Wetting a thumb in her juices, he slid it between the cheeks of her ass and carefully pressed against the small, hidden rear entry. Lost in her orgasm, she let him in, the tiny muscles clenching and relaxing. The hot, tight feel of her was killing him, her ass pushing back into his touch as she bit out his name, a small gasp of shock, surprise—and arousal. He couldn’t wait to get his dick inside her this way, to take her deep and hard in ways she’d never forget.
To mark every part of her as his.
She was all his right here, right now.
She was candy sweet, the taste of her so damned good he knew he’d never forget. Never want to forget. His Pure was vulnerable and open and trusting him. He’d intended to dominate her, to show her exactly how good he could make this. To make her crave more. Instead, he was lost in her and her response.
Hel. He believed in magic now, because she’d gotten to him.
“Pure—” he whispered against her tender, open core, and she gave him his name back in a breathy whimper as the first tiny contractions of her second orgasm milked the other finger he slipped inside her.
There was movement behind Vikar, the sound of booted feet, and he growled, his head coming up as he slid his fingers free and swung her safely behind him. “There’d better be one fucking good reason for this.”
She cried out, her hands gripping his shoulders convulsively. There was no stopping the orgasm, however desperately she wanted to hold back the sensations. The pleasure hit her hard and fast, and she rode it out in front of his soldiers. Fuck. This wasn’t how he’d planned the night. This was between him and her. This was his business—not mercenary business.
He knew his boys could see too much of her and his beast growled, a possessive back the fuck off. Her corslet was on the ground, her jeans pushed down, leaving those long, soft legs bare and so very pretty. She’d let him touch. Let him taste her. No way he’d forget the taste he’d had. She was his now.
He’d caught her. He’d keep her.
He wanted to slide his fingers back inside her. Pet her lush folds until she willingly rode his mouth and his tongue again, giving him those sexy sounds once more. He wanted her uncontrolled.
Fuck. He wanted.
“Scout reported in.” Var’s eyes flashed real quick over Vikar’s shoulder, then snapped back to his gaze. Which was a good thing because if the male had looked any longer at Pure, bad shit was going to happen. Vikar had never fought over a female. Before, he’d shared.
He was done sharing.
“I was busy,” he drawled. Behind him, Pure’s mortified gasp reached him loud and clear. One minute she was bold, the next shy, but her sweet scent filled the air, and every male in their makeshift camp outside Cayucos knew precisely how much she’d enjoyed his attentions. So he didn’t mind the blushes or the cries she was making. Those sounds just made him harder.
Looking back over his shoulder, he said to her, “I'm going to do that again, Pure.”
“Yeah.” Var’s eyes didn’t move. Good man. “Got that. In the meantime, you might want to know that news of our escape and slice-and-dice party has clearly spread. The frost giants are on the move.”
“Where?”
“North-west, about a half hour’s ride. Two of the others have already gone out. The rest of us stay here.”
While Vikar didn’t particularly care if the local human population got an eyeful of frost giants, Midgard’s rules were emphatic. Humans didn’t get dragged into the business of the Norse gods unless there was a compelling reason to involve them. Most of them would never know about or recognize the otherworldly creatures at work around them.
So he’d play it careful. This time.
“You think they’re coming here?”
“Not a chance.” Var’s feral grin was a puss full of pleased at the thought of fighting.
“Good. Then I’ll rejoin you shortly.”
###
Footsteps came towards her, heavy and deliberate. Vikar crouched beside her, his gaze raking over her in a way her body liked just fine.
“You knew he was coming,” she accused as soon as Var disappeared into the shadows and they were alone again. “Do you always want someone else to join us?”
“Not tonight. Tonight, this is just us.”
Savage satisfaction swept through her. Yes. The night spent in the arms of her two berserkers had been better than good. Raw and carnal, deeply satisfying, but her attention had been split between the two men loving her. She wanted to focus everything on this man, on the intent look on his face as his shoulders bent over her.
She let go of her worries and dragged him down.
The dark look in his eyes made her shiver as his hands dragged hers up and back to the handles of his knives. “I gave you an order, baby. And you disobeyed. I warned you what the consequences would be.”
For the next few hours, her berserker proceeded to show her all the ways she could lose control.
Chapter Seven
The worst part about feeling was the fear. That emotion was particularly unpleasant. Heart pounding, palms sweating, Pure was barely aware of the Vikings parting on either side of the Vikings. Cayucos’s narrow streets forced them to ride single file, and even then the town’s other motorists had to wait out their passing. Vikar just pushed on, unconcerned by the curses following in their wake.
When would Odin strike? She had to get her Viking all the way to the sand at the water’s edge, or her infuriating, bargain-driving father would renege on their bargain. Ridding herself of her virginity was her insurance, but she wouldn’t put it past Odin to find other ways to keep her chained to his side. If Vikar sensed the ambush, if he pulled back now, she’d lose. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let that happen. Not after tasting freedom so briefly.
Not after tasting her Viking.
Vikar had passed her test. She clung to that thought. He hadn’t lost himself in berserker rage when he’d taken her, nor had he done so on the road. He’d control the fury now, too, when it mattered most, and Odin would go away satisfied that this berserker was no threat.
No, the only true threat Vikar posed was to her.
Two nights were not enough.
“You worried, baby?” His voice rumbled over her head. He had no idea.
She ignored his question, concentrating on the pavement appearing and disappearing beneath the bike’s tires. Unfortunately, all too soon that path ended abruptly.
“Port,” Var said cheerfully. “Just like you left it, yeah?”
She eyed the sandy stretch between the town’s edge and the ocean’s waters. The pier stretched out into the water like fingers reaching for the horizon. Plenty of boats to choose from, although the California coast was certainly short on longships. Maybe she could claim one of the vessels as hers, because sailing off had never looked so good. The cheerful roar of humans unloading boats or preparing to go a-Viking in their own ways buffeted her.
There was no sign of Odin.
Wily bastard was undoubtedly lurking, waiting to spring his trap.
“Which one is yours?” Vikar dismounted, dark eyes studying the boats. She swung off the bike and followed his gaze as he examined and dismissed the smaller watercraft. He seemed similarly uninterested in the fishing boats. Only the graceful, predatory prows of the motor yachts riding at anchor held his attention. She’d heard the Vikings liked their toys—apparently Vikar wasn’t the exception to that rule.
“That one, maybe.” Var gestured lazily towards the flat-bottomed ferry tied up at
the water’s edge. “She promises a fast ride,” he added sarcastically.
Vikar eyed the bulky ship with something akin to horror. He liked speed. No surprise there. He was Viking. They lived for the surprise attack and quick retreat. “Over my dead body.”
“That can be arranged.” Odin’s voice boomed through the air, and all hell broke loose. A magical fog moved in, hiding the immortals from human view.
A monstrously large longship shot up from the beneath the ocean waves. Water sheeted off the serpent’s head carved on the prow as the boat hit the surface and disgorged its load of killers. Twenty feet tall and with long horns on their heads, the giants were Odin’s muscle-bound, bloodthirsty front lines.
This ended well for nobody.
Var swore and then he and Vikar reached out as one, shoving her behind them. Instinctively, she pushed against Vikar’s broad back. She’d never hung back from a fight. Even if she had orders not to fight, she needed to see this fight.
“Trouble’s riding your ass this week,” he rumbled.
“Naglfar. He’ll give us a good fight.” Var calmly identified the giants’ leader, and Vikar growled in agreement. The gods were not looking upon them with favor today. A less trusting man would have questioned the coincidence. Instead, Vikar laughed like this was precisely how he’d planned to spend his afternoon.
He waded into the battle, picking out opponents like candies from a box.
Odin obviously hadn’t felt riling up the giants was enough to test the berserker. He’d doubled up, sending in Fenrir’s children to guard the giants’ backs. The shapeshifters streamed over the seawalls and down the narrow streets, leaving a trail of screams and the clash of weapons in their wake.
Watch. Don’t engage.
When Vikar laid in a course for Naglfar himself, Pure fought to remember her own orders. Odin had sent her to watch. Her job here was to record Vikar’s actions and then weigh them in her judgment. Her fingers tightened on the bike's handlebars. Vikar fought this one by himself. She had no choice.
There were too many frost giants. Too much carnage. Men clashed, dragging their blades through the giants’ mountainous limbs, and those men fell, trampled beneath the giants’ feet. Blood and worse streaked the sand. Why would Odin stir the pot so thoroughly? The god had never done things by half. Guilt was yet another emotion she hadn’t experienced as an ice maiden. But, then, she was no longer a maiden. Everything had changed.
“Don’t die on me,” she murmured. As if he’d heard her, Vikar swung his axe, decapitating another giant. “Or I’ll kill you myself.”
He certainly knew how to kill.
Vikar pulled his blade free, wiped the crimson edge on the dead giant’s tunic, and then re-engaged with a roar, beating back a giant who had waded onto the beach. His blade flashed, and he wielded a battle-axe with his other hand, abandoning his shield temporarily. His arm rose and fell, and she felt the rage growing in him. If this had been one of Odin’s usual battles, she would have ridden the perimeter, armed to the teeth, waiting to escort the fallen to Valhalla. But she was no longer Valkyrie. Nor was she immortal.
The fierce glow in Vikar’s eyes and the red haze staining his pupils said all too clearly her berserker was eager to engage and chop the hell out of someone with his axe. She was losing him already to the battle rage.
She flinched backwards before she could stop herself. He, of course, noticed nothing amiss.
“Get your ass on your boat now,” he growled.
Sailing away, putting water beneath her and this fight, was so not happening. And yet sitting here not fighting was killing her. If the prize hadn’t been her freedom, she’d have been all over the impromptu battlefield. If the berserkers fought dirty, she fought dirtier.
Her berserker took off a giant’s head with two strong blows of his axe, and she considered revising her rules of warfare. Maybe pitting a berserker against the other paranormals was also unfair. Even if it was entertaining. Give her popcorn and a coke and this would have been better than a marathon session of Mike Rowe’s Dirty Jobs. Her berserker was certainly knee-deep in shit and dealing with it well.
Better yet, even as his blades did more slicing and dicing than a Ginsu, he kept looking over at her. He barked orders and deployed his troops with brutal precision—and he never forgot where she was. She considered the possessive look in his glowing eyes and decided she liked that, too. The whole point of sleeping with the berserker had been to earn her freedom and not belong to anyone anymore, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t lust after and yearn for her. From afar.
“I don’t see the ship. Yet,” she added hastily. Truth. Because she’d never had a ship to begin with.
Vikar cursed, pushing the bike, and planted himself in front of her like a human wall. “Keep looking.”
Fight…
A giant smashed into an unlucky human. A brutal one-two of the giant’s hands tore the unfortunate man apart with a shrill scream and a splatter.
“That’s bad.” Vikar cursed and motioned for a third of his troop to peel off, penning the giants between the berserkers and the harbor. As if somehow those men could hold the thin strip of sand when the dock was already dark with blood.
“Point out your longship,” he roared.
“I can fight,” she hollered back. He had no idea.
“Then pick a boat. Any boat.” He snapped the words, his arm sweeping her behind him as one of Fenrir’s shapeshifters loped up to them. His axe flashed, making quick work of the shifter.
The scent of blood and battle pushed towards them, hot and furious. A wave of werewolf and the relentless press of the giants. Blades flashed everywhere she looked, the fierce battle cry of the mercenaries echoing through the air. The beasts and monsters kept on coming, however, because clearly Odin had decided to throw everything he had at the berserkers. She didn’t see the god yet, but no way would he miss a fight like this.
And her Vikar was right in the thick of it.
Minute by minute his eyes glowed redder and brighter. He fought smoothly, chopping through his opponents with brutal efficiency. Arms and heads flew as he roared out his anger. His big body was blood-soaked, sweat-soaked. But he held his ground, she realized, and that cost him. He wouldn’t step away from her. Instead, he’d trapped them in a small pocket of safety. Muscles bulged as he wielded his sword, keeping her safe.
Vikar mowed effortlessly through her attackers, and yet she wanted to scream. For all Vikar’s brawn, he was no true match for a giant who had two feet on him in reach. A giant’s axe rose then fell, and Vikar spat a muffled curse as he got his shield up just in time for the giant’s axe to tear through the wooden protection like it was cloth. Pulling her own blade, Pure darted around Vikar.
All around them, the dead and injured piled up. Out of the corner of her eye, Pure saw a berserker go down. Vikar fought like a man possessed. His blades dealt out death with each lethal strike.
And he changed. The bloodlust took him. Something powerful rippled over him, a magic shimmer that ripped through the air, distorting her man. He expanded, sucking up the available space around him as if he’d needed to grow gods-damned larger. He was going to be a monster, his body tearing apart his pants and tunic like the stuff was paper. His weapons looked like toys in those enormous hands, but he wielded them ruthlessly, chewing through his opponents. He let out a roar, and blood and fur flew.
Gods. This was it. This was the moment she’d traded her immortality for. Grabbing his arm, she pulled. Hard. If she failed to reach him now, if he couldn’t find his control, this judgment was over.
Vikar’s arm was larger, furrier, muscles bulging. He spun around, looming over her. Oh, gods. There was no recognition in those red-hazed eyes. Only the lust to kill and rend.
His axe rose.
“No,” she said. “Let it go, Vikar. Come back.” To me. She squashed the thought as quickly as she’d formed it. The bloodlust was a frenzied state of mind that left a warrior more animal than man—if it le
ft any man at all. With each passing moment, Vikar’s face assumed a more ursine cast. His shoulders spread, his hair grew longer and darker. His jaw lengthened and thickened, sprouting a mouthful of lethally sharp teeth. This was the fierce predator. A warrior who went berserk all too often failed to recognize his own companions.
“Come back,” she snarled. “You’ve killed them all. Now stop.”
His head swung towards her voice, and she struggled to understand the thickened, guttural tones. “There are more. Coming up the beach.”
Gods, there were, too. Odin wasn’t stopping. “You’ve killed enough.” She reached for his weapon. “Give me this.”
The axe head was slick with blood, the wooden handle slippery. When she tried to take the weapon, her fingers skated over the handle instead, finding his hand tight around the grip.
“They need to die.” The words were a bestial growl.
“Listen to me,” she pleaded and tugged on the axe. “You need to trust me.”
Rage and adrenaline surged in his eyes. The axe came down hard. Last chance, last chance, last chance. He’d kill her all too easily now that she’d shed her immortality.
The blade drove into the soft sand of the beach.
###
Vikar roared as Pure’s hands wrapped around his blade. Protect. He swung the sharp edge in a vicious circle as another frost giant lunged for her. Not. Dying.
The giant’s head rolled across the bloody sand.
Good. Good. Good. He wanted more. More killing. More blood. Snarling, he looked for his next opponent. Soft fingers brushed the back of his hand, pulling ineffectually at his death grip on the axe’s handle. Trying to take the weapon away from him.
No. He drew back. Knocking her hand away would be simple. One squeeze and he’d crush her bones, turn her pretty paw into a pulpy bag of skin and pain. Breath soughed out of him in harsh rasps. He didn’t want that. Did he?