At the Viking's Command (Warriors Unleashed Book 2)

by Marsh, Anne

  Oh, God. Arousal trembled through her. Anticipation. Curiosity.

  “The last time you left didn’t work out so well,” she called.

  Her pit fights were, mercifully, a blank. The daylight hours, however, she remembered all too well. Along with shifting back into her human form. Coming to naked on the sawdust floor of the pit. They’d sent her to fight Calder. That had been her first oh shit thought. Even shifted in his bear form, she knew him. He’d been crouched over her. Watching. Her ribs had throbbed and she had a bad feeling that she’d attacked him.

  “You left me in the pit.”

  He didn’t turn around. “On the other hand, I didn’t kill you.”

  “Bonus points for you.”

  “What did you want me to do?” He growled the question, but he didn’t sound angry. More…disappointed. At himself?

  Since fucking apparently wasn’t on today’s agenda, she settled back against the pillows. “The not killing part was good,” she agreed. “Although I’ve wondered why.”

  “Jesus.” He shook his head, his hand flat on the door frame. “You wanted me to finish you?”

  “I was a newly turned werewolf. I was out of control. I was just…surprised you passed on the opportunity.” And it had made her wonder. He could have snapped her neck so very easily and the pit guards had made it clear that there were no draws in the pit matches. Someone died. Those were the rules. Wondering why he’d broken those rules for her was stupid. Maybe he hadn’t even had a reason.

  It was just that…she was pretty sure Calder was the one who’d undone the locks on her cage when the Vikings had busted out. And that he’d come back to do so.

  “Consider this a do-over,” he snapped and shut the bedroom door.

  Tied up.

  Locked in.

  Hel.

  4

  Calder was breaking down his newest toy, a TSD Bolt Action SD99 Series sniper rifle, when his phone vibrated with an incoming message. Vikar wanted to talk.

  Bored with the wedding?

  Yeah. It hadn’t taken his brothers long to notice his absence. He set the gun aside and texted Vikar back: Aren’t you supposed to have better things to do? Like your mate?

  If he was lucky, he had better things too. Like the naked female in the other room.

  Ha ha. Video conference?

  Calder punched a button on his phone and let Skype do its thing. From the number of faces crowding the small screen, the entire team was assembled. Vikar and Var. Rad, Alarr, Finnr, and a half-dozen others. The guys had moved out of the banquet hall and into the keep’s command center, so this was definitely a business call. They might be medieval Vikings, but some of his brothers jonesed hard for technology and their command center boasted enough hardware to start a world war—or at least to monitor. Bits and bytes weren’t his thing, however. He preferred weapons. Like the disassembled sniper rifle lying in front of him.

  M4s, Brownings, Remingtons, and Rugers. He loved them all—so the stack of semi-automatic weapons behind Var was the best-looking porn he’d seen in a long time.

  “Is it Christmas? Did Santa bring me presents?”

  Vikar grinned. “Thought you could do something with our new playthings.”

  He could battle sight zero the M4 in seconds before the rapid fire bursts took out his target.

  “Thanks, Dad. Are we going to a ball game next?”

  Vikar flipped him the bird—which was a definite no. “We had a security breach.”

  Calder knew that—he hadn’t realized, however, that his brothers had been alerted. Since none of the faces staring at him looked like they particularly gave a fuck, they’d pulled the security feeds. They knew he had the female with him and this was a courtesy what the fuck call.

  “You want to add a guest to my list, all you got to do is tell me.” Var shot his trademark smile in Calder’s direction. That crooked grin had earned the man’s way into more than his fair share of female hearts. The question really was: why was his brother working the charm on Calder?

  Vikar leaned in. “Shit. I’m not picky. I’ve got my mate’s plus-one sitting at my table. How bad can your date be?”

  Rad leaned in, icy-eyed as always. “Give me a name.”

  “And details.” Var elbowed Vikar. “Told you he lit out of the ceremony for a good reason. His female is damn pretty, although we may need to work on her social skills. She boosted some stuff from one of the Valkyries and Pure’s sisters are out for blood.”

  He’d had his doubts about Tyra’s wardrobe change. “Tell the Valkyrie I’ll make good on her loss.”

  Not that he gave a fuck.

  Vikar had his own list of demands. “We want a name.”

  “Tyra,” Calder said, because her name was no state secret and giving it up wouldn’t hurt her.

  Rad bared his teeth. Shit. Who’d let him off the leash today? “Does our Tyra have a last name?”

  What Calder didn’t know about her would fill the fucking Encyclopedia Britannica. Sharing a cell hadn’t exactly been conducive to get-to-know-you-time. Which was a pity. Christ, that was the problem, wasn’t it? He wanted to squirrel away every detail he could about Tyra, from her bra size to how she liked her coffee in the morning. He’d bet she went for a mug that was more cream and sugar than black, because she had a sweet tooth.

  “Earth to Calder.” Vikar snapped his fingers.

  Right. “Not any more.”

  “How do you lose a last name?”

  “She’s one of Fenrir’s,” he admitted. None of them could ignore the elephant in the room, even if she had a spectacular pair of tits.

  Again, since none of his brothers looked particularly surprised, he did the mental math. Tyra was a night shifter, so she’d likely made it onto the island in wolf form. She’d left the keep with him in human form. So, yeah, newsflash. His brothers had some concerns.

  “And you know her.” Vikar stared at him intently. Fucking videoconference. At least they gave him credit for not picking up random werewolves at the local bar.

  Since he didn’t lie to his brothers, he gave them the truth. “She was a pit fighter in Vegas. They kept her next to me.”

  Vikar’s incredulous curse pretty much covered it. Why, yes, he was indeed fucked. For some reason, he couldn’t walk away from her. It was like standing by the side of the pool, watching a kitten or something equally high on the fluffy and cute scale drown. He could fish her out. Make things better. He didn’t have to kill her.

  “You didn’t fight her.” Vikar sounded positive on that one.

  Obviously. Because then she would have been dead, not crashing Vikar’s wedding.

  “She was newly turned, a fresh-made werewolf. They started her on the easy fights. We would have faced off eventually.”

  Since the pit keepers and placed her in the cell next to his, however, she’d clearly been on the menu for a later date. The keepers had liked the ugly psychology of caging two fighters side by side. That way, the weaker fighter knew exactly what was coming. As much as the keepers enjoyed an even match that went on for hours, the short matches fed their brutal sides. Nothing beat the stink of fear as an overmatched fighter was forced into the ring against a paranormal who could and would kill without remorse.

  Of course, given the viciousness of the newly bitten, she wouldn’t have been a complete pushover in the ring. Thank God she’d apparently come with some natural aptitude as well, because many new wolves went down their first time out. Given the little he knew of werewolf physiology, however, it was unlikely that she remembered much if anything of those fights. The older she got, the more she’d retain her shifted memories, but the pit fights would always be sketchy. Running options in his head, he moved to the cabin window. She was in his bedroom. Holy hel, he wanted to go in there, but he wouldn’t give in to the need crawling through him.

  “Did Tyra fieldtrip out here just to see you?” Color Vikar unconvinced.

  Var winked. “Our Calder is charming.”

  Chr
ist. He hoped he wasn’t blushing. How bad would that be if a werewolf female had a Viking Berserker tied in knots?

  “She had a business proposal for me.”

  “Uh-huh. You let all your business proposals ride your snowmobile?”

  He filled them in. “She’s living with a pack in Greenland now and needs a fighter. Open-ended term and no specs on the target.”

  Var whistled. “She was a little light on the specifics.”

  “We’re still negotiating.”

  Vikar grinned again. “Happy hunting, but don’t rush to commit. We’ve got job requests coming in from all over.”

  Nice to be popular, but… “Why?”

  “You remember the whole end of the world thing?”

  “Yeah.” Hard to forget that his houseguest’s kind was supposed to be responsible for the end times.

  “People are reporting they’ve seen signs.”

  “Of Armageddon?” Was there a fucking road map or a neon sign?

  “Supermarket tabloid.” Var waved a fistful of papers. “You’ve seen the pictures of the enormous people-eating snake sighted off the coast of California? Apparently, the Midgard serpent doesn’t believe in keeping a low profile and may have been confused with a cataclysmically large oarfish.”

  Vikar broke in. “And Baldur’s dead. The son of a bitch bit it in what looks like a car accident, but…”

  The legends claimed there would be one hundred days from kick-off to final touchdown. The serpent and Baldur’s passing were just two of many possible signs. Calder had never met the god of light and poetry himself, but he’d bet Baldur wasn’t composing a victory ode wherever he’d gone after his passing.

  Desperately, he racked his head for the rest of the prophecies. Shit. He should have paid attention, but who really believed the end of the world was coming? The skies would be poisoned. Freezing winters followed by lawlessness. Some big ass horn was supposed to be blown as well, but the kicker was the wolves.

  “Is Odin dead?”

  “Not yet,” Rad said grimly. “But there’s an all-points bulletin out on the wolf packs. It’s shoot to kill on sight. It’s that whole ‘and the wolves will eat Odin’ thing that the big man has an issue with.”

  Vikar sighed. “Go online. Check it out. We’re meeting in the keep in four hours.”

  Rad leaned in. “Make sure wolf girl sticks around.”

  Hel. No way Calder wanted to get sucked into the battles of Ragnarök. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like he had much of a choice. After ending the call, he headed into the bedroom. Tyra’s eyes snapped open.

  “Tell me more about this job,” he growled.

  “You agreed to take it.”

  “Uh-huh. And now I want details. Start talking.”

  “Tell me what time it is first.”

  Like he gave a shit? His life didn’t revolve around the daylight hours. “Two. Maybe three.”

  He could practically feel her counting the hours until sunset. There was plenty of time for him to get to know her better. “Time to pay up.”

  Shit. The words came out as a question and a smile spread across her face.

  ~~~

  Last chance to back out.

  Sex with Calder meant no holding back. No rules. He wouldn’t let her hide from anything she felt and, in his bed, she’d be feeling.

  He was a whole lot of man packaged in a big, rough body. He had the kind of broad shoulders a woman could hang onto and if she scratched the shit out of his bare back, he wouldn’t complain. She wanted to get started, to drag him down and cover his hard jaw with tiny kisses. To nip and lick and love on him. He prowled closer toward the bed and she had no idea what was going through his head, although just possibly he was as off-balance as she was. She’d had plenty of rough sex before. She’d gotten through it, but she wanted more than that with Calder. He’d promised she’d enjoy what they did and he was a man who kept his promises. Could he do gentle with a side of rough?

  Open your mouth. Tell him what you want.

  Tell him you want him.

  Words weren’t happening. Instead, she pasted a Mona Lisa smile on her face and pretended indifference, like waiting for him to reach the bed wasn’t a sexual tease. He hadn’t left her all that many choices when he’d decided to make his point and tie her up. Since flouncing off the bed was off-limits, she lounged against the headboard. It was hard to look relaxed buck-ass naked, but she’d hooked a fur and draped it strategically over what she sincerely hoped were her good parts. She wasn’t ready to bare it all just yet.

  “I’m waiting for my answer,” he said, but his definition of waiting was definitely different than hers because he didn’t stop moving toward her. The heavy thud as he closed the space between them was a delicious turn-on, his booted feet every bit as powerful as the rest of him. His knees hit the side of the bed, but he didn’t join her.

  Damn him.

  “Agreed.” Did she sound too eager? Because she was coming out ahead in this deal. A mercenary and hot sex. Go her.

  Since he was staring at her like he could see through her impromptu fur bikini, she figured that was her invitation to return the favor. He wore black cargo pants and that same pair of mean-looking shitkicker boots, military issue and broken in. Norse tattoos peeking out beneath the cuffs of his thermal shirt. She wanted him naked. Yesterday. She should have felt guilty for railroading him into helping her, but Calder was nobody’s fool. He did this because he wanted to. He was large and ruthless, all raw power as he yanked his shirt over his head.

  Oh, goody. Getting naked.

  His shirt hit the floor. “Last chance.”

  “Are you kidding me?” They still weren’t done talking?

  “No.” He unbuckled his belt. Even better.

  “Is this like a Mexican timeshare transaction? I get three days to change my mind?”

  “You really want three days?”

  He bent over and yanked off a boot, sending it flying against the wall with an audible thump. The bend-and-reach pulled his pants tight against his front, outline his erection. It was…impressive.

  Hotter. Wetter. Time to get this show on the road. “Untie me,” she demanded.

  His amused chuckle just aroused her further. Oh, God. She hadn’t realized how sexy Calder would sound when he laughed.

  “You don’t give the orders here, sweetheart.”

  He could try ordering her around. Maybe it would work.

  Or not.

  His second boot hit the floor by the side of the bed and he shoved his pants down. Her Viking went commando. He didn’t give her much of a chance to check him out, though, because he crawled onto the bed and swung himself over her. Two hard, tattooed forearms caged her head.

  “Ground rules,” he growled.

  If he wanted her to listen, he had her in the wrong position. She wasn’t interested in thinking now she had his big, hot body pressing hers down into the mattress. She stretched, her body singing a welcome of its own for her Viking.

  He glared down at her, not looking particularly lover-like. “I give the orders.”

  Uh-huh. Words, words, words. She wanted action. “You do what you want to do, big guy. Kiss me.”

  He stilled. “You really don’t take orders, do you?”

  Nope, but he could hope.

  “Please?” she offered hopefully. Maybe he’d kiss her sometime this century.

  With a muffled groan, he covered her mouth with his.

  He kissed her thoroughly, slowly and at his own damned speed. When she shimmied beneath him, trying to speed things up, he gave her more of his weight. She breathed hard, his scent flooding her with each gasp and pant. He kissed and nipped and ate at her mouth, filling her up with himself. Driving his tongue into her mouth and tasting her. Sealing himself to her.

  His impromptu ropes pulled at her arms, reminding her she was stretched out for his pleasure. She couldn’t go far without his permission or a knife. Still, he hadn’t tied her legs. Oversight. She slid her foot
up his calf, savoring the rough-soft prickle of hair. Dug her heel into his muscled ass.

  Without breaking their kiss, he ran his palms along her sides, his palms brushing the underside of her breasts. Ticklish, she squirmed. His fingers found her nipples and pinched lightly.

  Oh. Moving her hands more than a few inches was impossible because her Viking knew his knots, but the sensation was almost too much. Too good. The bindings were a wicked reminder that only made her more exquisitely aware that he was in control of the pleasure. She twisted, trying to take herself over the edge. God helped those who helped themselves and she’d waited a long damned time for this orgasm.

  “Cut the ropes. Now.”

  He pulled back. “Nuh-uh. You got to trust me to get the job done.”

  This time, he dragged his hands down over her ribs, taking her impromptu fur sarong with him and filling her with the sensation of the fur rubbing against her skin as he laid her bare. He’d already seen it all, but this felt different. He cupped her butt, his big body following his hands as he dropped between her thighs.

  He paused. Damn it. “You looking?”

  “Yes.” There was a world of meaning in that one simple word. Yes, do this to me. With me.

  “Good.” He pulled her legs over his shoulders, leaving her open and exposed. On display.

  “I still prefer doing,” she said. Too bad for him if he couldn’t take a suggestion.

  With a rough laugh, he slid a hand out from underneath her butt and tapped his thumb against her mouth. “Suck. Make me good and wet.”

  She opened her mouth and he pushed inside. His skin tasted salty and felt deliciously rough. She ran her tongue down the length of him and then sucked gently. Mimicking other things she could do to his big body if he just untied her or swung himself over her face. She was playing with fire and loved it.

  “You want to know why you’re sucking me, Miss I-don’t-take-orders?” The answering throb in her pussy told her she might know, but she’d still enjoy hearing him tell her. She’d no idea that he was a talker. He didn’t shut up either, just kept giving her one sexy word after another. “I’m going to put my finger in you. First.”