Riveted

by Brook, Meljean

  He pressed gently against her back, as if urging her to bend over. Oh. Realization struck, followed a wicked stab of need. Suddenly trembling, she leaned forward, gripping the back of the driver’s seat. Though she could only see the driver’s chamber, Annika could too easily imagine the picture she made, bending over the top of the ladder, her backside at a height with his mouth. She wore trousers now, but soon she wouldn’t. This might be improper even by Hannasvik’s standards.

  She didn’t care. David’s groan echoed through the hearth chamber, as if the sight of her tested his control. Strong hands smoothed down over her wool-covered bottom, his thumbs sliding closer together as they delved lightly into the crevice between her thighs. Annika shook, her fingers clamping on the seat.

  He paused. “All right?”

  “Yes.”

  So very much all right.

  His left hand found the buckle at her waist. Breathless, Annika stared blindly into the forest of pistons and levers. She would never see them again without remembering the tug against her side when her trousers loosened. Without remembering his fingers hooking beneath wool and linen, the gentle rasp of steel and the graze of his nails against her skin as he slowly drew them down to her knees. Without remembering the warm air of the hearth chamber slipping over her bared cheeks, and his humid breath.

  Firm lips pressed to the sensitive crease at the top of her thigh. Annika groaned and closed her eyes, waiting in a torment of anticipation and need.

  His hands gripped her hips, adjusted her angle. His tongue swathed a sudden path up her inner thigh. Annika cried out, her body clenching, an unbearable ache filling her heated sex.

  “God. And you’re already so wet. You can’t know how much that means to me.”

  He palmed the back of her trembling thighs, to hold her still or to support her, she didn’t know. Kisses trailed up her inner thigh, ever closer to her center. Desperate whimpers rose unbidden from her throat, became a needy gasp when she felt the brush of his fingers over her clitoris.

  “This is where I rubbed you.”

  “Yes.” It was more moan than word.

  “This is where to lick?”

  Please. “Everywhere.”

  His mouth covered her. Annika cried out, her body stiffening, surprise pushing her onto her toes. He followed her up, his tongue rubbing, rubbing, until acute pleasure bordered on pain. She gripped the seat harder, fighting the need to writhe against his mouth, to push away. Then he released her, but that was a new torture, a slow lick up through her slick folds.

  Rough palms smoothed over her bottom again, as if reassuringly, and she realized that her breaths were coming in keening sobs.

  “Those sounds you make—God, Annika. That’s exactly how I felt with your mouth on me. I want to do this to you forever. And so much more.”

  Inside her? Oh, but she wanted that, too. She’d always thought to wait for love, but this act had to be just as intimate—and she’d be devastated if he did this with someone else.

  Was that love? Or just desperate need? Did she want him so badly because she was falling in love, or because she was already there?

  Another lick chased that question from her mind. His hands caught her hips, held her still for his tongue, and for the longest time there was only that, only that, until he eased back, as if realizing that even though the sound of her moans bordered on agony each lick was the sweetest torment, and he meant to draw it out.

  Then his mouth covered her again and she came in a rush, screaming and crying his name, the gentle suction against her clitoris the most painfully intense, incredible bliss. He held her upright when she drifted down from it, her body limp.

  He carried her to the bed, laid her down. When she reached for his trouser buckles, he caught her hand.

  “I want to give you the same pleasure, David.”

  He tucked her against his chest, her head pillowed on his arm. “You already did.”

  Perhaps it was for the best. A yawn overtook her, a heavy lethargy. She turned her face into his neck, inhaled his smoky scent. So wonderful. “I want to do this every night.”

  A laugh rumbled from his chest. “I’d be glad to oblige.”

  She could so easily imagine being with him. No good came of such dreams—but for tonight, the rest of the world could go to hell.

  The troll suddenly seemed to sway, then settled into a gentle rocking. Annika tensed. “Do you feel that?”

  “Yes.” He pulled out his watch—not just to note the time, she realized when he didn’t immediately put it away. He was seeing how long the quake lasted. “How stable is the troll?”

  “I’ve been through rougher earthquakes inside one. We’ve never tipped.” And even if they did tip, it was better to be inside than to have the enormous machine fall on top of them while escaping.

  After almost a full minute, the rocking ceased. David tucked away his watch, settled against her again.

  “Do you have to write that in your journal?”

  “I will after you’ve fallen asleep.” He pressed a kiss into her hair. “You’ve a long way to drive tomorrow.”

  They were away long before dawn, roasted potatoes for breakfast leaving him pleasantly full, and Annika the best company that he could imagine. The sun rose midway through the morning into a brilliant sky, the reflection on the snow almost blinding. His smoked lens only helped a little; before long, his head ached from the brightness and constant squinting. Annika repeatedly wiped her eyes, lowering the louvers as far as she could without closing them. The head of the pass stretched before the troll, almost flat here but rising toward the rougher highlands. Chunks of ice and boulders dotted the ground. From the valley floor, the glaciers to the east and west appeared like mountains, the edges of the ice standing in jagged, black cliffs.

  “I don’t think I’ve yet seen a single tree,” David said. Or any dogs today, either.

  “There are some.” Annika steadily stomped and pulled. “We’ll see birch groves in the highlands—though not many.”

  “The sagas speak of forests.”

  “What sagas?”

  “Older stories—from before the Horde. Some of the great families still have manuscripts in Norse.” And he’d read copies of them while searching for his mother’s people, hoping to find similarities. “Many of the stories are the same as those she told me, but there are differences.”

  “How so?”

  “Brunhild’s story, for one. How she took her revenge on Sigurd, though she died carrying it out.”

  “Yes. That’s one of my favorites.”

  He grinned. Her favorite was incredibly bloodthirsty. “But that’s not the end. There’s another story with Brunhild in the Underworld, where she and Sigurd are lovers—and Brunhild claims that all of the pain and betrayal no longer mattered, that it was what she’d had to bear before they could be together.”

  “And Sigurd was some kind of reward? That’s horrible,” she said, and glanced back when he laughed. “Isn’t it?”

  “I believe it’s supposed to be the happy ending she deserves.”

  “But he deceived her—and doesn’t deserve her.”

  “Is deceit so unforgiveable?”

  “That sort of deceit is. It is one thing to lie and deceive for good reason, but it is quite another to hurt someone with those lies and to expect no consequences.” A frown had creased her brow when she looked back at him again. “He pretended to be someone else in bed. Imagine if Dooley came to my bed and said that he was you. Should I ever forgive him?”

  David would kill him. “No.”

  “I agree. So I will pretend that I never heard such nonsense. Hanna’s version is much better.”

  Hanna…and Hannasvik. “Your village is named after her? Is she the same Hanna from my mother’s runes?”

  “Yes. She was from a noble family in Norway, in fact.” She rolled her shoulders, as if to loosen them. “And she married a relation of your friend Goltzius. Hanna’s line is all blood, and you’re directly d
escended. So I suppose you might be a prince of some sort.”

  David laughed, until he realized that she was serious. “Truly?”

  “Oh, yes. Källa, too…Prince David.”

  He laughed again at the absurdity of it. “The royal line doesn’t follow the women.”

  “Why is that? It’s seems foolish. A baby could be any man’s. You can only know for certain who the mother is.”

  “So they marry virgins—or hope that she is.”

  She was quiet for a long moment. “I suspect that explains quite a lot about the New World. Why do the women allow it?”

  Allow it? David had never thought of it in such a way. Marriage had always been a matter of protecting a woman, loving her, carrying on the family name…because without that protection, without a man’s name behind hers, a woman had very little. Even many of the female scientists he knew had to secure the approval of their husbands or fathers before pursuing their chosen field, and were sometimes forced to abandon that pursuit when other demands were made of them. There were exceptions, of course—there were always exceptions—but it was a sobering realization.

  “They don’t allow it,” he said quietly. “They don’t have the choice.”

  “Oh.” Her chest rose on a soft, drooping sigh. “That’s terribly sad. In Hannasvik, we always have choice. To go or to stay. To return or to continue on outside the village. The choice is never easy, but at least we have one.”

  “Is that why there are no men in Hannasvik? The women are afraid the choices will be taken away?”

  “No. Men are thought well of, for the most part. That was just how it began—the will of the gods, or so Hanna said—and became set in stone.”

  “And no one has broken that rule?”

  “Not in my lifetime. And if others have broken it—bringing their sons back, perhaps—I have never heard of it. But I imagine it must have happened at least a few times over the past century.”

  “What would they have done to her?”

  “She would be exiled, most likely. But they would have helped her. There are always others who have left. They’d have made sure she found them, that she wouldn’t be alone. They’d have done the same for Källa, but she left before they could.”

  Did Annika risk the same? “Yet you plan to take me there?”

  “To Hannasvik? Oh, no. I know of a safe place a few hours away from the village. I’ll leave you there.” She paused, bit her lip. “I hope you know…it’s not a lack of trust. I just won’t break that rule when I have another choice. It wouldn’t be fair to them to bring you in, unless everyone in the village agrees on it first.”

  “I know.”

  In truth, he was relieved. David didn’t want to be the reason for her exile—not when it would hurt her. He was just afraid that if he let her out of his sight, he wouldn’t see her again.

  The quiet between them extended—comfortable, until he became aware of her sudden tension. The troll slowed.

  “David.” She opened the louvers wide. “Do you see that shadow?”

  Slightly to the left—an oval with crisp edges. No cloud cast a shadow like that.

  Dread weighed heavy in his chest. “An airship?”

  And they hadn’t heard the engines over their own.

  “Yes.” Her breath was coming fast. “Blast it all. There’s nowhere to hide here.”

  “Stop, then, and let me out.” Throat aching, he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “Di Fiore only wants me.”

  “I won’t leave you.”

  “You have to—and bring back your army of trolls to rescue me.”

  A geyser of snow exploded directly ahead. White powder blasted through the louvers. Annika cried out, stopping the troll. Heart pounding, David hauled her out of the seat and into the hearth chamber.

  He brushed the snow from her hair, her face. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Her fingers gripped his shoulders tight. “That was his rail cannon.”

  God. “Can a troll take a hit from one?”

  Her eyes squeezed shut. She shook her head.

  “All right.” Desperately, he kissed her forehead, her trembling lips. How could he protect her now? “Stay with me. He won’t get a damned minute of my help if you’re not safe. And we’ll play along until we can escape. All right?”

  Her mouth firming, she nodded. He helped her into her coat, opened the hatch. Taking her hand, they walked out from beneath the troll.

  The ferry cruiser hovered overhead, chains rattling as the cargo lift descended. Di Fiore stood on the platform, backed by three men armed with rifles.

  Di Fiore’s mouth opened when he saw David. As if stunned and doubting his sight, he blinked quickly. An instant later, his lips pulled back into his fishhook grin.

  “Mr. Kentewess!” Above his beard, his skin was red from the cold. “This is astonishing! You stole our walker? When my men found your pack in the lifeboat yesterday, we thought you’d been swept overboard. But you must have been on the airship when Jonah swallowed you?”

  The whale was Jonah? Di Fiore must have heard a different version of that story than David had. “We were.”

  “How fortunate for both of us, then, as this gives me an opportunity to return your journal. It was fascinating reading, I must say.”

  David’s jaw clenched. “Return Phatéon’s cargo to her captain, too.”

  “All right.” He laughed at David’s expression. “You thought I might object? I have no reason to. And you must be Annika Fridasdottor. I’ve read about you, too.”

  Oh, God. David knew exactly what he’d read—and no, di Fiore didn’t need to hold the food hostage. The bastard had the means to make David do whatever he wanted right here.

  Though her fingers tightened on his, Annika didn’t respond. Di Fiore’s gaze slid over her, assessing, lingering on their linked hands.

  “And so which one of you drove the walker?” Though he asked, di Fiore must have already known. His focus remained on Annika, as if watching for her reaction. “Miss Fridasdottor, I think. That’s so very interesting—and useful to me.”

  That was enough. “You’ll leave her alone. I’ll come with you.”

  “Of course you will.” Di Fiore’s gaze met his again. “But you don’t have to worry that I’ll threaten her. Now, another man might do so—but there’s no surprise in that scenario. You will be heroic, make any sacrifice to save her. I know this. So threatening her is of no interest to me.”

  “Then what is?” David preferred not to be surprised.

  “You have friends in Vik. I’ve already promised to return the cargo—and I will. You will come with me for that. But what will make you stay?” His expression cooled. “I think that this will do it: If you or Miss Fridasdottor try to escape, then the town of Vik will have the same fate as Heimaey. I won’t hesitate, of course. The results of any test are never certain until they’ve been repeated.”

  He’d created the disaster at Heimaey? David stared at the man, staggered. Good God. Perhaps di Fiore was lying…but they wouldn’t be able to take the risk of finding out.

  “Come along. They’re expecting me at the glacier camp, and following your tracks has already caused enough of a delay.” Di Fiore stepped aboard the lift platform. “Leave the walker. My men will gather your things from inside and drive it back to the rail camp—where it is sorely needed to clean up the destruction you wrought.”

  David glanced down at Annika. Her gaze had narrowed on di Fiore’s back. David squeezed her hand, and she looked up.

  “All right?” he asked softly.

  She nodded—not trembling now, but her face set and a bloodthirsty glint in her eyes. David thought that his expression probably appeared the same.

  “We’ll wait until the right time.”

  Her fingers tightened on his in response. Together, they boarded the lift.

  Di Fiore smiled. “I told you this was destiny, Mr. Kentewess. You can’t fight it.”

  Not at this moment, perhaps. Di
Fiore had landed a heavy blow—but David would be damned before he stayed down. He’d wait for his opportunity, the right moment to strike back.

  And he wouldn’t hesitate to use a steel fist.

  Chapter Ten

  Annika stood silently with David, clinging to his hand and looking over the side of the ferry cruiser to the glacier below. She could feel the anger boiling off him, but he didn’t express it, didn’t show it. Annika doubted that she was as successful hiding her feelings. She didn’t speak of them, though. She didn’t want to give di Fiore the satisfaction of knowing how angry she was…and how helpless she felt.

  She glanced back at the quarterdeck, where di Fiore chatted with the pilot. He looked no different than any other man aboard. A dark beard covered pleasant features, his expression mild and open.

  The face of a monster.

  He’d been responsible for that cold, calculated death on Heimaey. She couldn’t imagine how it had been done—or why. Some experiment or project. Annika wasn’t certain that she wanted to understand. She only knew that they had to get away.

  There was no place to hide on the glacier. Unlike the pass, it wasn’t flat—the surface of the ice buckled, creating peaks and valleys; crevasses yawned open, a sheer drop into darkness. But all of it was barren, white. If they escaped from a camp, di Fiore would only have to look through a spyglass from the deck of the ferry cruiser to see them in the distance. The glacier wasn’t large, though. From the center, a half-day’s hike east or west would take them to the edge. So their best hope of escape would be to leave at night, to get off the glacier as quickly as possible, and return to Vik before di Fiore managed to find them. Once there, she and David could warn the town.

  It would be dangerous, terribly dangerous, especially if they were hurrying. A tumble into a crevasse would be deadly, whether they were in a troll or not.

  But they had to escape. They had to hide. Annika didn’t believe for one moment that di Fiore would let them go when David finished the project his father was working on.

  She angled her head closer to David’s. “I thought he wanted you on the peninsula south of Smoke Cove.”