A Viking's Vow Rae Monet (c) 2004 A Viking's Vow Rae Monet Published 2004 ISBN 1-59578-054-8 Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2004, Rae Monet. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. Manufactured in the United States of America Liquid Silver Books http://lsbooks.com Email: raven@lsbooks.com Cover Art by Raven This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental. Some say Vikings never made an oath of fealty to any one person. Others say a Viking’s vow, sworn by the blood of their life, was unbreakable. Which was it? Only the Gods know the answer. Chapter One “If you struggle, the bindings will tighten.” Sable’s eyes slid open. She ceased all movement. She was sprawled on a dark fur pelt. She shifted her hips and the pelt caressed her naked body, a sensuous surprise she didn’t want to notice. Immediately she realized her arms were bound above her head, her legs tied to two sturdy stakes and her war paint had been washed off. The position made her vulnerable—a situation a Wolf Warrior never wanted to be in. Eyeing the man sitting in front of her, Sable sucked in a strained breath. It was the Norseman who had struck her in the woods. The man was huge, his muscled, veined arms folded over a wide chest. A metal armband in the shape of some sort of animal adorned his right bicep and a tattoo of the same design decorated his left. His sculpted legs were bent, his bare feet rested on the ground. He wore only a leather loincloth draped between his powerful thighs. Light brown hair streaked with platinum-blond highlights fell his to shoulders. His bright blue eyes watched her. As he leaned forward, a gold cross dangled from a chain on his neck down to his breastbone. If Sable didn’t know any better, she would assume she was dead and in the presence of an angel. She thought about her own tattoo, the one on her shoulder—two intertwined Celtic circles, the sign of the Solarians, with a sword uniting the circles. A Wolf adorned the middle of the lower circle. She wondered if he had noticed it. Women did not have marks like that outside the Realm. She didn’t want to reveal the Realm, or her people, to her enemy. He was applying a salve to a cut on his stomach. Apparently, he had also sustained injuries from their battle. He appeared calm and nonchalant, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His face was regal, a straight nose, and high forehead—perhaps from a royal line, she thought. He smiled at her, displaying a dimple in each cheek. If she wasn’t in such an undesirable place, in that moment she might have fallen in love with him. She tested the bindings around her ankles, tugging her arms down. Just as he had promised, the rope tightened. The man’s smile disappeared, and he frowned. Rotating her head from side to side, Sable did a quick assessment of her situation. She was tied naked in front of a barely clothed man, alone. They were in a tent of some sort, she guessed, in the middle of the Scottish woodlands. A fire pit in the center of the structure warmed the tent and her nakedness, the smoke wafting up a hole in the tent roof. Pelts of her dead fellow protectors were piled around her. I’m in trouble. A low whine alerted her. “Midnight?” An answering muffled ruff made her turn toward the noise. She growled and arched toward her wolf. Midnight was trussed to another steel post, muzzled and bound more tightly than her. Ropes were wrapped around her brave companion’s legs, torso, and nose. Sable’s anger elevated as she struggled to free herself and assist her wolf. The more she fought the bindings, the tighter they became. The man arose from his bench, showing Sable his great height. Towering above her, he knelt at her side and reached for her wrist. “Release my wolf,” she demanded, jerking away from his hand. “I think not, my lady. That animal,” he nodded at Midnight, “would kill me first before rescuing you. And right now,” he shifted to her other hand, “I am the only person who can rescue you from harm.” His voice was strangely accented, a unique mixture of her native Gaelic tongue and another origin she couldn’t identify. To her dismay, Sable found the combination sexy. Her nipples peaked, and she grunted, closing her eyes. Why did this man have such an effect on her? She opened her eyes when she felt his hand wrap around her wrist. His hand was so large, his fingers overlapped on her wrist. With a twist, he released some of the pressure from the rope. “I will not harm you. Please follow my instructions. You are bound for your own protection. If I did not do this, the others would kill you. This is not my Clan. If I stray from their laws, your life will be forfeit. I am here at their mercy, with only three of my men.” His face hardened. “Two men now. The other was killed by your warriors.” Sable strove to understand what he was saying, trying to ignore the spiking sensations his hand produced when he loosened the binding on her other wrist. He bent over her body and ran his thumb lightly over her cheek where he had punched her, knocking her unconscious. The soreness made her wince. She was sure the skin had darkened and split from the blow. His eyes softened, and he stroked gently. “And if I release your wolf, he will be immediately murdered. The bounty on his pelt is high. High enough to feed these men’s people for a fortnight.” His hands left her face and reached for her ankles, where he began massaging the skin under the bindings. His palms and fingers were callused, as if he worked with them or fought often. A mercenary, mayhap? Yet his touch was gentle, almost reverent. Against her will, he stirred her. “Have no doubt, my lady, I will protect you. A Viking’s vow is pledged with his life.” Sable tilted her head and studied him. He seemed intent on what he was saying, leaning over her, watching his hands touch her skin with an expression on his face she couldn’t read. She hid her arousal with anger. “I need not your vow, Viking.” Then a series of loud shouts outside of the tent drew her captor’s attention. He turned his head, his brows furrowed. He looked like a fierce warrior focused on a fight to the death. “Who are you?” she asked. “Why am I here? May I clothe myself?” She bristled when he chuckled. The hand holding her ankle began to travel up her leg, the transition from fighter to lover flawless as he inched his fingers up her inner thigh. She tried not to be affected by his touch, but failed miserably. God, he is incredible. As his hand glided up her leg, he moved closer. She got a whiff of his scent, sweat mixed with horses and earth. It was a heady blend, very appealing. Sable shook her head, trying to clear her befuddled brain. He was barely clothed himself. She could see the smoothness of his skin stretched tight over his muscular frame. There were scars, but the marks didn’t detract from his appeal, instead they enhanced it. He’s got me caught in some sort of spell. His fingers reached her core. At first he hesitated, but when she didn’t protest he slid closer and began to stroke her vagina. Gently circulating his fingers around her clit, he rotated his hand and slowly pressed a finger into her damp heat. At the same time, he lowered his handsome head to her breast. With his tongue, he circled her peaked nipple. Sable arched in pleasure. The sensations he created in her were beyond normal, almost as if he had swept a magic wand over her and commanded her body to mate with his. The craving was so strong, so hard to deny or fight; it was uncanny. The most primitive urgings to mate replaced Sable’s common sense. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back as he matched the actions of his mouth with his fingers. He glided in and out of her wetness, taking her higher than she had ever been. Her eyes rolled back, her neck arched. As she climbed closer to an orgasm, she creamed against his fingers. This arousal she was experiencing—it was almost as if she had a Wolf Warrior bond with him. Impossible. Bonds of that sort were only formed with other Wolf Warriors. That bond was a mating ritual older than time among her people—to ensure the future of the Realm. What the hell am I doing? She tried to interject some logic into her body, which seemed to have a mind of its own. She had never been so impassioned in her life. She could feel her wetness leaking onto his busy fingers. He switched to her other breast, sucking, licking. He drew her nipple into his mouth and worshipped it, while he withdrew his fingers and pinched her clit. Sable was mindless. She saw stars; the breath left her body and huffed out in a loud moan, her body bowed as she rode the orgasm. Her inner muscles convulsed, and she closed her eyes. Then it was over. She sagged back against the pelt, feeling boneless. He withdrew his fingers. Running his fingers up her abdomen, he linked his hand behind her head and brought her face to his. Sable opened her eyes. Her brown gaze met his bright blue one. He lifted his body...
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