Bound by the Viking Read online

  Colden’s companion laughed, drawing my attention and breaking Colden’s death stare at me. The other Viking was a good-looking blond with beads and sundry souvenirs woven into his shoulder-length hair. With his face, he could have starred front and center on romance covers, but somehow he wasn’t the guy I wanted to stare at. He was too pretty. Also too large, although for no reason at all Colden’s size didn’t bother me. In fact, I kind of liked the way he filled up the space around me, and I definitely liked the way he formed a living wall between me and Erik. Apparently, I was willing to trade yet for now, even if it required accepting outside assistance.

  “You two know each other? Or you got some kind of telepathic connection going on?” Blondie shoved to his feet and wandered over to plant a boot on Erik’s throat. The position didn’t look comfortable—or promising—for Erik, but the werewolf was on his own. Pack life was brutal, and I hadn’t asked to be made into a werewolf. Erik had bitten me and dragged me back to Greenland, and things had been all downhill after that.

  “We know each other,” Colden rumbled, not backing up. If anything, the predatory expression on his face grew more intense. He’d not only remembered my name, but he’d placed me. My first and last meeting with him had been one of those downhill moments after my forced move to Greenland.

  He’d run into us—or rather, we’d run into him—in a biker dive bar in one of the few small towns in Greenland. How the place had managed to support a biker bar, I’d never know. Erik had offered me to him as a bed partner for the night, which had been one of the lower points of my life as a werewolf. The lowest had come shortly after Erik’s offer, however, when Colden had turned Erik down flat. Becoming a pass-around female hadn’t been my thing, but Colden’s quick rejection had stung my pride. Or something.

  Now I stared at him for a minute, begging my brain to put coherent words into my mouth. Colden seemed to leave me tongue-tied and blushing, and the cause was more than simple sexual chemistry. I’d had a bad feeling that night in the bar. I could have feelings for this man.

  And feelings would be suicidal. Needing a diversion, my brain decided that this would be a great time to get up in the Viking’s face about his presence in my cave.

  “Why are you here?” The words flew out of my mouth before I could rethink them. Thank you or Please excuse me while I flee this hellhole would have been wiser choices.

  Colden gave me one of those looks I couldn’t interpret. The man had inscrutable down to an art form. “Because Calder isn’t here,” he said.

  Oh. Right.

  I hadn’t thought through the implications of Tyra mating with a Viking berserker. I’d been happy for her, although I’d wondered if she’d known what she was getting into. Grumpy werewolves were bad enough—let alone the genuine assholes like Erik—but voluntarily and permanently taking on a six-foot-plus Viking who turned into a bear and killed or destroyed everything around him when he got pissed off? That was a deal killer in my book.

  Erik moved, his fingers scrabbling against the stone floor. Vars smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant grin. It was more of an oh-goody-I-get-to-hurt-someone look. I was just as happy that now no one was paying attention to me.

  “Knock knock.” Even rapped his knuckles on the cave wall and stuck his head into the cave where we were having our showdown. The pack beta was actually a good guy. I’d expected him to take over when Leif had been killed during Calder’s hostile takeover, but maybe he hadn’t wanted to run the risk of challenging Calder. Even had a pregnant mate, and she came first. It was one of many reasons I liked him.

  Even eyed Erik impassively, then his gaze flicked to me. “There a problem here?”

  He didn’t ask me, though. Nope. He addressed his question to Colden. Of course, since Colden was standing here deep in the pack’s cave system, he’d either fought his way here and stopped to rescue my sad butt, or Erik had let him pass—and it didn’t take much thinking to know Colden wasn’t here for me.

  “He hurt Bera. He’s out of here.” Colden saw the world in black and white. I’d noticed that happy trait when we’d met in the biker bar. He either wanted me—or he didn’t. He’d picked option B that night, so there was no point in crying about it now. I did appreciate his ruthlessness regarding Erik, however.

  “Out of the cave or out of the pack?” Even didn’t hesitate. I had a bad feeling that if Colden demanded Even slit Erik’s throat, he’d do it. He was already moving, reaching down to grab Erik’s legs none too gently for a bumpy, feet-first ride out of the cave. Vars removed his boot from Erik’s throat, but not immediately. Ouch. Once again, I couldn’t work up any real emotion. Erik had been an asshole.

  Of course, Erik had also been the asshole who’d claimed me. I’d had crap luck in the mating department, running into Erik when he’d been hunting for a human woman to forcibly convert to his cult of werewolfism. Erik hadn’t been my choice—ever—but the pack didn’t give females a vote. We were chattel, property to be moved from male to male, and I hadn’t figured out a way to stop that. Yet. Tyra would be on my side in the we-need-change department, but I had to hold out for her return from her honeymoon.

  Even dumped Erik outside, snapped an order to someone else who was hovering there, and then hotfooted it back. Vars and Colden hadn’t moved, and I had a bad feeling that I was now the focus of their interest. Sure enough, Even’s eyes narrowed as he came to some obvious conclusions. Erik had owned me. Colden had kicked Erik’s ass. Which meant…

  “You claiming her?” Even asked, planting his booted feet on the ground. Darn it. I was still mostly naked, I hurt everywhere, and this cave was too small for a werewolf and two Vikings. I’d come so close to freedom, but Even’s words were the death knell to hopes I hadn’t known I still harbored. Freedom.

  Not, apparently, in this life.

  I was pack. I was female. And I was now… Colden’s?

  Colden had defeated Erik. That meant Erik no longer owned me. I wasn’t his property, he couldn’t touch me again, and he definitely couldn’t pass me around like I was a box of after-dinner mints. That was cause for celebration, even if I’d wanted to be the one to kick Erik in the balls myself. I could live with someone else doing the heavy lifting here.

  Nope. The problem was the ridiculously feudal notions of the werewolf pack. When Colden had beat the shit out of Erik for what he was doing to me, he’d established a claim. On me. That was going to be a problem, because I wasn’t interested in a change in management. I’d rather go for full-scale revolution, overthrow my evil overlord, and escape into the sunset. I certainly needed to do it before this Ragnarök thing everyone was so obsessed about hit, my pack executed its dumb-ass plan, and I became unwilling collateral damage.

  My girl parts actually were voting aye on the claim business, but my head was smarter than that. Colden might not be a hitter like Erik had been, but he was still bad news. That man had never met a situation he didn’t take charge of, and I was done with other people running my life for me.

  Mentally I ordered my knees to work. Somehow, I was getting back on my feet. Colden stepped in front of me. I still liked the way his powerful legs looked encased in denim. Kind of like Fate had gift wrapped me the perfect male package. If my life hadn’t been so screwed up, I’d have happily unwrapped him too. As a birthday present to myself, an early Christmas gift, or just because I deserved something good after the crap-ton of bad that life had heaped on me.

  I was still butt planted on the ground.

  Get up. Say something.

  Colden reached behind him, extending a hand toward me. Without saying a word, he’d pulled Erik off me and rescued me even if he looked like no white knight I’d ever imagined. Big and rough, he made a Buddhist monk seem positively chatty.

  The Berserkers were pirates and plunderers. They were also tattooed Harley-riding foul-mouthed men. If even half the rumors I’d heard were true, the man standing over me, booted feet spread like he owned my pack’s lair and my sorry self to boot, had fucked th
e better half of a Vegas showgirl line. Honestly, though, I was willing to give him a pass on being a manwhore because I had a bigger problem. Ragnarök was barreling towards us, and I knew way too much about Leif’s plan to take down Odin. The kind of way too much that people got killed over.

  I stared at Colden’s hand, not entirely sure what he was offering.

  “Take it or leave it,” he rumbled, not looking at me. His hand didn’t budge though, just waited for me to come to a decision. “Can’t promise I’ll be better, but I won’t be worse.”

  My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I spared a moment’s regret for my inability to control anything about my life. Ever since I’d been bitten by a werewolf and converted, events had careened out of control. First Erik and now Colden. The only thing was, all things being equal, I probably would have chosen Colden. I’m not strong like Tyra is. She laughed—laughed—when our Alpha ground the broken bones of her wrist into the snow. All I’ve done is hold on and wait. Wait for Erik to be done with me, wait for my life to change.

  Waiting wasn’t part of Colden’s vocabulary. He made that much immediately clear, forming a bring it on gesture with his fingers, clearly out of patience with me. Before I could overthink things further, I tucked my fingers into his palm. His hand tightened, hauling me to my feet in one smooth motion. Then I was tucked between his big, warm body and the wall where no one could get to me. Funny how safe one broad back could make me feel.

  Colden

  Come to take over a werewolf pack, end up with a mate.

  How the fuck had that happened, and why wasn’t I more pissed off?

  “Your girl okay with this engagement?” Vars swung around to eyeball Bera and me. Nice that he was concerned about her, but I couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t asking me if I was on board with this whole insta-mating thing the werewolves had going on. The pack didn’t waste time. Off with the old, on with the new, blah fucking blah.

  “Looks like it,” I said.

  My new female made a noise that was part squeak, part splutter, and absolutely none of my business. Unable to stop myself, I tightened my fingers around hers. Carefully. Christ, she was tiny. Her head butted into my back, and she couldn’t reach more than midchest on me.

  Vars scowled. “You can’t just take her.”

  Hel, the wolves had fucking gift wrapped her and handed her over. Who was he to tell me I had to stay hands off? I started to growl, and Bera made that strangled sound again. She sounded kinda like a kitten that had fallen into a pond. A very cold, Viking-filled pond.

  So maybe Vars had a point. I wouldn’t be Erik 2.0 and not just because I didn’t lose my dominance fights. I met Vars’s gaze. He was still waiting for his answer.

  “Okay. She can take me.” See? I could compromise.

  Erik looked at Vars. Shit. That look spelled trouble right there. The werewolf was no fairy godmother.

  “Fair enough. Unless she prefers blonds?”

  Erik’s question made it clear the werewolf clearly didn’t care which one of us he mated Bera too, as if we were interchangeable. Vars threw up a hand before I could object. “Not me. I’ve got a prior engagement hunting for a Valkyrie.”

  Our shock troop leader, Vikar, had married the Valkyrie Pure recently. In exchange for a get-out-of-jail-free card when she’d been trapped in an underground prison with us, Pure had agreed to accept both Vikar and Vars in her bed. Vars had had a thing for Pure ever since, although she’d chosen to mate with Vikar. Sucked to be Vars.

  Theoretically, I understood his obsession. Pure wasn’t a big woman—just the opposite. She was short and curvy, with all this long hair that got a male to thinking about how he could fist the silky stuff as he hammered into her from behind. Taking her rough and dirty the way she liked because Pure possessed a fundamental need to live down to her name. After a few centuries of forced celibacy—Odin insisted all his Valkyries stay celibate—she’d discovered that she liked hot, raunchy sex. Funny how someone so petite still seemed larger than life. And she wasn’t fragile, not one bit. The outward package was deceptive there. Pure was a Valkyrie, a vicious fighter, and loyal to the bone. Once she’d decided that you were hers, she didn’t let go. Vikar, our leader, was a lucky man and he knew it.

  Vars, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky. Pure had turned the guy into her own personal boy toy. That was my take on it, anyhow. You couldn’t even call what the poor bastard had had with the Valkyrie and Vikar sharing. Sharing implied some degree of equality, and Vikar had been in charge anytime the three of them had been in bed. Vars didn’t usually play beta, but Pure had been special. Special and fun. Or so Vars claimed, and I wouldn’t disrespect my brother by announcing he was full of shit in the relationship department.

  “You gonna go look for her?” I asked instead of getting my Dr. Phil on. It was better for both of us that way.

  Vars shrugged, as if he wouldn’t cross half the world and a climb a fucking mountain if Pure asked. He totally would, and we both knew it. I’d never be that kind of sucker for a female.

  “Eira’s a Valkyrie. I bet finding her would make Odin happy.” He said that last with no small amount of satisfaction.

  On the surface of things, making Odin happy wasn’t a bad idea. “The happier Odin is, the safer the pack is.”

  I might make jokes about werewolf sacrifices and eliminating our problem the old-fashioned way, but I’d promised Calder and Tyra that I’d keep their wolves as safe as possible. Killing off a few troublemakers wouldn’t fit that definition although right now, with most of the paranormal world gunning for furry asses, safe was definitely a relative term.

  “Safe?” A small finger poked me hard in my back. Must have been Bera’s free hand. I could definitely think of better things for her to be doing with that finger. Or her hand, her mouth, her sweet, hot pussy. A man could dream.

  She was turning me into a dumb-ass.

  I shifted so I faced her, capturing her finger in my free hand. She tugged, but only a little, so I figured she didn’t mind too much. She didn’t make that squeaking sound either, just stared up at me like she was trying to read the answer to her question on my face. “Odin wants the Valkyries back something bad.”

  “Enough to leave the pack alone?” She licked her lips nervously, clearly aware that she wasn’t in a position to be asking questions.

  Good. I wouldn’t hurt her, but we needed to be clear on who was in charge here. It wasn’t her.

  “It’s a good possibility. Find Eira, and we’ve got leverage we didn’t have before,” I said.

  Bera chewed on her lower lip. She had soft-looking lips, pink and full. I could cover her mouth with mine, lean down and find out if she tasted as good as she looked. I bet she would. Behind us, Vars made a chuffing noise, like the bastard knew I’d been laughing my ass off at him and he saw an opportunity for payback.

  At least I wasn’t the one hankering after a mated Valkyrie who would cut my balls off if I made the wrong move. Bera would be a hundred times sweeter. Well, if she didn’t run screaming when I got her naked.

  “I know that name,” Bera said, interrupting the porn flick running through my head.

  I’d have to coax her into making that up to me later. When I had her alone.

  “Erik mentioned it. So did Leif.”

  “You know where to find her?” Christ. Keep it casual. Don’t let her know how long we’d been looking. Pure wasn’t sure she’d ever see her sister again, and when I wasn’t being an asshole, I knew Pure’s grief was tearing Vars apart.

  “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe I do.”

  I had to wonder if she knew that she’d just fired the opening shot in a very personal war. Head off Ragnarök, save the world, rescue a fair damsel in distress to win the heart of an even fairer maiden? Vars and I were voting “D, all the above.”

  Bera

  Colden backed me into the wall so fast I all but lost my breath. “You and me, we need to have a conversation.”

  Funny, but I tho
ught that our little exchange of words qualified as a conversation. Guess he either wanted to prove me wrong, or he had a different definition of talking than I did. Either way, I was about to find out. His thighs braced mine, his body a deliciously heated prison that announced you’re not going anywhere. Since this was my once-in-a-new-lifetime opportunity, I was okay with that.

  ”You really believe that Odin would trade for her?” Because if the god was just blowing smoke about Eira’s importance, then I had still had a big, fat nothing going for me.

  Colden grunted, which must have been Viking for you betcha because he didn’t say anything else, just kept right on staring at my face. He was a scary bastard. My brain kept sending me that message, and my current position pinned beneath him wasn’t a personal recommendation either. And yet I couldn’t help but feel safe. Maybe Stockholm Syndrome hit faster when it involved Vikings?

  “I don’t want to die here.” The truth came out before I could stop it. I didn’t believe Colden was planning on hurting me, but he could leave me here. In fact, that was extremely likely. I’d been trapped in these caves and with this pack for twelve months, and I was so damned ready to escape. I needed to get out because the cold didn’t just freeze your body. I couldn’t handle living with the fear, half-alive, too afraid to tell Erik the Asshole to fuck off. I didn’t like that Bera, even though I applauded her survival instincts.

  Colden froze. He was listening—that was something—but I hadn’t offered him anything other than Eira’s name. He needed more. He needed a reason to keep me around, to take me with him.