Chapter 2

His slumber was dark. The waves that stormed his dreams spoke of death and pain, yet Rangvald could not tear himself from their horrors. Claws ripped at his chest and his right side, from his shoulder down his arm. Lost to suffering and weariness, he could not rouse himself. He tried to speak, to open his eyes, but barely conjured the will to part his lips.

He was no longer upon the sea; that he knew. The smell of woodsmoke was too strong. Voices came and went in the world to which he could not return. There was far-off birdsong, the stillness of night, and the whistle of wind. Time was passing, but he could not bring himself to care—only to desire that the intolerable aching through his body ceased.

Through it all, there was a woman. He heard her words and felt her touch—always gentle—but could not summon her face.

Something had happened, some accident of which he had no memory, but his jarl had sent a wench to nurse him. Eldberg needed him strong again, for he'd duties to fulfill, keeping the men of the Watch in check.

Another wave of slumber threatened. He knew he should fight the urge to dwell in the sleep state, should rouse fully and take stock of what was about him, but oh, it was tempting to remain in the world of shadowy dreams.

The woman's voice came again, gentle and coaxing. "Drink this now."

A spoon nudged at his mouth, proffering some brew overlaced with herbs.

"A little more." She murmured praise as if he were a child. A hand brushed his cheek, and he caught her scent—a faintly feminine musk with a hint of sage and something floral.

Jasmine?

He could not tell, but it was pleasing, and he wanted more. The fragrance spoke of all that was soft and yielding.

If he could only open his eyes to look upon her, what would he find?

A woman young and luscious?

One whose hair would be silken about his fist as he thrust inside her?

Despite his injuries, the thought stirred him. It empowered a man to lie with a woman and to take his fill, to use her softness and heat to embolden himself.

Would her eyes shine with both fear and excitement as he claimed her body? Such a woman would be worthy of his cock.

Rangvald disliked the keeping of bed thralls, preferring a woman to submit eagerly rather than because she was owned and compelled, but he felt the appeal of having this wench at his command.

Relief from pain would take more than her spoon-fed tonic. A tight sheath was what he needed, if only he could speak.

If only…

His shaft swelled with enthusiasm. His body might be beaten, but his cock most certainly was not.

As though the woman read his mind, her touch crept to the root of his arousal, her hand curling about his girth and her delicate fingers caressing his length.

By Odin, were his prayers answered?

The gods have sent her to serve my needs, to make me a man again.

She squeezed harder, and the next moment, her mouth encompassed his arousal, wet and warm.

Faen i helvete! Ja!

He'd been taught well what women were useful for and the succor of willing lips.

Encasing him in welcoming heat, her mouth worked so skillfully, he near forgot the aching tortures of his body. As she took him deep, his balls tightened, and a rush of desire sped his pulse. He wanted to watch her swallowing him, to see her soft lips and the rhythmic bob of her head as she worshipped his cock.

He sensed himself rise within his own body, aware in a way he'd lacked before. Summoning all his will, finally, his eyes obeyed.

Though the room was dim, lit by firelight alone, he made out the paleness of the woman's cheek, swept by long lashes, and hair of a dark, golden blonde, plaited and bound about her crown. The small sounds she made were those of one whose desire was fueled by the act she performed.

Had Thor's fleshly hammer ever taken such a feasting? He doubted the Valkyries themselves were so adept.

The pain he suffered was subdued by his lust. His seed was close, and he wished to spill in her mouth while she was fully upon him, claiming her honeyed throat.

Another mustering of will and he commanded his left arm to move, grabbing the back of her neck. She stilled, struggling suddenly against his hold. However, the force of his desire lent him the strength to keep her there.

"Stay." His voice emerged as a rasp.

She twisted, looking up with eyes as wide as full moons.

"Do not think to move." He swallowed against the dryness in his throat.

She gave a gargled response, her face flushing as she again fought to withdraw.

"Nay. Finish what you've begun!" Was the woman a simpleton, or did she not speak their tongue?

He didn't recognize her. Of course, that mattered not. He needed release, and she'd been willing enough when she thought him asleep. Naught had changed but his awakening.

She mumbled an entreaty, pushing against his hip, but her plea only hardened his resolve.

With only one hand to hold her in place, his ability to compel was limited, but he had faith she would soon settle to the task once more. She obviously desired him; why else had she taken him in her mouth?

The tears in her eyes were likely inspired by fear of whatever punishment he might bring down upon her—for if any were wronged, it was he.

She had begun this game, but he would have the last word.

"Take all of it." He lunged upward, as far as his aching body would allow, her heat taking him to the precipice. Ignoring the gnawing agony in his side, he pumped within the confines of her mouth, the coil of his need ever tightening.

As his seed erupted, he pressed harder still upon her neck, and she gave a half-smothered cry.

At last, he let his arm drop, exhausted from the effort of holding her in place. He gasped for breath, cursing as the spasms gripped his chest—each a reminder that he was not yet capable of exerting himself.

The wench sprang back, her face bearing a shocked expression. She'd gotten more than she'd bargained for, no doubt, but Rangvald had news for her, whoever she was.

She was now his to command.

Things were exactly as they should be.