At the Viking's Command (Warriors Unleashed Book 2) (6 page)

“Hey.” She batted at him with her hands. “It’s not like we’re dating. One orgasm does not a relationship make, so hands off.”

He ignored her protests, tamped down the lust, and checked her out. Stripes of yellow and purple bruises banded her ribs. Werewolves healed fast. Last night, these had been broken ribs. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do for her now, other than offer her a fucking aspirin. And revenge.

He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Who did this to you?”

“Pack,” she admitted and his growl echoed off the walls of the garage. This kind of crap was why the Packs needed to be stamped out of existence. He’d have been happy to live and let live, but then the stupid bastards went and laid hands on someone they should only have dreamed of touching.

“Is this part of your
problem
?” His voice came out gruff and surly.

“Yeah.” She yanked her robe closed. “You ever consider moving your keep to Bora Bora? Because I’d vote for tropical island over arctic iceberg.”

She was cold. That much he could fix. Carefully, he lifted her down off the counter. Jumping with those ribs was now on the forbidden list.

“Stay,” he snapped and stomped off to the closet. He left her spitting and hissing, because apparently she didn’t like commands any more than he did…except when she was getting her rocks off. Which was too bad for her. If he had to be saddled with a werewolf—this particular werewolf—he planned on giving her lots of commands. Both in bed and out. Still, when he returned two minutes later with an armload of leather and fur, she’d stayed put.

Mostly. She was bent over the snowmobile, fiddling with the gauges. He didn’t know if her backup plan was to steal a ride, but it wasn’t like she could get far on an island. She was a werewolf. They were avaricious thieves, but he liked giving her things.

He thrust the stack of clothes at her. “Here. For you.”

“Presents?” Her face lit up like it was fucking Christmas morning. She ran her fingers over the leather, a look of sensual pleasure softening her face.

“If you freeze, you’re no good to me.”

She nodded. “Got it. Popsicles are past their use by date.” She stroked her fingers over the leather one more time and then shimmied into the clothes. The leather pants and boots were a good fit since she and Pure were the same size. The long-sleeved shirt was too big, but it was his and he liked seeing her in it. The parka he’d found for her had one of those ridiculous fake fur ruffs, which was still an improvement on the mini-dress’s white feathery stuff. She looked feminine and pretty. Okay. Downright fucking gorgeous, if he was honest.

She had pale skin for a werewolf who only shifted into human form during the daylights. The long black hair hung around her face, but the dark curtain couldn’t conceal the purple shadows underneath her eyes. She looked tired. His guilty pleasure back in their pit days had been stroking her hair, her fur. Either or both were the prettiest damn stuff he’d ever touched. He now knew that the tuft of hair between her thighs was every bit as silky soft.

Hel.
He was in so much trouble here.

“Get on.” He swung a leg over the snowmobile and slid back a few inches, making room for her in front of him. He wouldn’t ride with her at his back and no way could he give her a machine of her own.

“Are we taking a fieldtrip?”

He tossed her a pair of gloves that were too big, but she’d have to make do. It wasn’t like he could find a Wal-Mart on the outer edges of Greenland. “You’re the one who wanted to hire me.”

He didn’t care if she came with him or not. If she stayed, he could alert the guards to her presence and responsibility fulfilled. She didn’t hesitate, though. Nope. She slid onto the seat in front of him and leaned back against him until the fur trim on her hood tickled his face.

Trusting her would be suicidal. She had no business lurking around his brothers’ keep and he doubted she was a wedding guest—Vikar’s guest list had been heavily vetted and no one had mentioned a werewolf-inclusive wedding. So he’d
secure
her while he asked his questions. He snapped a cell phone picture of her and texted it to another berserker.
Run her
.

“Selfie!” She laughed like her presence on a heavily guarded island was simply not a matter for concern.

He didn’t say anything.

“You don’t trust me.” She mock-pouted and he was pretty damn certain she’d be more at home hitting things. Hitting
him
despite her delicious submission.

~~~

“Tell me again what you need.” The deep rumble of Calder’s voice was reassuringly familiar. Some things hadn’t changed in the last twelve months. Calder still made every word count and getting him to make conversation was like pulling teeth.

“A fighter.” Simple. Succinct.
True
.

He ran a hand down her arm. The simple touch shouldn’t have turned her on so much. People touched other people’s arms all the time. If she moved two inches left or right, his fingers would fall away. Of course she didn’t move.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Four words. I thought they were pretty simple,” she mocked.

“No. What do you
need
?”

She had no idea, because she hadn’t found it in the last twelve months.

He kicked the snowmobile into gear, slowly guiding the machine out of the garage bay and into the keep’s inner courtyard. Adrenaline shot through her. She’d channeled her inner Viking and maybe things would be okay. She’d come, she’d seen, she’d…conquered? Still, making her exit now from the keep seemed prudent. Even if the Vikings were okay with a werewolf on the premises, the Valkyrie from whom she’d purloined her new wardrobe was going to have issues. Better not to be hanging around when the other female discovered her loss. Plus, eventually the sun would set and she’d shift back. Calder knew what she was, she reminded herself. When she went furry on him, he wouldn’t be surprised.

But he also wouldn’t be pleased.

She now knew exactly how the Vikings—and the rest of the paranormal world—felt about the werewolves. Her kind was
persona non grata
. Why he hadn’t killed her when he’d had the chance was a mystery. Leif had certainly been surprised.

Calder drove like a demon, hard and fast. Like he couldn’t stand being trapped inside four walls any more than she could. The sky overhead was blue and clear, the sunlight glinting off the snow. She snuck a peak at him in the mirror. He had his sunglasses and his game face on. He looked grim and determined, but he was also enjoying himself. She was suddenly sure of that much. After being cooped up in the keep, he’d want the rush of fresh air and the freedom of going like hell over the snow in any direction he chose.

It was impossible not to worry about what might be happening to her Pack. Leif was a crazy son-of-a-bitch. Worse, he was vindictive. He’d decided that he was going to be the werewolf who took down Odin, and he was just crazy enough to not worry about what that meant for their Pack. Like it or not, Pack was family now and she valued the connection. Sure, some of the members were the kind you didn’t want to meet up with at Thanksgiving dinner—Ake and Leif came to mind—but there were others. Wolves like Even and the Pack’s few female wolves who’d welcomed her and tried to ease her transition.

It wasn’t the life she’d have picked, but there was no bitching against Fate. From the minute she’d been bitten, her life had done a 180. And there had been good moments to go with the bad. She’d spent more than one sunset curled up by the fire with the girl wolves, welcoming the night and the shift with marshmallows, laughter, and gossip.

Since she couldn’t fix the Pack at the moment, she snuggled back against Calder. He was gloriously warm, making riding with him like having her own portable heater. And he gave good presents. Her beautiful new clothes were a guilty pleasure she had every intention of enjoying.

He was a well-trained killer. He hadn’t survived night after night in the pits without cutting down his opponents ruthlessly. And yet he’d been nice to her. So if he wanted her to be afraid of him, he’d have to try harder.

The cabin seemed to rise up out of nowhere. Perched on the rocky shore of an ice-studded fjord, the wood-sided chalet had a steep roof to shed the snow. White latticed windows looked out over the water. Tyra could easily imagine sitting on the front porch and watching the world go by.

Pulling up in front of the cabin, he killed the motor and let the snowmobile coast to a slow halt. When she tried to hop off, however, he slid an arm around her waist, pinning her in place.

“Okay,” he growled.

God. What was it with Calder and gruff, one word answers? She fought back an urge to elbow him. Pissing off her ride was a bad idea. It was a long walk back to the Vikings’ keep and even further to her own snowmobile. But…okay, they were here? Okay, what?

Clearly satisfied with their non-conversation, however, he swung off the snowmobile, answering that part of her question. He must have meant
okay we’re here
because he just stood there waiting for her. Calder was good at that. He waited with the patience of a predator stalking his prey. She’d seen him fight the day the Vikings had busted out of the pit’s holding cells. He’d had that same watchful gaze before he’d exploded into lethal motion.

“It’s okay to use more than word at a time.” She pushed off the snowmobile and crunched over the snow toward the cabin. Tilting her head back, she studied the building. It didn’t scream
evil dungeon
or
dump the werewolf’s body here
. It also didn’t seem like a love nest or decadent
pied-à-terre
. In fact, it looked very much like the kind of place she would have chosen for herself. It was the kind of place you went to be alone and catch your breath, but with a side of comfort. If—
when
—she got her Pack back, that was one change she planned on making. No more roughing it in dirty campsites.

She looked back at Calder. He hadn’t moved. “Yours?”

“Yes.” Again with the one word answers. She had a feeling, though, that he wasn’t talking about just the hunting cabin. She’d have to do something about that note of possession in his voice. She was a loaner, not a keeper. Playing erotic games with Calder was no hardship, but she was no submissive. Calder, on the other hand, was the kind of man who would insist on being in charge.

“Remind me again,” he rumbled. “Why are you here?”

“I need to hire a fighter.” She’d told him that.

“You said you would pay any price.”

“No. I said I would pay
your
price.” There was definitely a difference.

He nodded. “Just to be perfectly clear, you’re offering to have sex with me in exchange for my fighting skills.”

“Yes.” See? She could do one-word answers too.

He shook his head. “I don’t buy sex. If you’re in my bed, it’s because you want to be.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.” The story of Vikar and Pure was almost legendary. She’d wanted a favor from the Viking leader and he’d made a deal that included seven nights of sex—with both him and his second-in-command Var. From everything she’d heard, Pure had enjoyed that deal.

“I’m not my brothers.”

No. He was—more.

“What do you want then? Cash?” Which would be a problem because she literally didn’t have a dime to her name. It wasn’t like she’d been able to hold down a job since being bitten. Still, his lack of sexual interest stung even if it was par for the course. She wasn’t winning the sexy times sweepstakes in the Pack either.

He ran a hand over his head before walking past her toward the cabin. She followed happily. Big booted feet crunching over the snow were sexy as hell. She’d always loved a man in shitkickers.

“You’ll do, but I want you on my terms.”

Maybe men went out of their way to be confusing? “Again, more words here would be a good thing.”

He pushed open the cabin door. The place wasn’t locked, but who the hell would be out here anyway? Then he stopped and looked at her, arms folded over his chest. And while she picked up on heat and power, there was another emotion else reflected in his gaze that she didn’t recognize. Not affection, but something that had that potential.

“We’re going to have sex. We’re both going to enjoy it.”

“Confident, much?” she muttered, but he kept right on talking.

“You’ll give me everything in bed. I’m not an easy lover. I’ll push you.”

Heat swept through her. God, he was gorgeous. And trouble. He was trouble in spades. She hadn’t thought through her sex-in-exchange-for-strong-arm-assistance plan and she wasn’t sure what she’d imagined. Maybe a little wham bam, thank you ma’am. Or something kinkier. Calder clearly intended to play by a different set of rules.

Her girly bits tightened with arousal. So maybe she’d hoped her Viking could do for her what the Pack’s werewolves hadn’t. If sex with the wolves usually wasn’t bad, she also hadn’t seen fireworks either. Rough and fast could be fun, but she wanted more. Part of her also secretly yearned to submit. To let him take charge.

“Maybe you should consider a blow-up doll,” she suggested. “Easier to order around.”

He stepped inside. “In. Or out.”

She wanted to say
yes
and that need scared her. Still, she needed to draw the line.

“One thing is non-negotiable. I don’t do submission.”

~~~

“You can.”
She would
. If Tyra wanted him to do her job, she’d pay his price. It was that simple. Still, in the interest of compromise, he held out a hand to her. She could take it. Or not.

“This is crazy.”

Yeah. He knew that. She was a werewolf on a suicide mission. He was a Viking berserker. And yet he didn’t seem to have any willpower around her. Imagine that.

“You can,” he repeated.

She shrugged, but she let him tug her into the cabin. “I
haven’t
to date. Just so we’re clear.”

His cabin was his own space, private from his brothers and the sometimes-chaos at the keep. He’d built the place by hand a century ago and decorated it with wood carvings over the next few decades. In addition to a big stone fireplace, he’d filled the rooms with oversized furniture designed to be comfortable. Right now, however, he only had one destination in mind.
Bed
.