“Aye, nipple clamps,” Bow said. His breath smelled of Trier wine. Dry. Such a contrast to the condition of the mattress under her sex. “That’s right, milady, lift your hips for me.”
She was lifting her hips, wasn’t she? Gods.
“Let me see that wet pussy.” He grabbed her ass with one hand, the hand that held the other clamps. The cold metal was cold against her hot skin. He gave her ass a firm whack with his free hand. “That is for resisting me when I captured you.”
She yelped. That had hurt!
He let her ass fall back on the bed. She cried out when his fingers finally touched her pussy. She wanted him inside her, wanted to come. Gods. She needed release. If it were not for these chains on her wrists…
He raised a clamp, letting it dangle in the air.
“Oh, no.” Swan knew just what he would do with those. The metal squeezed her folds. Her juices ran over his fingers, but she did not care. She wanted to grab the furs in her hands, tear it with her need.
“Plunder me, pirate,” she wanted to scream. But she didn’t. Somehow, she did not want to give him the satisfaction of putting her desires to words.
If these were Freya’s needs and wants before she had her powers, what were her needs now? Was this really what she wanted?
“On your knees, wench.” He lifted her around the waist and spun her about. She stared at the wooden wall, waiting, wanting. The chains, attached to the hook, creaked. He lifted her hair from her back, wrapping it around his fist. A feather-light touch of his fingers grazed her slit. She cried out, pressing against his hand. She must look like a mare in heat from his perspective.
He removed his fingers and gave her ass another slap. Then nothing. What the hell was he doing? Not her.
“You teased me for not being able to ride.” His hand grazed her spine, and she shuddered. Then he waved a—No! He wouldn’t!—a damned riding crop in front of her face and brought it down hard across her rump. “Trust me, I can ride, wench. Only not equines.”
Surely after the riding crop, Swan would take control, show Bow how good it was with her holding the whip.
“I would hope not.” She squeaked when he whacked her again, moaned when he traced the leather of the crop against her pussy.
“That’s right. You like what I do to this little body.” So, he’d discovered her secret. Shame spread through her but was drowned in the ocean of desire that already engulfed her. “What do you want, woman? Tell me.”
She bit her lip. She still could not bring herself to say it, though it was easy. A one syllable word. Bow.
He tightened his grip in her hair, and she felt the hard planes of his chest against her back, his cock grazing her aching, ravenous pussy. His breath was hot as he growled in her ear, “I want to hear you beg. Beg for me.”
She moaned, her juices running down her thighs.
He pulled away. “I’ll not take you until you beg. I’ll leave you just like this so you can’t even pleasure yourself.”
She squinched her eyes shut. “Plunder me, pirate! I beg you!”
His cock rammed home, and she screamed. He held her hair tight with one hand, the other resting on her sore ass. She didn’t care. She wanted more of him…all of him. That hard cock filled her so perfectly. He was right; he could ride.
At the last moment, right before she came, he flipped her onto her back, thrust deep, and met her gaze, watching her face as she creamed all over his dick. Her release urged him on. In several sharp thrusts, he came, screaming his release.
She panted underneath him, wondering if he would undo her irons now. He followed her gaze to her wrists. “No. Not yet. I’ve only sampled one of your pleasures, wench. There are still places on your body I haven’t been. A pirate leaves no cave unexplored.”
She was wet all over again, as if she hadn’t found release.
Siegfried set the scroll aside, panting. Whatever this meant, he had to be certain, had to know if Freya enjoyed that sort of sexual deviance. Was her near-constant desire not proof enough? Nothing he’d done had sent her running. She hadn’t begged for him to stop, hadn’t even mentioned the word.
No, that wasn’t true. She ran from him before he’d revealed himself. If she…if she wanted Siegfried, of course she’d run from Etainen. But she’d liked kissing him as Etainen, too. She had wanted to hate him, had kicked him after he’d insulted the prisoners. Yet, she’d been attracted to him, the real him that had slipped through his Etainen disguise.
He skimmed to the end of the tale, to see whether or not Bow ended up as a farmer or carpenter. No. The tale ended with Swan falling asleep beside Bow on his “boat,” and still chained to the bed. He was certain it was the end, because in her flowery script were the words, “The End of Part 1.” Part One? How many fantasies did she have? An eternity was surely enough to discover all of them and create more, was it not?
He cursed. When she’d spoken with him before he left, there had been no rejection on her face, not like Julia. There had been acceptance and desire, and he had walked away from it, probably making her feel the same as Julia had made him feel. She’d told him as much, but he hadn’t listened. She had told him she was tired of feeling like a freak.
He wanted to get back to her, back to his lusty little slave. Instead of cautioning, the voice in his head was saying,
What’s stopping you now, Siegfried? Go back and take her to your bed again. You’ll both have what you want.
He thought of her goofy smile, the smile he now knew was all for him. It was the easiest decision he’d ever made in his life.
****
It was the gloaming. Freya was tired and perhaps should return to the campsite or maybe go to the boat. No, not the boat, too much to remind her of Siegfried.
She’d gone hunting for a time, using her trident. She’d told Hecate she needed to hunt, but that wasn’t it. She wanted to get a look at Folkvang again. Even to see it from a distance. She could no longer shift to swan form after the wards had been broken on her Fomori abilities. It seemed the swan form had been a watered down version of dragon form. She had wanted to fly undetected, rise above the earth and her problems, distract herself with facing her fear of heights. Finally, she’d simply materialized just her wings, which she was still able to do, except that they were bigger now, and cloaked herself in the clouds.
But as she’d neared Folkvang, a particular smell tingled her nostrils. She couldn’t place it but knew it needed investigating. It was…
familiar.
Ever since she’d been a dragon, her senses had been much stronger. The smell grew stronger once she returned to the earth. She was nearing the catacombs.
Leaves crunched under her feet and night birds began their first cries of the evening. The chill in her bones faded suddenly, warmth flooding her. She felt Siegfried through their strange bond. Was he thinking of her?
“I should’ve told you the truth,” Freya said. “I should’ve tried, even if you wouldn’t believe me. After what Vercingetorix did, after what Merrick did…”
She turned to face Hartwin and Faramund long before they arrived. They appeared on either side of her. Hartwin tossed her another skin of ale. Her fey speed had allowed her to move quickly, so how had they been able to keep up? Enbarr, perhaps?
“You’ve been spending too much time alone. I’m worried about you,” Hartwin said. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”
She thought about that warm feeling she’d just had but couldn’t really answer her friend. “It’s good to be with the both of you. I’ve lost so much that it’s good to know you’re here.”
Hartwin looked away, and Faramund touched her shoulder. “Freya, let’s walk, cheer you up.”
“Thank you.” Freya drank the ale Hartwin offered. “I should’ve come to you, to talk. I still wasn’t sure how you felt about me keeping secrets from you.” Secrets she’d easily shared with Siegfried.
Faramund gave her shoulders a squeeze, and she let the two escort her on a calming walk. They laughed over old memories, even as she guided them toward the catacombs. If she had to, she’d protect them. She just didn’t want to have to explain to them about a smell she could hardly explain.
Hartwin seemed to have brought an endless supply of blueberry ale, and she was starting to feel strangely dizzy. She ignored it and pressed on, her thoughts wandering, despite the strengthening of the scent. An image sprang to mind. Berengar. The scent seemed to match her memory of him. She did not feel elation. Why? He was alive.
She reached out with her powers, feeling the flow of blood in her friend’s veins. She didn’t alter it, didn’t cause it to seethe and boil in his veins as she would an enemy. She only wanted to ensure his heart still beat.
“Freya, let me have a look at that trident,” Faramund said. “That has to be one of the most unique weapons I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, sure.” Freya handed it to him, watching as he examined the softly glowing tines. She really hoped they’d accepted her again, considering the trepidation and uncertainty they’d revealed at the camp. Somehow, the reason she was here didn’t seem to matter so much. Why was she here? She didn’t think on that too long, because her vision wavered and her legs crumpled beneath her.
****
Siegfried stood at the shore, ready to enter the mortal realm through the water. Tucked into a hidden pocket in that cape was a necklace for Freya. Hedwig carried the boots that would match Freya’s armor. He had made them with the Sea Witch’s guidance.
He peeled away the veil between the worlds as he’d seen Balder do, hardly believing it was his own fingers shredding reality. At least that was what it looked like. For a moment, he saw the rocky shore near his ship, floating like a picture on the surface. The scene changed, and it was Jotunheim’s shore, visible like a mirage on the waves. It disappeared when Hedwig created a water spout that landed them in the middle of the
River Queen’s
deck, which was packed with the men of the outlaw camp. Not a single one of them looked at ease, and they backed away from him.
“What the hell happened?” Siegfried demanded.
“Freya’s ill,” Hartwin said, looking away.
Siegfried heard Hecate’s voice from the captain’s quarters, and knew already where Freya would be. But Hecate was not alone. A tall man with a black hood covering his features stood among shards of mirror. Every single mirror in the cabin had been smashed.
“You ruined the mirror,” Hedwig said behind Siegfried.
“Who the hell are you?” Siegfried walked right past him, straight to Freya. Her white-blonde hair was spread out on the pillows, her face pale and her blank gaze fixed on the ceiling above.
“Master,” she said, no inflection in her voice. No joy to see him.
“Toss the shards, grind them into dust, but get rid of them,” the stranger ordered. “Unless you desire the fey spying on you. They are able to spy through human metal.”
“That’s why there were mirrors being sold in Folkvang. Every vendor was selling mirrors, and cheaply, too,” Dirk said.
Siegfried remembered the mirrors worn at the warrior camp, remembered Freya shattering them with her roar.
“Freya.” Siegfried took her small hand in his. “I’m here now, little one.”
“Yes,” was all she said.
“If you’re angry with me, I’m so sorry.” He stroked her cool cheek. “But I’ll make it right.”
“There is nothing to apologize for,” she said, in that same monotone voice.
“Balor, he’s not going to be concerned about that,” Hecate said in a low voice. “He’s worried for Freya.” She turned to Siegfried. “She isn’t sick. She had a fever earlier, but that was only a side effect of whatever magic has been cast upon her. Oblivion magic.”
“How the hell did that happen? Can’t you fix it?” Siegfried asked, turning to look at his companions. His hand clutched Freya’s cold one. “No, if you could, you would have.”
“I don’t know how it was done. Only that she was in the wood, hunting with Hartwin and Faramund. They said she became very ill.”
“Close the door behind you,” Balor ordered. “Send the humans away.”
“What do you know?” Siegfried demanded of Balor. He made no motion to send anyone away. What was Balor doing here?
It was Hecate who answered. “He followed Freya when she was hunting. He sensed Oblivion, at least traces of it. He thought he was guarding her—”
“I
was
guarding her,” Balor said, his voice cold and serene. “I do not trust the men who were with her. This Faramund and Hartwin. They could have poisoned her ale.”
“Her men wouldn’t have intentionally given her something to harm her,” Siegfried said. “Not those two.” They’d kept her secrets for a long time already.
“No matter the situation, you permit that Odilia creature and her minions free reign of Folkvang. Why have you not seen to their deaths?” Balor’s single eye glittered beneath his hood as his gaze took in the entire room.
There was only one reason that would dissuade the fey from razing Folkvang. Siegfried remembered the scorched wounds on Freya’s delicate skin. “Human metal, Balor.”
“The fact remains that half of Freya’s blood is Hecate’s, and that is blood I cannot allow to be harmed. I will see to the matter. Hecate, burn the place when I am finished.”
“You’re going alone?” Hecate asked, rising.
“We need to find out what was used on Freya. Folkvang has the feel of Oblivion to it.” Balor’s voice was as cold and emotionless as Freya’s, yet his single blue eye, visible beneath the hood, glowed. “I also tire of hiding what I am. Let Lugh Lamfada have a reminder that I will return.” He chuckled. “He will sleep, knowing that my hands will soon close around that pale throat of his and choke the worthless life from him.”
“I’m coming with you,” Siegfried said. “Hedwig, Balder, stay with Freya. I’ll see if I cannot rally the people of Folkvang.”
“You can thank me, Siegfried, for not being as sloppy as the Sea Witch. Who do you think it was who picked off any who didn’t drink the wine tainted with her memory-erasing elixir? It feels good to fight again.”
****
Siegfried rode across the sky on the back of a great silver dragon. He tried not to think of how the humans below would feel about this. He did not see Balor. Was Balor’s other form not a sea dragon?