Siren Slave (18 page)

She stepped back from him and fell to her good knee, her hair falling over face, one hand on the earth before her, the other beside Siegfried’s on Enbarr’s lowered horn. “I, Freya of Folkvang, estranged daughter of Woden of Asgard and Hecate of Avalon renounce my past, giving you present and future. I will be the unbreakable sword at your hip, cold steel in the bowels of your foes. Your will becomes my will. Your reason mine. Your hands to pull me from madness, and my blood to be spilled first. My lips will never question, my heart will never turn.” She choked on those words. “I, known to you as Loreley, all that I am, belongs to Siegfried the Fox…King of Outlaws.”

She had just pledged…a lot. But did this not serve her right for supporting Rome? “Is there something in particular I have to say?”

“Your part isn’t scripted,” she said. “You can simply accept, Enbarr tells me.”

That would not do. He reached under her chin and raised her face to him. “I want you to look at me, Freya, so you know that I mean every word.” She nodded and raised her gaze. “I, Siegfried the Fox of the Cimbri, Captain of the
River Queen,
will require you to question me. Your will is your own. My hands will pull you from madness, and I will do all that is in my power to protect your flesh as my own. I will take the right of having my blood spilled first. While you will question and balk, you will be obedient. Your body will be mine when I desire it. I accept your pledge.”

Brilliant white light with flashes of green and purple like sparks in the brightness surrounded them. Heat flowed through Siegfried. Was this what magic felt like?

“You’ll find I am not skilled with words,” Siegfried said when the light was gone.

“It was…nice,” she murmured. “Enbarr said he was counting on you not just accepting.”

“Rise, Freya.” He extended a hand to help her to her feet.

Enbarr turned and glided into the wood, after giving his mane a proud toss. Did the trees just move aside for him? Yes, they did. And why were there songbirds and fireflies fluttering around him in the autumn night?

When they were alone, Siegfried grabbed the iron collar and lead he had placed in the foliage. He’d waited until he thought Enbarr wouldn’t intervene. He was not trusting this control he had over Freya just yet. “Lift up your hair.”

Her breath caught, and she lifted up her mane in the back, leaving locks to cover her face. “You still want my body?”

“Aye. Nights grow cold at sea. Freya, follow—”

She was already at his side, probably thinking he’d slay her if she did not heed him immediately. He sighed and headed back to the village.

As they walked, he looked over his shoulder periodically. Whenever he did, she’d stop breathing and stumble. At one point, she clasped her hands to her chest and squealed.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he said. “Much as you tempted my hand in the barracks. You’re too valuable to too many people. And to me.”

****

When Siegfried turned away, Freya did a happy dance again.
Who’s with Siegfried the Fox? Freya’s with Siegfried the Fox. V-I-C-T-O-R-Y.

She cursed herself for not realizing it sooner. He’d been drinking wine. She hadn’t paid attention to what kind, but it had been red. He had worn a green toga and had an odd fascination with numbers. There was also his skill with a bow and his poor riding ability. This was why she had started to take a liking to him, because he was Siegfried. Now, he had her chained and wanted her body, just like her tales.

“Did you hear me? I said I wasn’t going to kill you. You can start breathing again,” he said.

“Are all the tales true?” She managed to push the words from her dry throat.

He looked over his shoulder, warming her with that stormy gaze. Wet heat flowed from her core. “Kidnapping Roman senators, scuttling their ships, giving what they stole back to the tribes? Aye. Ostia? No. I wasn’t there. I was in the tribal lands. Principles, as you say. You can ask the real Etainen. He’s aboard the
River Queen.
You’ll meet him eventually. He’ll see his Rome-loving intended playing my whore.”

He was amazing, even better in person. He was so wily, tricking her like that. He’d been handsome when she thought him Etainen. Now he deserved those looks.

“I know this must frighten you. You undoubtedly expected me to have claws, perhaps leathery wings and horns. I’m no worse than any of your Romans. There will be no more escape attempts. Next time, I will punish you. You may go where I can see you. Remember my warning.” He glanced at her legs. “Your knee seems to be better.”

“I think you might be confusing my perception of you with the woman who spawned me. But Enbarr did something to my knee. What are you going to do with me?”

****

When she spoke, she was almost squeaking. She was probably about to piss herself. The truth, it seemed, had scared her into submission. She obviously knew Siegfried—
Outlaw Royalty—
was not going to bend to her whims. She was keeping pace with him and hadn’t uttered one annoying statement about Rome. Would he use her as his whore? She had willingly offered her virginity. That was willing enough. But the pledge she’d made… That made him think some of his earlier words to her had been cold.

He wasn’t about to let the foolish princess,
mermaid
princess, end up as some Roman’s concubine, or some fey’s, for that matter. He had his little slave girl, slave
mermaid,
all his own, and there was no way anyone was taking this away.

“Keep you out of trouble,” he said, gaze drifting to the cold chain resting in his palm. No longer an object of fantasy, but one of necessity. “Hecate and Woden are your parents. Perhaps one of them might be inclined to give me their assistance. In any case, you will. I will use you to free the tribes from Rome’s influence. Balder can help you learn your powers.”

“Really?” Another squeal. “I’m going to destroy Romans at your side?”

“Aye. You’re going to do many things you won’t like. You’ll learn what it is to have no freedom. How does it feel to wear those chains you’re so willing to put on others?” His cock strained against the front of his breeches.

“Um…” She had her head down, eyes on her feet. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Oh?”

“You’re not going to hurt me. You said as much in your own pledge. Besides, do you really think I’m stupid enough to want to give myself over to someone I think would kill me? Don’t answer that.”

He felt guilty that he asked her to destroy Romans, but how many more of their people would suffer if she didn’t? What bothered him most was how tempted he was now. What types of fantasies couldn’t be fulfilled? Damnit, she’d made the pledge, she’d
requested
him. He could take some advantage if he pleased.

Chapter Six

The instant he set her next to the pile of furs and closed the door to the hut, she began raking the bright hair into order. The winged band went on again, holding her hair over her face. When she laid the comb aside, she knelt there, biting her split lip.

She was so self-conscious about the Marks that Siegfried did not want to examine them just yet. Besides, he had his own flaws. He’d let her stare at him first.

“Undress me,” he said.

“Undress
you?”
A gasp.

“Now. This is the beginning of you doing many things you’ll hate. Get used to it.”

“That’s not why,” she said in that small voice she’d been using since he revealed himself. She pursed her lips and stood exactly where she was, just to the left of the doorway. “I’m hesitating because I want to make sure I do this right. Do you want me to use my hands or my teeth?”

Was she daring sarcasm? Then again, she’d been sarcastic with Pompey. “Since you asked, use your teeth.” He waited for her to weep. Then he’d relent.

Freya grabbed the stool she’d sat upon earlier and set it next to Siegfried. She climbed atop it, grasping the shoulder of his sodden toga carefully with her teeth. She’d stopped breathing yet again when she placed her hands tentatively on his chest to steady herself, as if afraid he might push her away. With tiny movements, she loosened the material until it pooled around his ankles. She didn’t look weepy at all. How much further would she go?

****

Siegfried was glorious. His skin was tanned from spending time on deck. He’d smelled like salt, like the sea. The muscles of his chest, abdominals, and arms were clearly defined but not bulky. He had a lithe build she found very appealing. Him, the real Siegfried, standing over her. She wanted to be alone for a few moments to see to this need of hers. Maybe if she waited, he’d take care of it.

There were scars on his chest, too. Some were thick and cruel. When he retrieved the toga from the floor, there was another mark burned into his flesh—a black F on his shoulder. There were rumors that he’d been a gladiator in Rome and fought until he earned his freedom. On his left side were other marks, tattoos, black ink under the skin. They started at the base of his neck, marred by a thick scar that had been concealed by the wrapping of his toga. How close had he come to death from that wound?

The ink design continued from his neck to wrap over his shoulder, around his arm, and half of his chest in bold, whirling slashes that resembled jagged flames or writhing serpents, or even a roiling sea. She’d seen a few parts of the tattoo, but not nearly enough to realize how dramatic it was. All those marks made him who and what he was, how much he’d given of himself for the tribes.

She resisted the urge to weep her gratitude in his arms, tell him that she’d fight hard with him so no one would touch him again, except her. He was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

****

Freya was looking at him with an unreadable expression. He knew his scars were ugly. The women he’d taken to his bed had overlooked them. Extinguishing fires made it easier to ignore them. Freya had said as much, hadn’t she?

“Aye, a lot of damage below my neck,” he said. “That’s what Rome does. I stand before you naked. Now move your hair from your face.”

She quickly pushed the pale tresses from her face, as though afraid she’d change her mind if she did it with any less haste. Her eyes closed.

The Marks had changed. They still looked like the claw marks hugging the lines of her face, but now they were a shimmering purple, a similar color to the one she liked to place in a winged shape around her eyes. They revealed that the black of her eyes were, in fact, a very dark, murky green.

“Isn’t it different that I’m a woman and marked like this? Your scars, you earned those.”

“Earned? For standing up to—”

“For having principles,” she said.

He traced his thumbs over her cheeks, hot under his touch. “Look.” He handed her a mirror shard that had escaped his notice.

She gasped. “Permanent…permanent eye shade that won’t wash away…Oooh. Like glimmery warpaint. Purple and fierce…Er, sorry, I really like purple.”

He’d only wanted to show her the Marks were different. Most women would still have been upset. But she was…admiring herself. Good. “I’d see the rest of you now. Disro—”

He hadn’t finished the word before she loosened her own toga. It fell in a damp, muddy heap at her feet. She was slender, pale, and well-formed. Her breasts were small and high while her ass was as round and plump as it had felt. He liked that. The legs were muscular and long. He would have them wrapped around him soon, after he made her want him. He wondered what she would think of his style of fucking, then decided her opinion didn’t matter. She’d given herself to him.

When she turned, the firelight sparkled on very certain, very strategic locations. His throat went dry. The Roman-loving princess was
pierced?
Small gold rings hung from her nipples and labia. Four piercings.

“Why are you pierced?”

She stiffened. The redness of her cheeks deepened, and she covered her breasts with a forearm, her pussy with her other hand. “I…was curious.”

Now he was curious. He took a step to close the gap between them. She didn’t fight when he moved her arms behind her, folding them at the small of her back. “Don’t hide yourself when we are alone.” He growled and nipped at one of the rings dangling so enticingly from her small breasts. Her breathing became quick and heavy. “What aroused your curiosity enough to do this?”

“I’d heard it felt better with the piercings. Men in the barracks…talk.”

He lifted his head, keeping his arm around her hips to steady her. “You didn’t do this for Etainen.”

“Yes, I did. I know he doesn’t like anything he considers barbaric. Whenever I imagined him doing things like this, the image that popped into my head was of a tiny dog trying to hump my leg.”

His grip loosened when he laughed. This was the first time he’d sincerely laughed in…well, since Freya had made him laugh last. “Oh, Freya, you’ll find such things will not turn away my attention.”

“You’d like uncivilized, wouldn’t you?”

He didn’t respond, unsure of how to do so. That sounded awfully like a compliment.

She took advantage of his loosened grip and walked barefoot to the corner where a bowl of water had been left on a splintered wooden stand for ablutions. She set this alongside the bed furs, probably intending to wash the mud from her feet. Next she grabbed one of the clean garments Balder had brought for her. This wasn’t a toga but a pair of leather breeches. So sometimes she didn’t wear togas?

“No dressing. When we are alone, you will always be naked. Keep your legs spread when you sit. It will remind you that I can and will take you when I desire.” Eventually, she’d balk, give him reason to stop before he took her places her princessly mind couldn’t conceive.

“Siegfried, please sit.” She paused, her breath shallow, to give the furs a tug to straighten them, then gestured to them. “Or lie down.” She stole nervous glances at him before looking down again.

“Address me as Master.” What was she doing? He’d sit and see. He kept his feet off the furs.

She brought Balder’s pack closer and began rifling through it until she removed a bottle of oil, then knelt over the water. She dipped a finger in before kneeling at his feet.