Viking King (The MacLomain Series: Viking Ancestors, Book 1) (23 page)

Naðr brushed his fingers over her cheek one last time before he crossed the room and pulled the cylinder she’d found beneath the sea out of a chest. “Because of this.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Again, I cannot tell you save that it is a means to help you return here if you wish. You will understand when you open it.” He touched her shoulder over the tattoo. “The Vegvisir, compass, will then help you find me.”

Megan was blown away. “So because of these items you know with certainty I’ll be going home?”

“Yes. The stone that helped bring you here and the tattoos me and my brothers were marked with were of the seers.” He seemed to struggle with his next words. “The cylinder is of the gods. A means to give you the free-will to come back to me or not.”

“Oh,” she whispered, baffled as she met his eyes. “Why not tell me this sooner? Why not give me the peace of mind?”

“Because they were not easy words to say.” He frowned at the cylinder before his eyes went to hers. “I didn’t keep such to myself to cause you further distress. I suppose I’d hoped you wouldn’t want to go and I’d figure out a way to keep you. But since this cylinder is here, I will have no choice in the matter. I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.”

Megan sat down slowly as he continued speaking while putting the cylinder away. “I’ve had a case fashioned for you to strap to your back. It’s just big enough to hold the cylinder and stone. From now on, you must keep it with you.”

A chill raced through her as the weight of his words settled in.

“Hell, Naðr,” she murmured. “You took a pretty big chance not making sure I had it with me up to this point, didn’t you?”

While she should have been elated that she’d somehow be going home, what she found so incredibly daunting was that she might have had no way to get back. And
that
irrefutable revelation sucked the air from her lungs. The idea of returning to him was by no means off the table.

“God,” she whispered and shook her head. “What’s happened to me.”

Naðr turned and eyed her. If she wasn’t mistaken, relief softened his eyes as he strode over and pulled her into his arms. Done with words, his lips met hers. Different than his previous kisses, this one bespoke deep emotions, ones that came from his heart, even his soul. Drawn, magnetized, she met him halfway, submerged then drowning in an unfamiliar, fervent joy.

He only pulled his lips away long enough to yank off her dress and his tunic. Talk of inevitable separation drove them together, their need desperate, eager. A small gasp left her lips when he cupped her backside and ripped the ground out from beneath her. The next thing she knew, her back was on his bed, her rear end right at the edge.

Megan’s surroundings grew hazy with anticipation when he knelt between her legs and kissed and licked every bit of flesh he could find from her ankles up. By the time he braced her knees on his broad shoulders, she was outright swooning. Primal, uncensored lust flared in his eyes as he grasped her hips and dragged his hot, determined tongue up her inner thigh then flicked it across her center. She inhaled sharply, back arching.

After that, everything became moments made of her frantically grasping at the fur beneath, groaning as he went on a very thorough quest, working her hypersensitive flesh into a pulsing frenzy.

Building, building, building, the peak he drove her toward came fast and furious.

“Naðr,” she cried out as the explosion hit. Pure, blazing white light flashed in her vision before a hundred more colors. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her body seized. All the while, his strong hands locked her in place and his hot breath fanned the pulsating origin of her endless pleasure.

Once more cupping her backside, he brought her further onto the bed and laid her down. Pliant, still basking in the afterglow of climax, she watched him from beneath lowered lashes as he removed his pants and came over her. Lost in his tender gaze, she opened not just her body but so much more to him.

His nimble fingers started to unweave her braids as he ran his lips along her jaw, neck then softly over her collarbone. The way he touched her now was painstaking. It was so excruciatingly profound, she felt cherished, worshiped. By the time he made it back to her lips, tears were leaking from the corners of her eyes.

“Megan,” he whispered between kisses.

This time when he moved into her it was different than before. This time they were making love in every sense of the word. She could feel it in each move he made, every move she made. Something deep down inside was swimming to the surface as she trailed her finger up his spine, lost in every detail. From the fluctuation of skin over muscle as he eased in and out to the weight of his hips as they moved against hers.

Heat and touch rolled together, fusing them in twisted limbs as if they couldn’t get close enough. Meant to never burn out, a low blaze was quickly growing into a raging firestorm. Sweet, passionate kisses turned frantic. Teasing touches became grasping and insatiable. When their hands clasped tightly on either side of her head, she wrapped her legs around him and dug her heels into his lower back.

Though he’d taken her to the moon and back with his loving side, this ravenous passion that raged around them now suited Naðr like no other. Uncivil. Raw. Bold. Conquering. Those were words that applied to her Viking king when it came to taking a woman…when it came to taking her. A throaty, pleased chuckle made of pure need bubbled low in her chest as he slammed against her and she raked nails up his back.

There was something freeing in the way he took her now. The way she took him. Expression feral, rabid, he was every long, hard, thick inch, Naðr Véurr. King. Viking. Dragon.

Hers
.

There was no slowing down. Both needed this too much. They rolled once, then again, before his movements became so aggressive she had no choice but to hold on tight. The unstoppable force behind his plunges increased and she latched onto his arms as he braced his hands by her head.

The look in his eyes was ten thousand types of unleashed drive. Reveling in the devouring way he watched her, Megan kept her eyes with his, daring him to take all.

And he didn’t let her down.

With one hand cupping her backside and one protecting her shoulders, he lifted and slammed her against the headboard. This plunged him so deep that she had no opportunity to challenge him any further because both let go and fell apart in furious, heart-pounding, ceaseless release.

She cried out.

He roared.

Then everything blurred and drifted away into a place made of liquid muscles and incoherent thoughts. Ecstasy. Paradise. Harmony. A place where misery went to die and transcendence encompassed and transformed, where the mutual satisfaction of their bodies trembling incessantly against one another was what lovemaking
should
be.

Time drifted by as he pulled her into his arms and lay on the bed. Though she floated in that surreal place he was an ace at taking her, Megan remained aware of his eyes on her face. The gentle stroke of his fingers on the side and back of her neck. Naðr was allowing her to see everything in his open gaze, from his appreciation of how she’d just made him feel to the care he felt for her. Megan had no idea whether or not he saw the same in her eyes.

But it was certainly there.

Though a fire crackled, her skin was slick with sweat and chilling fast. Apparently sensing as much, he pulled a fur over them. Warm and drowsy yet wanting to know him better she said, “The first night I was here you spoke of your father, how he’d gone from boat building to leading raids. What happened after that?”

Naðr stilled for a moment and she didn’t think he’d share…but he did. “My father was a different sort of man than me and my brothers. More like the king who eventually killed him, he tended to thrust aside good sense for ruthlessness.”

Megan’s chest clenched at the flash of pain that quickly fled Naðr’s face as she waited for him to continue.

“But then most would say it was his sense of adventure and ruthlessness that earned him the position of king.” Naðr frowned. “I’m inclined to say it was cold-blooded murder.”

“What happened?” she murmured.

“He won over most, yet instead of trying to work with his own king; he boasted of his accomplishments and didn’t respect but mocked he who was above him.”

Megan squeezed Naðr’s hand but said nothing.

A few moments went by. “My brothers and I came from humble beginnings. Before my mother ruined my father, he was a different sort of man. One that loved his family and spent hours not only fishing but sailing and teaching us how to fight.” Naðr’s expression was grim. “He
was
a good father.”

Megan almost didn’t want to ask, but she pushed her reluctant thoughts past her lips. “Why did your mother ruin him?”

“She left him…and us, for another,” he said as if he needed to rid himself of the words.

So where her father had betrayed, so too had his mother. And as sexually open as Naðr’s society, it was obvious that some were devoted and monogamous. Or so her king had clearly hoped.

Even so, had his mother really left her sons? “Did you see her afterwards?”

“It was said that she tried to see us, but father wouldn’t allow it. He was of dragon blood. Those such as us are especially poor at dealing with betrayal.” His eyes grew cold. “But it didn’t matter. Our lives were set with our father’s new goals. Done with women, he pursued power. And he used his dragon to get it, killing the king of this region unfairly.”

Megan wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. But as she met Naðr’s eyes, she kept talking, determined to draw him out. “What did the people think of that? Of him becoming king?”

“The warriors loved him for it, but then warring men in my culture appreciate strength above all else. The other men, fishermen, and tradesmen, as well as their families, had fear in their hearts. And they make up a greater part of my people, the very root of them.”

It occurred to her how torn Naðr actually was.

“Though a warrior and king, you still relate more with those who come from humbler beginnings, don’t you?” Megan asked softly, all ready knowing the answer.

“Yes, very much so,” he murmured. “My father could have gone about it differently but the pain of what my mother did made him act foolishly.” Naðr clenched his jaw. “No male of dragon blood takes what is not his by force, by using the creature that lives within, we earn it because the people respect, love and want us to rule.”

Understanding that delving deeper into the details behind his father’s murder of the prior patriarch would only discourage him, she said, “Tell me how you became king.”

“Nothing so extreme as how my father did.” Naðr’s lips pulled down, as though becoming king was more of a burden than anything. “He died at sea. I was next in line.”

The monotone way he said it saddened her because, despite his dislike of the man, he’d obviously loved his father. “How long ago?”

“A year before Meyla was born.”

Twenty years?
“Seriously? You were fourteen?”

The corner of his lip twitched as he stepped away from the past and met her eyes. “Yes, on the cusp of entering my prime.”

Though she tried hard not to, she chuckled.

“What?” The mental weight he’d been under vanished as her small smile brought one to his lips.

She shook her head. “Sorry sweetie, but where I’m from you’re hitting your prime right now and will likely do so for a great many years.” But she didn’t want to lose this conversation so continued. “What did the people think of you becoming king so young?”

Naðr wrapped his hand around hers, clearly pleased by her response. “It was not good at first. I was constantly challenged. In battle, sailing, fishing, everything.” Smugness met his words. “But I didn’t inherit the family name, or my role as serpent protector for no good reason. I paid attention to what my people needed, all of them, from the warriors to the fishermen to the merchants and all else. I worked hard to bring everyone together, to make our people feel like family no matter their trade. And though my people know the dragon will always protect them, I prefer to give them my human side above all else.”

So he was everything his father should have been.

But she wouldn’t say as much.

Instead, she leaned over and kissed him. “I’m glad it all worked out.”

Naðr nodded but said nothing as he eyed her. When at last he spoke, it redirected things her way. “So your father built a boat in your yard and called it Viking after a woman who wasn’t your mother. Then he launched the boat and it sunk.” He brushed her cheek, eyes so curious and warm she just about melted. “What happened to you after that save a continued love for Vikings.”

Of course he remembered everything she’d said and owed him more of her own history. And though tempted to sigh, she wouldn’t, because her history wasn’t nearly as tragic as his. “I did the opposite of what every other kid on Earth would have done and spent more time with Dad. Mom was hurting, but her pain was too much for me so I lived at the docks, on the boats and out at sea helping the guys fish.”

“So you surrounded yourself with what was easy,” he murmured, “And stayed away from the pain.”