Bound by the Viking, Part 2: Compelled

Bound by the Viking, Part 2: Compelled

By Delilah Fawkes

She danced, her bare feet springing over the moss as the thumping beat of the drums pulsed through her like the heartbeat of the world. Mist was all around, spinning in wisps as she moved, her legs flying, arms wide, hair loose and whipping in the night air.

This was the wild time, the dark time. The time when magic filled the air and anything was possible. Candles flickered all around her and the whispering sound of a hidden spring met her ears, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. The night air held her, touching her with chilly fingers as she danced, a partner, a lover.

She laughed, the sound echoing strangely in these woods, her hair clinging damply to her neck as she whipped around and around, dancing and dancing. The touch was more insistent now, the darkness reaching for her, prodding her, caressing her.

The votives flickered, flames sputtering. She flitted to the sound of the water at the base of a gnarled old tree, older than time, pushing aside briar and bramble in her hurry. Blood blossomed on her wrist, black in the haunted light. The spring chortled beneath her hands, and she gazed into the dark pool gathered beneath jutting roots.

She held up one of the candles and gazed into the depths, the drums pounding around her, the sound blocking out everything but the urgency, everything but her need to see what the water had to show her.

Aislin bent down, her locks hanging like bracken over the black water. The candle light reflected a ghostly twin in its depths, dancing its own dance to the beat of the drums, waving and twisting, like a lover beckoning her closer. She leaned closer until her hair dragged in the spring, growing heavy, tugging her down toward the mud.

“Show me,” she said.

The drums pounded, crashed. The flame dimmed, until it was just an ember kissing the end of the wick, but its twin grew stronger, reflected in the pool. It surged, flickering, almost hissing, or was that the water? She shivered, although she almost imagined she could feel its heat, coming from beneath, instead of from the dying spark of her votive.

The mist had crept in, and now, she felt it on her like the chill breath of death itself. The pool stilled, the ripples from her movements smoothed now, the surface as hard and clear as obsidian. The fire within changed, swirling, expanding, its color turning wan, until it was a sickly green, pulsing, a circle of dead light, drawing her eyes toward it.

“Please…”

Her eyes widened as figures grew out of the light, dark shadows at first, but then silhouettes, then shadowy figures, lit dimly so it was like seeing a face through a hard summer rain. The figures focused themselves, and Aislin gasped, her heart pounding in her chest.

Mother and father… my parents here, in the black pool.

The drums increased tempo, and a bird shrieked from the trees overhead, the sound rending the night. Her heart clenched in her chest, her stomach roiling at the sight of those faces in this dark place. Tears stung her eyes as a third figure flickered in the pool’s depths.

“Brenna!”

Her sister’s face turned upward, her eyes pleading, even through the shadows, but then, as quickly as she appeared, she faded, blowing away like fog, while the two other figures remained.

“Brenna, no… Brenna? Brenna!”

Tears rolled down Aislin’s cheeks, falling into the pool. The surface rippled, and the ghostly flame extinguished. She shrieked and pawed at the water, her
candlewick now dark as well. Her family, all of them, reflected in the waters meant one thing.

Death.

The drums crashed over her, the rhythm discordant now to her ears, frantic. She struggled to her feet, her wet hair slapping at her chest. The mist was all around, the world nothing but darkness and cloud, hemming her in.

She batted it away, squinting, looking for the votives, trying to find the edge of the circle with her sight, but it was no use. She couldn’t see past her own two feet. The white wisps of the fog closed in, tendrils reaching toward her like hands, like the blanched bones of the dead, clawing, searching…

The
boom, boom, boom
of the drums was all around, invading her mind when it should have been dampened by the mists. She covered her ears and ran, blood from her cuts dripping onto her white dress. Tree roots reached up to trip her, or was she just seeing things? She leapt and dodged, running and running, trying to find the edge of the circle, the woods, and back to those who came here with her, to their safe arms, out of this dark place, this magic spell that closed her in.

She turned around, her dress clinging to her now with sweat and the heavy droplets from the air, and shivered, holding her arms as she gazed back into the twisting, white fog against the black of the night.

“Aislin… help me…”

“Brenna?”

The voice was faint, muffled, but it was so familiar, she’d know it anywhere.

“Brenna, where are you?”

“Help…. me…”

“I’m coming! Tell me where you are!”

She fought back the way she came, branches whipping her face, another shriek overhead making her duck, shivering and covering her head with her hands. No matter how afraid and cold she was, she’d never let the evil that dwelt her tonight have her sister. Not for anything. She’d rather die than leave Brenna to suffer.

There was a muffled cry, then nothing, the drums still pounding, drowning out room for even thought in this dank wood.

“Where are you?!”

Aislin screamed, her throat raw from the force of her cry. She turned around and around, but there was nothing but tendrils of white, reaching, touching, their cool caress moist on her bare arms. She cried now, angry tears hot on her cheeks.

“Spirits, damn you! Give me my sis-“

Flames shot up all around her, the votive flames towering taller than she, and she shrank down, shrieking. They flickered out as fast as they’d flared, and the drums stopped. Voices filled the night air.

“Aislin? What happened? Come out of there, girl, come here…”

She stumbled out of the circle of candles, of trees, into the arms of her father’s men, the burbling of the spring behind her filling her mind like darkness fills a hole in the earth.

***

Aislin awoke shivering, the cry still on her lips.

There was a grunt from above, then the sound of wood creaking. She looked around, bleary-eyed, the image of the woods still fading. She was on an animal pelt, the fur tickling her aching body. She was naked, her hands bound, before her a sideways view of an enormous stone fireplace, embers burned down low. A piece of charcoal fell apart, hissing and spitting.

She grimaced.

It all came flooding back. The burning village, her family’s cries. Brenna’s tear-streaked face as she was carried away, shrieking and fighting, on the back of one of the North Men. Her imprisonment and humiliation at the hands of the man who ruined her life…

Heat filled her from within, the thoughts stoking her shame into a white-hot rage.

He did this to her, all of it. He ordered the raid, he bound her, violated her, shamed her in front of his men, and now he held her father’s kilt pin, the sigil of her family, the only legacy she had left, like a common thief.

His words from the night before slithered through her mind, making her feel ill.

Six days from now, you will be my bride.

Not if I can help it
, she thought bitterly.
I will die first, or take you down to the underworld with me.

She was an O’Byrne, and her blood was hot, her will fierce. Let him try to wed her, and see what happened. Just let him try.

Wood creaked behind her again, and a masculine grunt reached her ears. She narrowed her eyes and waited, hoping he’d think she still slept.

“Was that your ungodly wail, little girl, or are the wolves of Odin at the foot of my bed, howling for blood?”

Aislin remained silent, her face turned away, but his voice sent a chill through her body.

“Are you struck deaf, thrall? Your master asked you a question.”

She felt him behind her, felt his body move to the edge of the bed, heard him sling his legs over the end until he sat above her, watching. Waiting.

She did not forget the way he punished her yesterday, just for glancing at his dirk. Her rage still bubbled inside of her like a marsh spring, but she bit it back. She dared not incur his wrath again so soon.

“A nightmare is all, Master.”

Hands closed over her shoulders, sitting her upright, and she shivered beneath his touch. Stubble scraped against the back of her neck. He breathed in her ear.

“Oh? Troubled dreams, my sweet?”

She stiffened, her body reacting to his
closeness; a warmth creeping up inside of her that had nothing to do with anger. As soon as she felt it, revulsion joined it, twisting through her until she almost heaved.

“Yes, Master…”

“Don’t you worry,” he said, kneading her shoulders. “Your mind will be too occupied today to dwell on them for long.”

He undid her bonds, and she whimpered as the blood rushed into her hands, burning through her like her veins were full of fire.

“I’m going to begin your training today in earnest, little girl. You need to know how to be a proper wife to me before Freya’s Day, which doesn’t leave me much time.”

He spun her around, and helped her to her feet roughly. Her body ached in a million places, her legs protesting as they found purchase on the
bearskin rug. Alrik cupped her face, drawing her gaze up to his intense light eyes, so clear in the dim morning light it was like looking into a crystal.

“You
will
to learn to please me, thrall.”

He looked at her for a long moment, as if trying to read her thoughts, his hands so gentle that Aislin wanted to cry with frustration. What did he want from her? Didn’t he know he was a monster? Didn’t he know she was dying inside when he touched her? When he made her shiver with his fingertips?

“You’ll learn to love me soon,” he said.

His eyes were cold.

She wanted to draw away, but stood her ground, setting her jaw. He grinned, then, eyeing her like a curiosity. She blew out a breath, and like a snake striking, he captured her mouth in a kiss, his lips hot and urgent, and so soft she couldn’t help the moan that escaped her throat, only to be muffled by his mouth on hers.

His tongue touched her lips, gently prodding, and she opened to him, feeling him slide into her, as if her mouth was made just for his. Fear spiked through her, fear at what he would do to her when he broke this sweet kiss, but also fear at how he made her feel in that moment.

The place between her legs ached, and her heart beat rapidly in her chest. When he wrapped his hands in her hair and bit her lower lip, she gasped.

“You are so very sweet,” he growled, bending her neck back.

His teeth scraped her throat, and she trembled. His tongue darted out, tasting her, wet and hot, sending a tendril of pleasure down her body. She wanted to push him away, wanted to cry out for him to stop… but she also wanted to pull him close and let him do what he would with her innocent body.

“Time for your lesson,” he breathed, pulling back and grabbing her chin in his rough fingers. “On your knees for your Master, girl.”

She dropped down without struggling, sitting on her aching knees. She looked up and instantly flicked her gaze away. Through all of this, she’d almost forgotten the Viking chief was naked, but now, here he was, erect before her, and larger than life in the morning light.

What would he make her do?

“Look at me.”

It was a command, and she obeyed without hesitation. The tone of his voice brooked no argument. She raised her chin and let her eyes fall on him once again. Her cheeks heated, and she knew he could see the flush creeping up her face.

He stood before her, his knees at the back of the bed, and gripped himself, his palm wrapping around his straining manhood. Golden hair covered him there, curled and wanton, matching the waves falling down his back and shoulders, the stubble covering his proud jaw. And proud he was, looking down at her, gauging her reaction to him standing so dominant, daring her to look away.

“Have you ever touched a man here, little girl?”

He looked downward and stroked his thick shaft, cupping his balls with the other hand. Aislin bit her lip, the blush burning hot now, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. It was too much. Too humiliating. Too intense. And he was too beautiful, his body sculpted from years of swinging a blade and pulling an oar, his sex strange to her eyes, but so alluring it made her restless to be so near to it. To him.

To the potent, powerful man standing before her, cock in hand—the man who owned her body, if not her heart.

“No, Master.”

“I want you to watch me,” he said. “Watch how I take myself in hand, and take note of what gives me pleasure.”