Sirens - The Gripping Beast Part 11

Before he could speak, she put her fingers over his mouth. "Don't say anything," she warned him. "This is a perfect moment. That was beautiful, and don't you dare say something horrible to make it ugly again."

Then she snuggled against his side contentedly.

He hauled her back up. She groaned. He had that look in his eyes again. She was getting to know it. An interrogation was coming.

"You will not feel ashamed to share my bed," he informed her firmly.

"Well, of course not," she agreed . "Why would I?"

Her answer seemed to confuse him. He frowned at her. "I will not have you leaping into the ocean. You will not feel sullied and ugly."

She decided to humor him. Lorelei patted his chest soothingly. "Okay."

The frown deepened. Funny, now that she was getting to know him, it wasn't nearly as intimidating. It was sort of cute, actually, the way he knit his brows and focused those burning blue eyes on her. Well, maybe cute wasn't the right word. Compelling said it better. It was sort of stimulating to be the focus of that intense look.

"Ugliness does not belong between us," Erik went on. He was winding up for a full lecture. Lorelei sighed inwardly, but did her best to look wide-eyed and attentive. And at least, for once, he was saying something she could agree with.

"I find you beautiful. You please me, and I please you as well." Now that was arrogant. But truthful. She couldn't deny that he did please her, especially when she'd been moaning underneath him minutes before.

"Yes, Erik," she agreed meekly, while trying not to laugh.

"It is your duty to give yourself to me. It pleases me that you find pleasure in your duty. You will learn to become content," he a.s.sured her.

Well, it had been good while it lasted. Reality could only be postponed for so long before intruding on her fleeting fantasy.

"You will also learn to obey."

Lorelei groaned again. "Oh, Erik. Can't you just leave it alone for an hour? Why do you keep harping on this obey business?"

"I have no harp. You will cease these foolish jests," he instructed her. "You will obey me, Lorelei. I will allow you some freedom. I will not mistreat you. But I will be obeyed."

"Kicked out of paradise again," she mumbled. She sat up and reached for his s.h.i.+rt, since she didn't have any more clothes of her own.

His hands caught hers and stilled them. She turned inquiring eyes to him. "Now what?"

"Now you will ask my permission to dress."

Her gaze narrowed into irritation. "Don't you think that's going a little too far?"

He shook his head. "Not for you." Then he lifted her onto his lap again and gripped her chin to keep her from evading his earnest look. "Lorelei, it is different at home. You are subject to the laws. You cannot act without thinking. You cannot behave as if you are free. For your own safety, you will obey me."

He really meant it. Lorelei studied him for a moment. Grudgingly, she had to admit that he was the expert on his culture, not her. Maybe there were reasons for his annoying insistence on obedience. He'd mentioned laws. Could flaunting him actually make her a criminal?

And if so, what would the punishment for a disobedient slave be? Somehow she had the uneasy feeling it wouldn't be ten hours of community service and group therapy.

"Erik, I'll try," she promised. "That's the best I can do. I haven't obeyed anybody in longer than I can remember, but I'll try."

"This I can believe," he sighed. "And you must do better than 'try'."

She shot him a glare from between her lashes. "Well, it's the best I can do. And you ought to be glad one of us is willing to see reason. You certainly aren't."

His grip tightened until it verged on painful. "You will cease to taunt me. You will beg my pardon."

"I will not."

"Then you will not eat."

"Fine," she snarled. "I was getting tired of the local diet anyway." Then she slumped in sudden depression. "Oh, who am I kidding? This is never going to work. Not for a minute. Not for a day. Erik, you're just going to have to accept that I'm not cut out for this love slave bit. It's tempting, I admit. You're gorgeous. You're s.e.xy. You do things to me that are almost worth everything else in this rotten time. But I don't belong here, and I have to go home."

Her words seemed to reverberate in his head. She would go home. She would leave him. A haunting emptiness flooded his soul at the thought. And fear. She had no more thought for the consequences of her actions than did Harold. She was indeed defiant enough to run from him.

It chilled him. With her beauty, she could never hope to escape notice. Any woman alone was vulnerable. One without possessions of any kind was even more so. She could never hope to buy protection. She would be captured and she would suffer far worse than hunger. As would he, for that matter.

"Lorelei, you will not escape me," he informed her. "You would be found and used, even killed. I have seen a woman raped to death."

That sobered her, he noted with satisfaction. Indeed, she looked ill.

"Then would I have to kill the men responsible. Then would I be outlawed for murder, as the death of a slave is of no consequence, especially one who has run away. Then would we both end miserably," he finished in a grim voice.

"Oh." Her voice sounded very small.

He had succeeded in making his reasoning known. He had succeeded in frightening her. But he could not hope the lesson would be remembered. She would forget, and he could not bear to think of the consequences.

She belonged to him. He could not avoid his duty. He would see to her protection, though doubtless she would have a sudden desire to swim again.

When he spoke again, his voice held the finality of his decision. "You will obey me. You will have no choice."

She looked distinctly displeased. "Why not?"

She should have known better than to ask.

Lorelei looked back down at herself and sighed. Pitiful. No, worse than that. She looked ridiculous. If any paparazzi saw her like this, she'd be the laughingstock of the whole music world for the rest of her life.

Harold, of course, thought it was hilarious. He kept looking at her and breaking into fresh bursts of laughter.

She was going to kill him when she got loose.

Meanwhile, she pretended not to notice the way the entire crew was enjoying the floor show she was unintentionally providing. At least Erik had relented enough to dress her in his s.h.i.+rt first. Although it probably owed more to his own jealousy than to any concern for her feelings. He wasn't trying to spare her any embarra.s.sment. He was doing this for no other reason than to humiliate her. Still, at least she was tied up wearing a s.h.i.+rt that was practically a dress on her instead of stark naked.

Erik was keeping her tied hand and foot and on a leash. He had her right where he wanted her. And he was right. She didn't have any choice but to do what she was told. If he said "come" and pulled the leash, she could go willingly or she could get dragged. When he wanted her to stay put, he tied her to the spot he wanted her in.

The rope didn't even allow her enough freedom of movement to practice tai chi. She could just take baby steps. And the gag kept her from even singing to entertain herself.

Lorelei was bored, uncomfortable, restless, irritated and aching to get even with a certain cold-blooded, heartless excuse for a Norseman. Not only did he keep her tied up, he wasn't going to let her eat until she apologized, and the more time went on, the more her anger solidified into stubborn immovability.

As a result, she was on a hunger strike to rival Ghandi.

Not that Erik noticed. He didn't even look her way. He just went about his business, sailed, and generally did what Vikings do without seeming to notice that he had a slave on a rope. That had to be hard to do when she was never more than a few feet from him, day or night.

Thinking of the nights, she ground her teeth in helpless fury. Master Erik continued his silent insistence that she share his bed each and every night, in spite of the fact that she wasn't talking to him. Although it was possible he didn't know that she wasn't talking to him, since the gag remained in place unless he was letting her drink.

To give him some credit, he didn't touch her s.e.xually. Still, she could hardly have stopped him if he'd tried, and that was infuriating. And for all she knew, he looked at it as more punishment. Withholding o.r.g.a.s.ms and food to discipline the slave. Well, she'd show him. It'd be a cold day in h.e.l.l before she'd apologize to him for anything.

Since she had nothing better to do, she settled down to sulk as if it was an art form she wanted to master.

Chapter Nine.

"How long will you continue this?" Harold inquired.

Erik had no need to ask what was meant. He had no need to hear his brother's nagging on the subject, either. Bad enough that he had Lorelei always behind him like a silent reproach. She was angry. She was also more stubborn than he would have believed. Had he guessed the depth of her willfulness, he would have chosen a different method to impress the need for obedience upon her. He had thought she would repent within a few hours. Instead it dragged out, an endless torment to both of them.

Every night, he asked her if she would retract her insolent speech. Every night she said the same phrase in reply. The words were unknown to him, but the meaning was clear. He replaced the gag each time without another word, but Harold was correct. It could not continue.

For three days, she had eaten nothing and his little slave was not a large woman. Each night while she slept he felt her ribs grow more prominent. He listened to her shallow breathing. He heard the growling of her aching belly. The discipline meant to teach her a lesson was torturing him, instead. And he was growing hungry himself. He had found the first day that he could not eat knowing she went hungry. Erik scowled at the thought and ignored his brother in hopes that he would take the hint and make himself scarce.

"At first, I found it entertaining to watch the two of you do battle," Harold continued when Erik made no reply. "But of late, you cease to amuse me. She has not tried to jump overboard in days. You do not even let her tell stories. You keep her bound and gagged, and what sport is there in that?"

When Erik continued to ignore him, Harold stepped before him to block his view and force him to pay attention.

"Sell her to me," the younger man suggested. "Obviously she displeases you. Why keep her if she is so much trouble? Sell her to me. I enjoy her fantastic tales of the future."

Erik reminded himself that this was his brother. That there was nothing between his brother and his woman. Did he not have the proof of that? Perhaps he should sell her. Then would she eat, and if she found trouble as she seemed determined to do, it would be on Harold's head and not his own.

Then he thought of the two of them together. She was a beautiful woman, Harold, a man of l.u.s.ty appet.i.tes. He would want her. What man would not? An image rose in his mind. She lay pale and nude beneath his brother, who was panting and thrusting...

It took the combined efforts of Svein and Bjarni to break Erik's grip on Harold's throat.

"I believe that is a 'no'," Harold remarked hoa.r.s.ely when he could speak.

"Your quickness of mind astounds me," Erik growled. "She is mine. You will not speak of this again."

Harold looked wounded at the very thought. "Would I do such a thing? I asked. You refused. The matter ends there."

Erik scowled even more blackly at that disclaimer. Then his gaze settled on Lorelei. She was too quiet. She had not glared at him all morning, now that he considered it. She had not wanted to get up, either, but he had reached his limit of endurance. He could have remained abed with her and eased his need, or he could have risen. He had chosen to rise.

He found that he missed her spitting fury. Indeed, this stillness was most alarming. Almost without conscious thought, his steps brought him to her. Erik knelt to untie her and wrapped the end around his hand. Still, she didn't stir.

"Come," he said gently, giving her lead a tug.

She remained rooted in place with her knees drawn up to her chest. Freya, now what was he to do? Drag her? She was the most stubborn, willful woman it had ever been his misfortune to meet. Exasperated, he grasped her shoulders and pulled her to her feet.

Her eyes met his, and the misery he read there struck him like a blow. Then she closed her eyes and slid back down to the deck.

"Come," Erik repeated. He lifted her easily and carried her to the enclosed hold. She felt warm to his touch, and a frown creased his brow. "Woman, are you ill?"

She failed to answer, and with impatient hands he removed the gag and bonds. Free, she remained silent and turned to curl on her side.

"You are angry," he stated. No response. He sat beside her and lifted her into his lap. She did not resist. Neither did she seem to welcome his touch. Erik sighed and stroked the smooth length of her hair.

She had been so still that he was unprepared for her sudden action. She slid one of his armbands free, rolled from him and stood in a single, fluid motion while she slipped the heavy ring up her own arm.

He waited. Finally, he asked, "If I give you one of your own, would that please you?"

She stood like a statue for a long moment, staring wordlessly at him. Her eyes went from him, to the armband she'd s.n.a.t.c.hed, back to him. Then they filled with tears.

"No," she whispered. "I don't understand. Why didn't it work?"

She stared at the stupid piece of metal in disbelief. It hadn't worked. She wasn't home. She was stuck. She started to sob in mixed disappointment, rage, and despair. When Erik's arms closed around her, she leaned into him and cried harder. "I want to go home," she wailed.

"This I know."

"It didn't work. Why didn't it work?"

Erik didn't answer that one. Not that she expected him to. How was he supposed to know why she had a broken time-travel object? Maybe it was only good for a one-way ticket. Maybe she was stuck there for good.

When she quieted down, he was still holding her, rocking her in his lap and whispering soothing nonsense words. She sniffled loudly and let him comfort her. At least he did that much. He seemed to know how, too. He rubbed her back, stroked her hair and cradled her head against his chest as if he understood that she just wanted to burrow in and not face anyone. Especially anyone she was mad at. Like him.

"What did not work?" Erik inquired after a while.

"The armband," she answered dispiritedly. "I thought it would work the same way going back, but it didn't. Or maybe I did something the first time that made a difference." She straightened up, inspired by that thought. "Now there's an idea. Maybe I didn't exactly recreate the circ.u.mstances. Although I can hardly produce a rock concert in the background for atmosphere." She put her dark head back on his shoulder and mulled it over. "Or here's an idea. I remember this Star Trek episode that had a sequence of tones that triggered a door. Captain Kirk opened it by accident the first time when he pulled out his communicator. Maybe it has a musical key."

She hummed experimentally. Then she paused. "If that's it, though, I could probably spend the next ten years trying variations of combinations and still not come up with the right one. Can I keep your armband that long?"

He smoothed her hair back and kissed the crown of her head. "You may have one like it, but if you intend to return to your people I will stop you."

Lorelei tilted her face up to meet his eyes. "Why? Aren't you sick of this yet?"

"I tire of this foolishness between us. Of you, never."

"Well, it's bound to happen." She curled more securely into his lap. "Just think about it. Since you're so fond of little proverbs, maybe this one will get through to you. A bird and a fish may fall in love, but where will they live?"

Erik frowned at the bleak tone. "You are not a bird, you are a woman. And I am a man, not a fish."

"Thank you, Mr. Literal."

"Erik," he corrected her.

"I knew that."

Irritation colored her voice. He found it a curious relief in contrast to the uncharacteristic hopelessness when she spoke of birds and fishes. She would cease to think of running away. She would cease to think they did not belong together. She would accept her new life. She would accept him.

Fierce possessiveness seized him, combined with a yearning he could not even put a name to. He pleased her. That she was angry with him mattered not at all. She could not deny that he pleased her as well as she pleased him.