Page 83 of Her Viking Master

I felt balanced on a knife’s edge, teetering between two abysses. If I spoke, I might betray Sven, the Sons of Odin, everything I had been trained to protect. If I remained silent, I risked punishment that might break me anyway, that might destroy any chance of bringing these two forces together as I had seen in my vision.

“I don’t…” I began, then faltered. “I can’t…”

Marmareus’ expression hardened. He reached out, gripping my chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to maintain eye contact.

“You can, and you will,” he said. “Your pretty little friend Camille will suffer for every moment of your silence. Is that what you want?”

My stomach lurched at the threat. I closed my eyes, trying desperately to reach into myself, to find some guidance from thevölvapart of me that connected to Yggdrasil. I sought the trunk, the roots, the branches—any sign of the cosmic tree that might show me the right path.

Nothing. Nothing but darkness and the frantic beating of my own heart.

I opened my eyes, staring blankly at Marmareus. The silence stretched between us, taut as a bowstring.

“I see,” he said finally, releasing my chin. “You think your loyalty to him outweighs your responsibility to your friend. Interesting.”

He stood, towering over me once more. I remained bound in the humiliating position, my body still throbbing from his partial use of it. The leather restraints bit into my skin as I shifted slightly, seeking any relief from the vulnerable exposure.

“Very well,” Marmareus said, straightening his tie with a precise motion. “Since you insist on being difficult, I’ll have to adjust my approach.”

He sighed, looking down at me with an expression of what almost appeared to be compassion. “You may come to regret having saved Camille from Beaumont’s chateau, Mary. Your loyalty is admirable, but misplaced.”

My heart lurched painfully in my chest at his words. I tried to speak, to beg for Camille’s safety, but my throat closed around the words, choking them before they could emerge.

Marmareus raised his handheld to his lips. “Prepare the Hall of Fire,” he said, his voice emotionless and clinical.

The Hall of Fire.The words sent a shiver of dread through me, though I had no idea what they signified. Something in the way Marmareus said it—the flat, matter-of-fact tone that contained not a hint of mercy—told me all I needed to know. Whatever awaited me in this Hall of Fire, it represented something beyond anything I had yet experienced.

Moving with that same fluid efficiency I’d observed before, Marmareus unclipped my wrists from behind my thighs. My arms fell limply to my sides, muscles aching from the prolonged restraint. Before I could even think to resist, he grasped my upper arm and hauled me to my feet.

The sudden change in position made my head swim, black spots dancing at the edges of my vision. My legs trembled beneath me, barely able to support my weight after the intensity of what my body had just endured. The welts from themastixthrobbed fiercely up and down my backside, drawing a whimper from my lips.

“Turn around,” Marmareus commanded, rotating me to face the wall between the posts and moving the cushion aside.

With swift, practiced movements, he rearranged my bonds. First, he clipped my right wrist to a ring high on the right post, then my left to the corresponding position on the left post. The position forced my arms out and up, stretching my torso and making me acutely aware of my nakedness, of the vulnerability of my breasts and belly. Next, he secured my ankle cuffs to lower rings on the posts, spreading my legs apart.

The position left me completely exposed, facing the wall, unable to see what might be happening behind me. I could feel the cool air of the cell against my punished bottom, my still-slick pussy, the tender pucker of my anus that ached from Marmareus’ interrupted enjoyment. Every nerve ending in my body seemed alive, hypersensitive to the slightest change in temperature or touch.

I heard Marmareus moving behind me, the soft sound of his footsteps on the stone floor as he retrieved the cushion and returned it to the cabinet. The panel slid closed with a quiet hiss.

I heard soft footfalls as Marmareus approached me again, from behind. My heart hammered against my ribs as I strained futilely against the restraints that held me spread-eagled between the posts. The leather cuffs bit into my wrists and ankles.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please, what are you going to do to me?”

Marmareus moved to stand beside me, just within my peripheral vision. His expression remained impassive, though the strange compassion flickered again in his dark eyes.

“It would be so much simpler if you would cooperate, Mary,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “The Guard has ways of extracting information that are… unpleasant. I’d prefer not to subject you to them.”

“What are you going to do?” I repeated, unable to keep the tremor from my voice. The welts from themastixawakened again as I shuddered in terror, as if to remind me how skillfully Marmareus could wield the implements of discipline.

“Wait and see,” he replied, his tone maddeningly even. “In the meantime, I suggest you consider carefully whether your loyalty to Sven Hallstrom outweighs your responsibility to those you care about—Sven included.”

My stomach lurched at the implied threat. I thought of my parents back in Chicago, my little sister in college, blissfully unaware of the shadow world I had entered. How easily the Pretorian Guard could reach them if they chose.

“You wouldn’t,” I whispered, though I knew even as I spoke that he absolutely would.

Marmareus didn’t bother to respond to such an obvious falsehood. Instead, he moved closer, his breath warm against my ear.

“I have a way to help you think more clearly about your situation,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “To help you understand exactly what’s at stake.”

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