Page 86 of Her Viking Master

In another life, under different circumstances, we might have recognized each other as kindred spirits. Now, we were adversaries playing a game with the highest possible stakes.

“The way I see it, Professor Hallstrom,” Matthew said, his voice pitched for my ears alone, “you have two options. You and your associate can come with us quietly, without incident. Or you can resist, perhaps even escape—my men are good, but I don’t underestimate your capabilities—and in doing so, sign the death warrants of both Mary O’Toole and Camille Dubois.”

My jaw clenched involuntarily at the sound of their names. I took a calming breath, glancing at Erik to see him nod slightly.

“We’ll come,LeoMarmareus,” I told him. “But as I’m sure you can imagine, we have resources deployed to make certain that if we’re harmed, we can take you down as well.”

“Of course,” Matthew said. “I expected no less. Now let’s reunite you with my newColumbae, so that you can be assured of their safety, before we discuss where our, shall we say, mutual interests lie.”

* * *

Mary

My legs trembled as I followed the girl, naked except for a collar, who had introduced herself asNuptaCassandra. The stone floor felt surprisingly warm beneath my bare feet, like an echo of the shameful heat that lingered in my pussy. After what had seemed like hours on that diabolical saddle, my body felt both utterly depleted and hypersensitive, every nerve ending raw and exposed. I had lost count of the orgasms that had been wrenched from me—six? Seven? Each one had brought me to the edge of a vision, the branches of Yggdrasil tantalizingly close, only to have the saddle’s changing rhythms yank me back before I could fully connect.

When Cassandra, blonde, blue-eyed and big busted, had finally entered my cell, her nakedness—but for a collar like mine—was somehow less shameful than the leathers in which Marmareus had bound me, I’d been sobbing, my body slick with sweat, my thighs trembling uncontrollably. She hadn’t spoken as she deactivated the saddle and unclipped my restraints from the posts. I’d collapsed to the floor, muscles screaming in protest after being held in one position for so long. Cassandra had simply waited, her expression impassive, until I regained enough strength to stand.

Then she had said simply, “I amNuptaCassandra. You will be silent, and you will obey, or you will be whipped until you cannot walk.” She had gotten a leash from the cabinet and clipped it to my collar.

I felt the light tug of it at my neck as Cassandra led me down the corridor. I kept my eyes downcast, acutely aware of my nakedness, of the leather restraints that adorned my body—the collar around my throat, the belt cinching my waist, the cuffs at my wrists, ankles, and thighs. These symbols of my captivity, my supposed submission to the Pretorian Guard, suddenly felt somehow both alien and disturbingly familiar.

The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, its stone walls occasionally interrupted by closed doors that I couldn’t help but wonder about. What other horrors lay behind them? What other devices of pleasure and pain awaited unwilling initiates into the Guard’s mysteries?

A soft gasp drew my attention. I glanced up to see another girl, also naked but for her collar, emerging from another door, leading Camille on a leash identical to mine. My heart lurched painfully in my chest at the sight of my friend. Like me, Camille had on only the leather restraints that had made her, as I had watched, into what Marmareus had called aColumba. Her dark hair hung in tangled waves around her face, her eyes wide and haunted. Her bottom bore the bruises left by theLeo’s huge, punishing hand.

“I amNuptaCassandra,” the girl who held my leash said to Camille.

“I amNuptaViola,” Camille’s captor said to me.

My eyes met Camille’s, and I saw in her gaze a reflection of my own confusion, fear, and helpless anticipation. The knowledge that we shared this humiliation, this violation, seemed to re-forge the bond between us—hammering it into something deeper, darker, and more complex than before.

I wanted desperately to speak to her, to ask if she was alright, to offer some comfort however meager. But Cassandra’s warning echoed in my mind: absolute silence, or a terrible whipping. I couldn’t bear even the thought of it, atop the cuts of themastixthat still throbbed on my backside.

We entered a narrow side passage, its walls lined with the same smooth stone as the corridors we had just traversed. Sconces mounted at regular intervals cast a warm, flickering light that made the shadows dance across the ancient masonry. The air felt different here—heavier somehow, laden with the scent of incense and something darker, more primal… smokier, perhaps, not just with the incense, but with something more? It made the fine hairs on my arms stand on end.

I glanced at Camille, walking beside me with her leash held by the girl who had called herselfNuptaViola. My sister’s face was pale, but her jaw was set in that determined line I’d come to recognize during our training together. Even in her humiliation, wearing nothing but the leather restraints that marked her as a captive, she maintained a dignity that made my heart swell with admiration and solidarity.

The passage opened suddenly into a vast chamber that took my breath away. This, then, must be the Hall of Fire that Marmareus had mentioned—it couldn’t be anything else. The ceiling soared overhead, supported by massive stone columns that seemed to stretch upward into infinity. Between them, intricate mosaics covered the walls and the floor, gleaming with gold and silver tiles that caught the light from dozens of braziers placed throughout the space.

“Kneel,” Cassandra commanded, giving a sharp tug on my leash.

My knees hit the cold stone floor before I could even think to resist. Beside me, Camille was similarly forced to her knees by Viola. The twoNuptaeknelt beside us, their posture perfect, backs straight, knees spread slightly, hands resting palms up on their thighs. I found myself unconsciously mimicking their pose, myvölva’s training in ritual and ceremony somehow surfacing even in this alien context.

“Look at the mosaics,” Cassandra instructed, her voice low, but clear. “Try to understand what you see.”

I raised my eyes to the wall before us, and a gasp escaped my lips before I could stop it. The mosaic depicted a naked man with a magnificent, muscular physique, his limbs powerful and graceful as he grappled with an enormous bull. The man’s face was serene despite the violence of the scene, his eyes focused on his task with an almost transcendent intensity. Most striking of all was his manhood—erect, massive, rendered in exquisite detail with tiles of deepest lapis lazuli veined with gold.

“That is Mithras,” Cassandra said, her voice taking on a reverent quality I hadn’t heard from her before. “The god who slays the cosmic bull, whose sacrifice brings order from chaos, civilization from barbarism.”

I stared at the image, transfixed. There was something familiar about it, something that resonated deep within me even as I recognized its alien-ness. The man—Mithras—reminded me both of Sven and ofLeoMarmareus, of that same controlled power, that same certainty of purpose. The thought made my breath catch painfully in my throat.

My gaze followed the mosaic as it continued around the chamber, moving from the scene of Mithras and the bull to other images that made my breath catch in my throat. Men in red robes, their faces stern and purposeful, stood in various poses of dominance over naked women bound in leather restraints identical to those I now wore. Some of the women knelt before the men, their mouths opened to receive enormous phalluses. Others were bent over stone altars, their bodies positioned for penetration from behind. Still others were bound to posts, their flesh marked with the evidence of recent discipline.

“The sacred mysteries,” Cassandra whispered, following my gaze. “The act of civilization.”

I tore my eyes away from the disturbing images, only to find myself staring at something even more terrifying. At the center of the chamber, where the two halves of the Hall of Fire met, yawned an abyssal pit. From its depths rose fingers of flame, dancing and twisting in hypnotic patterns. The heat from it washed over us in waves, making sweat bead on my skin.

“The eternal flame,” Viola murmured, her voice carrying the same reverence as Cassandra’s. “It has burned in the Mithraea since the founding of the Pretorian Guard, millennia ago.”

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