Page 46 of Her Viking Master

“Take off your cloaks, then go ahead and get in,” Erik told us. “As long as we’re in the garage, the Guard can’t hear or see us. We’ll brief you further once we’ve got you properly restrained.”

I looked at Camille, my heart pounding. Her dark eyes had gone wide with fear and uncertainty, a match for my own emotions. We hesitated for a moment, clutching our cloaks tightly around our bodies.

“You didn’t tell us the mission would start so soon,” Camille accused Erik, her voice trembling slightly amid her attempt at defiance.

Erik’s expression softened slightly. “We wanted you girls to get a good night’s sleep,” he explained, his tone gentler than I had come to expect from him. “You’ll need your strength for what’s to come.”

Camille’s brow furrowed, and I could see the conflict playing out across her face. Part of her wanted to submit, to trust in Erik’s judgment, but another part—the rebellious spirit that had initially caught Erik’s eye—bristled at being kept in the dark.

“But we’re not ready,” Camille protested, her voice rising slightly. “We haven’t had enough training, we don’t know enough about?—”

“Enough,” Erik cut her off, his tone sharpening. His eyes flashed dangerously as he regarded Camille. “Do you want a whipping before we even leave, girl?”

I saw Camille flinch at his words, her body instinctively curling in on itself. But beneath the fear in her eyes, I recognized something else—something I knew also stared out from my own gaze when I looked at Sven. Despite her protests, despite her fear and uncertainty, Camille loved Erik helplessly. Just as I loved Sven.

The realization hit me like a physical blow. We were utterly, hopelessly devoted to these men who had captured us, trained us, and were now sending us into danger. It defied all logic, went against everything I had ever believed about myself. Yet I couldn’t deny the truth of it.

I saw the same conflicted emotions warring in Camille’s eyes—love and fear, desire and uncertainty, the need to submit warring with the instinct for self-preservation. Her cheeks flushed, and she lowered her gaze. “No,Herra,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

With trembling hands, Camille and I removed our cloaks. The cool air of the garage raised goosebumps on my skin, and I fought the urge to cover myself. Instead, I climbed into the van, settling onto one of the hard benches. Camille followed, sitting across from me.

Erik and Sven efficiently secured us with the webbing restraints at ankles, wrists, waist, and neck. The rough material bit into my skin, the physical reinforcement of my captive state. As Sven tightened the last strap around my neck, his fingers brushed against my breast. Even in this tense moment, my body responded to his touch, my nipples hardening traitorously.

“Now, girls,” Sven said, his voice low and serious, “listen carefully. We’re going to make the video for Beaumont at a chateau outside the city. It’s a place that’s been used in the past as a transfer point for captive concubines.”

My heart raced at his words. The reality of our situation was sinking in—we truly were about to become captives, at least as far as the outside world was concerned. I glanced at Camille, and saw fear mixed with the excitement in her face. I found that weirdly comforting; maybe our shared anxiety would help us work together?

Sven continued, his intense blue gaze moving between us. “In a few moments, we’re going to drive out onto the streets of Rouen. From that point on, you’ll be visible to the kind of surveillance the Guard has access to, including micro-drones we can’t even see. You must remember that from this moment forward, you are captives who have been kidnapped by a concubine broker for sale to a trillionaire.”

I swallowed hard, trying to process the implications. Every move we made, every word we spoke, would need to fit this cover story. The weight of our mission settled heavily on my shoulders.

“You’ve given us so little time to prepare,” I said softly, unable to keep the tremor from my voice. “How can we possibly pull this off?”

Sven’s expression softened slightly as he regarded me. “You underestimate yourselves,lille en,” he said. “You’ve been preparing for this since the moment you arrived. Your training as bed thralls and asvölur, even the few hours you’ve had of it, has led us to this moment. You’ve seen Yggdrasil; now you must learn to trust in its roots.”

His words sent a shiver through me. Had everything truly been orchestrated for this purpose—grown in the world tree, even? All the intense pleasures and pains we’d experienced, and all the ordeals to come?

Erik spoke up then, his voice gruff, but not unkind. “We’re going to have to gag you for the drive,” he explained. “It will at least free you from worrying about saying the wrong thing.”

I nodded, understanding the necessity even as my stomach churned with anxiety. Erik approached with a pair of ball gags that looked like they had come from some bland sex shop. I couldn’t help but recall, though, the first time I had had my voice stopped, when Sven had gagged me in his office with a leather strap. The memory of the leather pressing against my tongue, filling my mouth, sent an unexpected jolt of arousal through me.

Before they secured the gags, Sven looked each of us in the eye. “Remember, girls,” he told us, “at some point, you will have to speak. But the men who will use you aren’t interested in your opinions. You won’t ever have to say much, at least until the Guard captures you.”

I shivered at his words, both from fear and from the closeness of his body. Even in this tense moment, I couldn’t help but respond to his nearness.

“Once that happens,” Sven continued, “you will have become used to not mentioning the Sons of Odin, which is all you really must remember. The Guard will easily figure out that you’ve been the possessions of dominant men, but they will think that means Beaumont and his agents—that you were captured for sale to him. Remember the questions we taught you.”

I felt my brow crease as I brought them to mind—three questions that ourHerrahad told us could produce valuable intelligence through their apparent innocence.Why is it like that? How did you learn to do that? Has it always been that way?I nodded to Sven, and Camille echoed the gesture.

“Now,” Erik asked, “do you have any last questions, either of you?”

A thought came into my mind, from a helplessly wayward feeling in my body, as I contemplated what it all meant—as I pictured Beaumont… and his ‘agents.’ A fiction, yes, but…

“Herra…” I asked, chewing on my lower lip as I realized I didn’t know how to put the question. Then I blurted out, “Should we… should we pretend to… um, you know… like it? When they… when theyuseus, I mean?”

My tummy flipped at the sound of my own words and I felt my cheeks fill with hot blood. Sven sighed, his eyes softening into compassion and understanding. As he answered, he looked from me to Camille and back again.

“Lille en,” he said softly, “you won’t have to pretend.”

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