Page 20 of Her Viking Lord
“Do it,” he said flatly. “Put a finger in your ass, Lorna.”
My free hand trembled as it moved under my thigh and behind me, finding that most private place that I’d only touched inthe shower at Aksel’s command. The position was awkward, degrading—I had to shift in the chair, tilting my hips to give myself access while keeping my legs spread wide.
My finger circled that forbidden entrance, and I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. The shame of doing this in front of them all—in front of my husband who watched with dead eyes, in front of these monsters who were destroying our country—made me want to disappear. But my body had been too well trained. The tip of my finger pressed inside, and I gasped at the intrusion.
“Deeper,” Horakovsky grunted, not pausing in his assault on Katya’s bottom. “All the way in, like a good little slut.”
I pushed my finger deeper, feeling that strange fullness that I’d only experienced alone in my shower. The sensation combined with my other hand still working my clit sent me spiraling toward another climax I didn’t want but couldn’t stop.
Horakovsky’s thrusts grew more erratic, and with a deep growl, he buried himself completely in Katya’s abused bottom. She sobbed as he filled her, her whole body shaking. Almost simultaneously, Brenteuil grabbed Mila’s head with both hands and held her down on his length as he came, her throat working to swallow everything he gave her.
“Excellent,” Horakovsky said, pulling out of Katya and tucking himself away as casually as if he’d just finished a handshake. Katya slumped against the chair, trembling, while Mila remained on her knees, a thin line of fluid at the corner of her mouth that she quickly licked away.
“Well then,” the Russian said, moving to the conference table and picking up a pen. “I believe we’re ready to sign. Nothing likea bit of honesty between partners to seal a deal, wouldn’t you say?”
CHAPTER 11
Aksel
Over the days following the Synergy Group meeting, I unfortunately had no opportunity to train Lorna remotely or even to get a readout on what had occurred in the room with Horakovsky and Brenteuil. The silent, ongoing intelligence war between theGroupe Synergistique, as they were known in their Gallic homeland, and the Sons of Odin had reached a delicate point. Since the first reception at Brenteuil’s headquarters, they had come up with some new countermeasure—our surveillance micro-drones couldn’t currently penetrate their strongholds undetected. We’d had hundreds of our tiny robotic minions zapped out of the air over the past few days. I would have to rely on Lorna’s memories to analyze the occasion, once I could make contact.
Takken, however, seemed to have been spooked by something at the meeting—or by some other, unknown factor. He stayed very close to home for the rest of the week and through the weekend. I couldn’t risk Lorna’s safety. At least I was able to keep tabs on her via the devices I’d previously gotten into the prime minister’sapartments, and make sure that despite Takken’s obvious rage at his wife, he knew better than to risk a scandal by taking it out on her.
In the meantime, I flew back to Rouen and occupied myself with research in the Sons of Odin’s archives. Lorna’s stunning rate of progress in her skills as avolvahad fascinated me, and I felt the need to see if I could find a reason—or at least a precedent.
I descended into the ancient vaults beneath our sanctuary, my footsteps echoing off limestone walls that had witnessed a thousand years of our brotherhood’s secrets. The archives stretched before me in endless rows of carved wooden shelves, each one containing decades of meticulous records. The familiar scent of old vellum and binding glue filled my nostrils as I made my way to the section I sought—the chronicles of thevölur.
My fingers traced along leather spines until I found what I was looking for: a series of journals from the nineteenth century, when the Sons of Odin had first begun systematically documenting the training of female seers. The Old Norse script came easily to my eyes, though few modern scholars could have deciphered it.
I pulled three volumes from the shelf and carried them to my usual reading alcove, where a single lamp cast warm light over a desk scarred by centuries of use. The first journal, dated 1847, contained the observations of Brother Magnus Thornsson.
The girl Astrid shows remarkable progress, I read, translating the archaic dialect in my head.After only three sessions of stern discipline and masterful use with thetól, she ascends to the tree with clarity that our most experiencedvölurrequired yearsto achieve. I suspect her bloodline carries the old power more strongly than most.
I made a note on my tablet, then continued reading. Hours passed as I worked through the journals, cross-referencing names and bloodlines, looking for patterns. It wasn’t until I reached the third volume that I found something truly intriguing.
Brother Erik has proposed a theory that bears consideration, wrote another chronicler in 1863.He believes that while Northern blood is essential for a truevolva, it is not purely Northern heritage that produces the strongest sight. Rather, he suspects that certain mixtures of bloodlines—Norse combined with Celtic, or Norse with Slavic—create a more potent ability. The evidence is limited, but compelling.
My pulse quickened. I pulled up Lorna’s genetic profile on my tablet, comparing it to the fragmentary genealogies recorded in the old texts. The pattern began to emerge—not a pure lineage, but a specific kind of mixing that seemed to unlock latent abilities.
I needed more data. Rising from my desk, I made my way back to Huginn’s Eye and logged into the database where we kept our records from the past fifty years. Here, the documentation was more scientific, including genetic samples we’d begun collecting in the 1990s. Each bed thrall who’d shown promise as avolvahad been carefully catalogued, their training progress meticulously recorded alongside their bloodwork.
The correlation software I developed on the fly took hours to write, translating Old Norse training notations into quantifiable metrics that could be cross-referenced with genetic markers. When I finally ran the analysis, the results made me lean back in my chair, stunned.
It wasn’t just mixed heritage that mattered—it was specific combinations that seemed to appear in multiple populations separated by thousands of miles and hundreds of years. Nordic bloodlines mixed with Celtic produced extraordinary results, yes, but so did Norse-Japanese combinations, Norse-Slavic hybrids, even certain Norse-Mediterranean pairings. The key wasn’t the specific ethnicities but something deeper—a genetic resonance that occurred when particular haplogroups intersected.
I pulled up Mary O’Toole’s file from the previous year. Her training had progressed with remarkable speed, much like Lorna’s. The genetic breakdown showed Northern European ancestry combined with Celtic roots and a surprising four percent Native American heritage traced through mitochondrial DNA. The pattern held across a dozen other exceptional cases.
But genetics alone didn’t explain everything. I refined my search parameters, adding behavioral and psychological metrics from the training logs. Another pattern emerged, this one just as intriguing.
The most powerfulvölurall shared certain psychological markers—not just submissive tendencies, which we’d long known were essential, but specific responses to particular types of dominance. I frowned at the data, running the correlation again to be certain.
Anal discipline. The connection was unmistakable. Every bed thrall who’d shown exceptional sight had responded with unusual intensity to bottom-hole training. Not just the physical submission of it, but something about the psychological surrender required to accept that most intimate violation seemed to unlock deeper levels of consciousness.
I thought of Lorna’s reactions during our first session, how she’d trembled when I’d promised to claim herrøvhulonly when she’d earned it. The way her body had responded even to the threat of punishment there through Freya’s Bridle. It all aligned perfectly with what the data suggested.
And as I thought about my next training session with my needy bed thrall, I couldn’t keep my cock from hardening along my thigh or a smile from breaking out on my lips.
Lorna
