Delilah Devlin's Blog, page 540

Go Vote for Breaking Leather!

If you want to, that is. I'm not there twisting your arm.

The Long and Short of It review site, which is associated with Whipped Cream reviews, is hosting their weekly Best Book Honor, and I'm nominated! Head to this webpage to place your vote: Vote for Best Book

A snippet from the review:

"WARNING: Do not attempt to read this book without fire resistance gloves!!!!… Delilah Devlin just makes this type of story such an adventure as well as a hot ride… You will never go wrong with a Delilah Devlin story and you will never be disappointed."

Snippet Saturday: Music

I haven't really written songs into any of my work. The one blatant exception is my free read, a serialized story that my readers help me plot. Early on, when they selected their heroine, they let me base the character on…me! This opening scene is exactly like something that would happen to me, and exactly how I would have handled it. Enjoy the snippet!

On a whim, romance author DiDi Devereaux decides to travel to remote Louisiana bayou country to take possession of a house she inherited from a reclusive relative. But before she reaches her destination, she drives her car into a ditch to avoid a large animal that leaps into her path. Rescue comes in the form of a sexy sheriff, whose gruff demeanor seems to hide a feral attraction. As DiDi settles into her new home she finds herself torn between her attraction to the sheriff and the raw, handsome bad boy whose offer to help her renovate her home is a little too convenient and tempting.

Nothing in Bayou Noir is what it seems. When strange things begin to happen, her natural curiosity leads her into danger…

"Wah-ah-ah-ah!"

DiDi Devereaux bounced her head to David Draiman's gorilla-like chant. She'd popped her Disturbed CD in the player after she'd turned onto the small county road. She liked listening to hard rock when she wrote a fight scene or needed a little courage. Raucous, masculine music rarely failed to rev her engines.

Unfortunately, the music wasn't working its magic now.

Her headlights barely cut through the thick fog, forcing DiDi to slow her car as she peered over the steering wheel at the narrow donkey trail of a road. She'd left the highway twenty minutes ago and knew she'd entered bayou country by the thick forest pressing against the road from both sides and the muggy quality of the air. She'd rolled down her windows because her AC fogged up the windshield, but still had to swipe her palms against the glass to clear it enough to continue.

Why she'd decided to finish the journey at night, she didn't know. But she never questioned an impulse, and never really regretted any of the mishaps she'd fallen into as a result of ignoring good advice. Many of her stories came from those misadventures—and inspiration, of late, was getting pretty thin.

A road trip was just what she needed to "fill the well".

On a whim, she'd removed the deed to the Gauthier House from her safe deposit box on Monday after she'd moved her furniture into storage and let her apartment go. Originally, she'd been torn between seeking a summer rental in the Yukon and heading Down Under.

Then she'd remembered the property she'd inherited three years earlier. A dilapidated house in a section of boggy bayou with a dock that led into the swamps. The lawyer who'd handed her the deed and the keys had told her to sell it—or let it return to the land. No use fighting the age of the place because it would be a money pit.

She'd been satisfied to let the document lay at the bottom of her safety deposit box, beneath her passport and a CD that stored every page of every book she'd ever written, just in case catastrophe hit and she had to start all over again. Nothing was more valuable to her than the dreams she'd created on paper, nothing was more meaningful. She'd sacrificed a lot to be where she was, edging toward the top of the bestsellers' lists and finally getting those contracts that fed her gypsy soul.

Now, she had money to sink into the old plantation house. Enough to pay someone else to do the work while she plunked away at a keyboard with an iPod in her ears as workers sawed and hammered around her.

She could make this work—if she ever found the damn place.



The clerk at the gas station fifteen miles back had told her she'd never find her way in the dark on these back roads, that she'd wind up hopelessly lost and it wouldn't be until some backwoods Cajun found her car in the swamp that the mystery of her death would be solved.

He'd cheered up at that thought, saying he bet 20/20 might pay him for an interview. And the little prick had smirked as he said it. Which only made her mad and even more determined to forge ahead.

But things were looking bleak. She considered pulling to the side of the road at the first rest stop, if she ever found one, or at a widening of the road's shoulder and sleeping in her car until the morning. Wouldn't be the first time.

David D was giving her a headache, so she glanced down to eject the CD.

When she looked back up, something large and black darted into the road in front of her then stood there, caught in the headlights.

She slammed on her brakes, causing her car to swerve onto the soft shoulder. Her tires caught the edge of the road and sank, spinning the rear of the car around. Before she could compensate, her car left the road, crashing into the ditch, water splashing up the hood and drowning her windshield in water and long grass.

The engine sputtered to a halt. The headlights dimmed. Then water seeped through the floorboard.

DiDi lifted her feet, clutched the steering wheel hard and closed her eyes. Just for a moment, just long enough to still the thoughts racing too fast through her mind to process.

The car was stuck. But the water wasn't deep enough to drown her. She had time to react.

She flicked her ignition, but the starter sputtered. Using the battery alone, she lowered her window. She bent and reached to the floor and swung her hand around until she caught the handle of her purse. Straightening, she clutched both sides of her window and climbed out.

She stepped into stagnant, swampy water that filled her shoes and soaked her jeans to the knees. "Shit. I hope the alligators won't like the taste of me," she muttered. "Or that whatever jumped in the road isn't looking for dinner."

In the distance, she heard the roar of an engine. She slung her purse over her shoulder, grabbed handfuls of the grass at the sides of the ditch and crawled up to the side of the road.

Headlights blinded her for a moment, but she lifted her hand, praying she wasn't flagging down a serial killer and hoping if she was that he'd spare her life long enough for him to tell her his story.

A car pulled alongside her, the passenger window whirred downward. An emblem on the side of the car had her sighing with relief. A police car had halted beside her.

"Ma'am, do you need help?"

The soft southern inflections in the deep, rasping voice soothed her fears. She leaned down and braced her hands on the open window to peer inside.

"My car's in the ditch," she said, eyeing the large shadow of the man behind the wheel.

"I can see that," he said calm as could be. "Need a lift?"

"I need a tow. And probably repairs. Water's in the engine."

"Get in. I'm heading into Bayou Noir. Henri's gas station isn't open this late, but you can get a room at the motel for the night and figure things out in the mornin'."

She nodded, hesitated for a second, hoping he wasn't a rapist posing as a cop, and then opened the door to slide onto the bench seat. When she closed the door, she turned to get a better look at her savior. Her mouth dried in an instant.

Even shadowed, she could tell he was handsome. Strong, rugged features, a blunt nose and square chin. A dark full head of hair, cut short and with a slight curl to it.

Probably married. Nothing that delicious wouldn't have been wrestled to the altar long ago.

He studied her while she stared back, his dark gaze flicking over her hair, and she lifted her hand to comb through it, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Then her mind began to click as she inventoried the person beside her, thinking she couldn't have found a better hero for her next novel. "I'm DiDi Devereux," she said holding out her hand.

"Sheriff Mason Breaux." He gave her a quick, impersonal clasp that left her palm burning. "Anything you need from your car?"

Not a flicker of recognition had glinted in his eyes. Good. "Um…my suitcase. It's in the trunk."

He put the squad car in park. "Give me your keys and I'll get it for you."

Handsome and a gentleman. Mmmm. "I left them in the ignition."

He nodded, let himself out of the car, and she watched as he plunged down the bank.

Things were indeed looking up. Already her fingers were itching to tap on keys and capture her first impressions of her backwoods cop. Her mind leapt back to the cause of her current dilemma—the large animal that had stood defiantly in the center of the road.

If she hadn't known it was impossible, she would have sworn it was a panther. A black panther. But they didn't exist in North America outside of folktales, and tawny Florida panthers no longer roamed this part of the south.

No, it was far more likely that she'd spied a large dog. Her imagination had simply traded one prosaic image for the fantasy her artist's soul craved. But what would be the harm in creating a story, wrapped around the tale of a stranded tourist who found a strange enchanted land deep in a Louisiana bayou where black panthers roamed?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors' blogs:

Eliza Gayle

Jody Wallace

Lauren Dane

Lissa Matthews

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Sasha White

Shelli Stevens

Taige Crenshaw

TJ Michaels

I turned down Ryan Reynolds

I woke up to a very nice review on Amazon for True Heart: "…I found True Heart to be full of characterization and complete with an emotionally driven plot….I was unprepared for the empathy that I felt towards Honey, and the tears that came to my eyes when she makes love to True for the first time. Her anxiety was heartfelt and Trues' reaction made me fall a bit in love with him myself."

That was nice enough to give a bounce to my step as I headed to the coffee pot for my first cup.

Did I mention I'm making two trips this month? Next weekend, Sis and I are heading to Jackson, Mississippi to lead a weekend plotting bootcamp for the local RWA chapter. And then January 19, I'll head to Miami to board a cruise ship headed to Key West and Cozumel! It's a conference, so it's really work (wink-wink, Mr. Tax-man). I don't know about you, but when it gets cold, I want to get the hell out of Dodge. Last year, I took a long cruise to the Caribbean and found it therapeutic for my writing.

Had a dream about Ryan Reynolds last night—you know, the guy in the The Proposal? Anyway, he was my boyfriend, and I don't remember much, except he turned my desk chair around because I wouldn't stop typing. He squatted in front of me, grabbed my hands and gave me that pretty, soulful look of his. Then he asked me what it would take to convince me to come away with him. I remember thinking, "Am I stupid? Ask for sex!" Instead, I pulled my hands away from his and whined, "But I've got a deadline, Ryan." WTF? But I've got a deadline? Yeah, a completely wasted opportunity for dream sex.

Just what you wanted–another trailer!

These trailer things are fun. Don't know why I resisted them before. (Maybe because I've seen so many lame ones, huh?). Lexxie did a nice job on this one!

I'm waiting on pins and needles to hear how you like Ravished and True. I'd love your feedback. Thanks again to those of y'all who continue to spread the word. It's not about money. It's about showing the publisher they didn't make a mistake taking me on. And don't you want more Vikings and cowboys?

The past two days have been so filled with email and web stuff, that I haven't been writing much. I hope to remedy that today, but daughter called me at 5 AM. She has the flu, so I have to fly over there to help the 6-year-old get ready for school. It never ends. And I need to clean my bedroom and office. Yech.

Anyway, happy reading! And if you have your copy, I'd love a snap shot of you with your book!

My Very First Book Trailer!

I was admiring Desiree Holt's new trailer and asked her who had put it together for her. She said she'd put me in touch with her, and that the person who'd done the work was her daughter. The whole process was fun. We both searched for photos; she sent me links to music. She didn't need a lot of help from me because she was very in tune with what I wanted. See for yourself. And if you like it, please head to YouTube to "Like" it, post a comment or share it. Thanks to everyone who's helped me get the word out about this book. Be sure to send me photos when you get your book. I'd love to post them!

CONTEST WINNERS:

The winner of Ravished Contest #1 and a $50.00 Amazon.com gift certificate is… Minna Puustinen!

The winners (pulled randomly, straight from my newsletter subscriber list) of Ravished Contest #2 are:

* $100.00 Amazon.com gift certificate — cb99@mykeep.com!

* Sterling silver dragon earrings — LiviaEve@Bikerider.com!

* Signed copies of two of Delilah's backlisted books (not Ravished, sorry!) — wild_but_forgotten_rose@yahoo.com!

Congratulations, all!

Note:

The dragon tee will be awarded at a later date. I wasn't satisfied with the quality of the tee I received from my local supplier—still working on it!

Get Ravished now!

(Winners of the two Ravished contests will be announced tomorrow! So there's still time to enter, or to enter AGAIN today. See details here.)

"Clash of cultures, clash of myths, clash of powerful personalities…

how many authors can bring out on paper the excitement and more-than-willing suspension of disbelief that old fashioned adventure stories once brought us?

…a wonderful, action-packed, emotional roller-coaster of a read."

What a Viking wants, a Viking takes.

When his younger brother goes missing, Dagr, Viking warrior and Lord of the Wolfskin Clan, will do whatever it takes to get him back. But nothing could have prepared him for Honora—a feisty, intelligent woman who is nothing like the women of his world—women who are content to serve their men in all things. Drawn to her despite her stubborn nature, Dagr is determined to force her into submission.

When the two enemies-turned-lovers join forces to find Dagr's brother they are thrown into a rousing adventure full of danger, intrigue and erotic abandon. Can their passion truly unite them or will their different worlds lead to destruction for them both?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You won't forget that cover now, right?

Here's Brandy W with her book fresh from Amazon!

Remember, there are ways that you as the reader can support an author and help her to success. 1) Buy the book. 2) Talk about it to your friends. 3) Review it, star it, tag it. Thanks for your support.

And in case you have a hankering for more, I actually have two books releasing today. True Heart is my next cowboy menage, and is set in the Colorado Rockies in the dead of winter. You can read about it at Wild and Wicked Cowboys.

Ravished–The Sex

There's just one more day to the official release of Ravished by a Viking! As much as I want you to remember the story, the world, the characters, I also think you'll enjoy the sex. Dagr and Honora are stubborn combatants. Nothing is ever easy between them—at least not until they fall in love. This first time they come together is filled with tension. Dagr's frustrated and worried about his brother's fate. Honora's still a bit shell-shocked after having surrendered her ship to the Vikings. Still, as soon as they are alone, they are just a man and a woman who don't know each other at all, but have a fierce attraction that complicates everything. Hope you enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He set her on her feet, ignoring her as she sputtered and slammed her fists against his chest as any woman would when furious with a mate.

Standing still, he waited while she regained control of herself. Her fists landed again, but froze on his chest which rose and fell in shallow swells while hers billowed wildly. Her gaze flitted up, perhaps to gauge his expression and see whether she'd angered him.

She hadn't. He couldn't be more pleased with her womanly tantrum. It revealed passion, and the hardness of her blows proved her wiry strength. She might be slender, but she wasn't truly delicate. He could already imagine how tight her woman's passage would be, how it would squeeze deliciously around his cock. A small tight fit like the tiny space where she slept.

Her furrowed brows remained set, shadowing her eyes, but her hands flattened on his chest. With her soft, shiny hair mussed and her mouth soft and pouting, she was lovelier, more tempting than she should have been, dressed as she was in the ugly black skin-suit.

He waited, letting the thud of his heart tell her of his attraction, his muscles rippling as she curled her fingers and pulled her hands slowly away.

With slow steps, she backed up to the far wall, her eyes glittering with anger, but her body quivering with something else. Her intense arousal perfumed the thin, stale air of her cabin.

Remembering that he did have a purpose for bringing her here, alone, he hardened his expression. "Where are the men your people captured?"

"Not here. Obviously," she said, her features neutral. Her eyes, however, betrayed her. She blinked.

Dagr grunted, wondering why he enjoyed her defiance so much. He hoped she'd force him to take stronger action. "Why aren't they here?" he said just as evenly.

"Another transport arrived to take them away."

"I want the name of the ship."

Her jaw tightened. "I don't know it."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care what you believe."

Annoyed now, he bit out, "You should. Your life and that of your crew depends upon my mercy."

"You and your men are criminals. The Consortium doesn't negotiate. They'd sooner destroy the whole ship then see you reap a profit from this…venture."

"So we are at an impasse…" he said softly.

"Looks like it."

Dagr shook his head, wondering at her mental state. She faced a foe who weighed easily twice her weight, and yet she wouldn't back down an inch. Perhaps she needed a little softening first. He dragged off his wolf headdress, toed off his soft leather boots.

"What are you doing?" she asked, a catch in her voice.

"What we both want."

"You just captured my ship, throttled my crew," she said, her voice rising. "You threatened to cut off my head, you barbarian. You think I want you?"

She did. He was sure of it. "Next time you decide to tell a man you don't desire him, dress in a few more layers." With deliberation, he dropped his gaze to her chest, to the nipples that spiked hard against the thin, oiled skin.

Her gaze followed then jerked back. "You arrogant ass! I don't want you." Her chin jutted upward.

A gesture that was beginning to amuse him. He stepped toward her, crowding her against the wall she hugged and stuck his hand between her legs, cupping her sex. "If you say it again, I will leave you here. And we will never know. This isn't punishment. It's not rape. We shed our clothes, we shed who we are." A shoulder lifted in an easy shrug. "When we are done, we resume the battle. I find I enjoy your resistance."

Her mouth opened around ragged breaths. "I won't be used. My surrender won't be held up for you to mock later."

"Lady Captain, we will use each other. Whatever passion we share remains between us." He held her stare, keeping his expression set, waiting for her to decide.

Without breaking with his gaze, she squeezed her thighs together, trapping his hand. Her jaw tensed, her lips firming, but she rolled her hips, a slight shallow movement that ground her pussy against his palm and moisture soaked through to wet it.

He held her there, giving free rein to his arousal. His heart beat like a skin drum, pulse quickening at his temples and his groin. He strummed his fingers over her clothed folds and moved in to trap her chest.

Her hands came up to push at his shoulders. "I fight because I should," she whispered.

Dagr gave a curt nod then bent to cover her mouth, plunging into moist heat. She tasted exotic, smelled of musk and sweat, not too pungent, but tantalizing enough to capture his arousal, full-blown and surging to rut against her.

He clapped his hands on the wall on either side of her, afraid to touch her until he'd bridled his lust because he'd leave her skin bruised.

His lips rubbed hers, his tongue probed, waiting for her to reciprocate the exploratory penetration. When she moaned her surrender and thrust her tongue into his mouth, he gave a rumble of approval that vibrated his chest against hers.

He broke the kiss, clasped her hands and slid them outward, pressing them against the wall to tell her to keep them there. Then he drew his knife again, stretched what remained of the top of her uniform and inserted the blade, sharp edge outward to slit it from her neck to low on her belly.

Her shaky exhale brushed against his neck.

When the edges parted, he stared at her nude breasts and abdomen. Her nipples were a rusty brown and large, the tips reddening as they elongated. Her belly quivered against the cold blunt edge of the blade. He pulled the knife away and thrust it into the metal wall beside her head, then clutched both sides of her opened suit and ripped it the rest of the way off her.

When her arms were freed, she wrapped one over her breasts, and hid the dark thatch cloaking her pussy with an open palm.

Dagr let her have her false modesty. He stepped back and stripped off his tunic, trousers and woolen socks, leaving on only his golden arm bands and the black amulet.

He gripped his shaft and pumped his fist up and down once, deliberately drawing her attention there, giving her fair warning of his size and his intent.

Her eyes widened, her tongue wet her lips before she met his gaze again.

Now her whole body shivered, and Dagr understood. He too was filled with excitement and a strange sort of dread. As though the moment was somehow bigger, maybe destined. And he didn't want to feel the pull, wanted to keep this only about finding release inside a woman's body, any woman's body—but this slight, slender ship's captain wasn't like any woman he'd ever known before. She wasn't eager to sleep with the clan-lord. Didn't expect reward for her service to him. And she was equally appalled at her attraction. Her courage only enhanced her dark beauty.

How odd was it to travel into the heavens and find the one woman he might have kept for his own?

Honora leaned against the cool, smooth wall behind her because her knees weakened. Her pussy throbbed, the slow, deepening beat matching her heart's pulse for pulse.

The sight of him took away her breath, made her hot and wet. There wasn't an inch of him that wasn't clad in thick ropes of muscle. His skin was pale. Sweat glistened on the swells, emphasizing their size, but he hardly needed the enhancement.

Everywhere she looked was massive and covered with dark hair and fine white lines, like threads and poorly stitched patches, criss-crossing his tall frame. So many scars. Gods, they turned her on.

A hint of a tat, wrapping around his narrow waist, had her wishing he'd do a slow turn so she could see it all, but then she'd have to drag her gaze from his Viking-sized cock.

The hand covering her pussy pressed against her pubic bone, trying to trap the sensations flooding her sex, making her swollen. A single glide of her thumb over her hardening clit might be enough to make her come.

Dagr took a step toward her, his expression dark and electrifying. "This first time," he growled, dropping his gaze to where his hand glided along his shaft, "will be fast."

"First?" she breathed. Fuucck.

At the end of one long pull, his thumb slid over the satiny, plush tip, smearing a drop of ejaculate.

She couldn't help it—she licked her lips.

"Remove your hand," he rasped.

Honora was beyond pretending resistance to his commands. She dropped the hand between her legs that she'd used to shield herself from his view. Then she lowered the arm crossing her breasts and stood as naked as he did, waiting while his gaze swept her slowly, head to toe and back up.

What did he see? Was she too petite, too lacking in curves? Did he prefer creamy white to her own darkly tinted flesh?

Dagr closed in, reaching out with one hand. He touched her with only his fingers, sliding them between her folds to test her arousal. Silky, creamy heat coated his digits. She knew, because he used the moist tips to swirl gently over her clit.

The choice of the first place and how to touch her surprised her. She'd thought the savage marauder in this pirate would dig his hands into her flesh and force her quickly onto his cock. Not that she would have complained. Her pussy made succulent, smacking sounds as he continued to fondle the tiny, turgid knot.

"Wider," he whispered sliding closer, one hand bracketing her shoulder, one side of his chest pressing against a soft, round breast as he leaned into her curves.

Blood sang through her veins. She parted her thighs tentatively, giving him just enough room to thrust his long middle finger inside her, while she looked away and tried to preserve a little of her tattered pride. He pressed the heel of his hand against her mons while he continued to swirl and tunneled inward.

All the while he probed, he watched her face. She felt his gaze crawl over her, his breaths gust against her cheek.

She tried valiantly not to let her excitement show, not to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was close to complete capitulation.

But her nostrils flared as her ripening scent surrounded them. Her eyelids dipped with the added pressure he applied to her clitoris as he stroked toward her core. With his other hand, he tweaked her clit, causing her to jerk her head toward him.

The corners of his mouth kicked up.

She wanted to look away again, but then he'd think her a coward. "Thought you said fast…" she muttered.

"I would see to your pleasure first."

She raised her chin. "Why do you care whether I come or not?"

"Because I would command you."

She glared, meeting his ice-hard gaze. "You think that if you make me come I'll melt every time you crook a finger?"

"I think you will smolder quietly—until we are alone." His eyelids lowered to half-mast. "Then you will do my bidding—eagerly."

This time she nearly did swoon, or at least her knees wobbled. Moisture spilled from inside her.

As his fingers swirled in the fluid, he gave her a slow, predatory smile.

Heat crept across her cheeks, and she wished she had a little more self-control. She was making this too easy. "You think a lot of yourself," she ground out.

"I have experience."

Said so simply, she might have scoffed at another man, but she didn't doubt him. Not for a second. He'd be the best she'd ever had. "You think I don't have experience, or that I can't find partners who do?"

His eyes darkened. "I think you've never been completely at a man's mercy. That you've never been taken."

No doubt her short, sharp inhalation told him everything. Her body only echoed the response. Her nipples contracted, the tiny buds hardening like pebbles.

Oh yeah, he knew. His gaze dropped to her chest. "I want to suckle them while you ride me."

Her throat closed. "You're too tall," she choked out.

"Interesting, you didn't say that you're too short."

"Because I'm not."

Leaning away, he pulled his wet finger from her sex and circled one nipple then the other. Then he gripped her waist and slid her up the wall until her breasts were even with his face.

Honora flattened her hands against the wall and swallowed hard, trying to wet a dry mouth. Her belly quivered and jumped as she waited for his next move.

Dagr held her gaze for a long moment, the tension sharpening his cheeks and jaw making him more attractive and frightening. She knew she should be worried about the fact she found that so compelling, but she couldn't think because he was closing in on her chest…

He latched onto a nipple, growling against her skin, tasting her and letting loose the ravager, the conqueror she wanted.

Her hands clutched his hair, raking wildly through the thickness as she writhed.

Perhaps encouraged by her bucking, he sucked her hard, pulled her nipple between his teeth, wagging his head to root and suction, until she wrapped her legs around muscled torso and hugged him closer.

Her breaths were ragged little sobs and quickening. Her heels dug into his back.

He released the nipple, laved it once with the flat of his tongue then sucked its twin into his mouth, torturing it until her skin prickled with gooseflesh and her pussy spasmed. A long, thin moan slid between her lips.

When at last he let go and lowered her, he did it so slowly she groaned loudly because he was letting her feel the strength in his hands, waiting while her palms smoothed compulsively along his rippling biceps.

He gave her time to acknowledge his power. She responded by gifting him with her surrender. With a long exhalation, she let her head fall back against the wall, let her eyelids drift dreamily down. Her lips parted, inviting his kiss.

He scooped up her lips and rubbed over them. His cock found her slick entrance, prodded once to find the center, and then he gripped her ass and guided her down his shaft, groaning as her tight, moist heat surrounded him.

He gritted his teeth as he buried his cock inside her. "You are every bit as small as I imagined."

And already coming apart. She moaned and ground her hips against his. Delicate convulsions rippled up and down her channel, caressing his shaft.

He changed the angle of his thrusts and slammed into her again.

Breath hissed between her teeth, and she would have hid her face against his shoulder, but he prevented it, bending to press his forehead against hers.

"Did I hurt you?" he growled, not slowing his motions.

She shook her head.

"Don't lie to me. Not while we share sex."

"Not lying," she bit out. "Just…fuck…it's good."

He smiled and kissed her hard, then crowded her against the bulkhead, holding her there. He began to dip and surge upward, fucking her hard, grinding at the end of every thrust, the powerful motions sliding her up and down the wall.

It was no gentle taking, a battle of another sort. She clawed at his shoulders and scissored her legs behind him to bounce her pussy on his cock and increase the friction.

Dagr leaned into her, his hands slapping the wall on either side of her, his hips the only thing pinning her there as he thrust deeper.

Honora's whole body fought and clawed, her skin stretching around tightening muscles, sweat sprouting on her face and belly. Liquid pleasure rushed from inside her, hot and melting, easing him deeper while her pussy clasped him hard.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and tilted back her head to let the moans, one after the other, rip from her throat.

Clinging to the savage, she came hard, trusting him to see her through the darkness closing around her.

Ravished–The Setting

Ravished is popping up here and there!

This photo is from Shayla Kersten, who spotted the book in B&N in Little Rock yesterday. My inner geek squealed, "It's real! It's real!"

And Shawna B facebooked this photo she took at the B&N at Union Square, NYC!

I'd love to see more photos, especially from those of you who ordered the book from Amazon. You know, open the box, cuddle that book close, and click! I need to start a new contest, don't I? For siting pics I can post. I have two entries already!

So back to the book…

What about my story will capture you? My hero? The romance? Or will it be the world I'm building? Here's a very short snippet to introduce you to New Iceland. This scene is told from a secondary character's POV, Birget, who will also have a big role in the second book, Enslaved by a Viking.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The journey to Skuldelev passed in silence. Strapped into the back seat of a small, two-man snow-eater, she watched the endless drifts of white, stirred only by the shifting winds and blowing toward the frozen sea that bordered the lowlands they crossed. In the distance, the jagged peaks of the Keel Mountains sawed into the face of Sunni, the sun goddess, stretching the shadows of night to cloak the mountains and the city fortress of Skuldelev at its base.

Birget straightened to peer over Dagr's shoulder at the city few Bearshirts had ever willingly entered. Where her own fortress stood as evidence of strength and precision, the keep rising several stories high, Skuldelev stretched like a lazy dragon resting across the top of the foothills. The fortress wall hugged the contours, turrets spiking like ridges on the beast's back. Even the great, gated entrance gave the appearance of a dragon's large, crenellated head with its mouth gaping.

A shiver rippled down her spine. The day's happenings had passed in a whirlwind, and only now did it strike her that this might be her home for the rest of her life—this foreign, craggy, monstrous castle where men as rugged and unforgiving of weakness as their clan-lord lived.

Snippet Saturday: New Beginnings

Yes, it's Snippet Saturday, but I'm continuing my countdown to the release of my new book. One reader has already told me that the book has shipped. So if you're eager to read it, follow the link to the book to buy your own copy!

When I began writing Ravished by a Viking, I wanted to take a reader on a journey, sink her into a world she'd never imagined, but could believe. I also wanted to introduce the overarching conflict of the series in a way that would make the beginning of the quest memorable. I began with a secondary character whose error in judgment started the adventure. Here you'll meet Eirik, Dagr's brother, who will be the hero of the second book coming out later this year, Enslaved by a Viking. My hope is that this will be a world you'll want to revisit again and again.

Enjoy the snippet. And Happy New Year!

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Eirik Ulfhednar glared into his opponent's reddened face and adjusted his hand, just a slight movement to improve his grip, and then bore down with all his might. The muscles of his forearm and biceps burned. A spike of adrenaline seared his blood.

Harald, who had boasted his prowess over drinks, didn't seem so confident he'd win this contest now. His lips pulled away from his teeth in a feral snarl, but his bushy red brows rose, betraying his surprise that the man in front of him, so much younger and more privileged than he, hadn't already crumpled.

A smile eased up the corners of Eirik's mouth, and he narrowed his eyes. He would prove he was every inch his brother's equal and deserving of respect from the crew at the mining camp. Respect that they'd denied him since his arrival that afternoon.

However, respect had to be earned from these fierce, rough men. An accident of birth didn't grant an Ulfhednar, a Wolfskin, any special favors inside this clan. Further, Eirik's status wasn't helped by the fact that the last time he'd visited the camp, he'd been a gangly teen with blemishes on his face, tagging behind his elder brother.

But Eirik wasn't a boy anymore. This challenge was a good place to prove it.

Without a hint to warn his opponent, Eirik opened his jaws and yawned, then squeezed harder around Harald's huge fist and slammed it into the table.

The crowd surrounding them roared. Large, meaty hands slapped his shoulders in congratulations. Eirik gave Harald a chagrined smile and stood to reach over the table and offer his hand.

Harald shook his head, scowling, looking none too happy to have been bested, but he gripped Eirik's wrist. "You won fair. Only other man who ever bested me was your brother."

Prideful pleasure warmed Eirik, and he wondered why he'd been so resistant to return to this rough camp. He'd thought he wouldn't enjoy it. That the journey itself would bring back hurtful memories of his father. However, his brother had been right about his needing to learn more about his heritage than just the art of battling like a Norseman. His brother was right about most things, and it was time for Eirik to accept that fact.



He let the crowd draw him toward the sleeping quarters of the mining camp's longhouse. Blue-gray light gleamed through the curved ice-block walls and ceiling where "windows" had been cut in the animal-skin lining. Although it was nearing time to sleep, daylight rarely waned in this region of New Iceland.

The smells of roasted animal and a pot of savory stew permeated the longhouse since no vents were cut to allow them to escape. A chimney had no place in the ancient structure, built in the time their ancestors had first arrived on this cold planet.

"Tell us of your journey," Harald said, taking up one of the stools set around the crude fire pit. Chunks of the precious ore the miners cut from the earth deep beneath the icy crust lay nestled in the bottom of the pit, emitting an eerie glow and warmth that tempered the cool, wet chill lingering in the air.

With the melodic sound of water dripping from the walls nearest the pit and the earthy smells of the men around him, Eirik relaxed, ready to spin a tale worthy of the brother to their clan-lord, for he'd traveled to this frigid outpost without the comfort and safety of a tracked snow-eater by land. He'd come the more direct route, by ice skiff , over the frozen waters. A feat made even bolder by the fact his father had been lost, no trace ever found, during a similar trek to this mine, which lay farthest from the Wolfskins' seat of power.

"It was a harrowing journey," Eirik began, pausing as a beaker of mead was handed to him.

"Did you see serpents?" one of the men asked, a hint of awe in his voice. Few dared travel the open, frozen sea. They fished near the shores, but rarely ventured over deeper water because of the monsters lurking there.

Eirik nodded and leaned forward. "A pod of the beasts trailed after me from Skuldelev all the way here. Streaks of blue, green, and bright flame shot past me, gliding close beneath the surface of the ice. They circled, closing tighter and tighter. But I let out my sails and skimmed past their death spiral."

"Did any of them break the surface?" Harald asked. "Did you see their horned heads?"

"I never looked back." A lesson he'd learned from his brother when he'd first taught Eirik to sail.

If you look back, little brother, you risk losing your nerve. Always, always keep your eyes on your destination.

"But the winds favored me. The bastards pounded the ice behind me with their huge heads." He gave the men a sly smile, relishing the attention. "The breaks only added a little lift to speed me along."

Soft laughter surrounded him. Outracing the monsters who ruled the seas wasn't a sport. The consequences of one mistake could end in an agonizing death—dragged beneath the ice to an underwater berg-cave to be ripped apart and devoured by the pod.

Which was why so few dared. However, Eirik had a long tradition to uphold. The lords of the Wolfskins were fearless; neither the cold nor formidable odds could conquer them. Hence his mode of travel and the bearskin cloak sitting on his shoulders. Even the miners wore the Outlanders' deep-space clothing, which insulated better against the freezing temperatures. Eirik wore garments crafted in the old ways by the women of his clan. Boiled wool undergear and a thicker wool shirt; bearskin chaps tied around his wool trousers. Thick boots made of several layers of cowhide encased his feet.

Yes, his toes were cold, but he could still feel them. If he'd taken a spill in the skiff and damaged the hull or steering skimmers, he'd have frozen to death if the ice dragons hadn't killed him first. But Eirik would never think to complain about the harsh strictures his brother and he lived by. Their lack of comforts was only a small part of what they sacrificed to make themselves worthy to lead their clan.

Harald lifted his chin to the men around him, then bent toward Eirik. "You'll be wanting to see what we found." Gone was the blustery, overloud voice. Even his expression changed, shifting from brusque savage to sharp-eyed warrior.

The miners standing nearest turned to face outward to ensure none of the Outlanders in the longhouse came close enough to overhear their conversation.

"My brother wants this kept secret," Eirik whispered. "Until we're sure."

Harald nodded. "Not a word. And our production hasn't suffered in spite of the extra work. No one will suspect anything's amiss. The shipping containers are already stacked high in the main cavern in preparation for the next delivery."

"Does the artifact appear damaged in any way?"

"What we've uncovered thus far is intact. We're working with picks and shovels rather than large drills. When we get close to parts of the mechanism, we use our chisels."

"Good." Relieved, Eirik gave Harald a smile. "My brother will come when it's fully excavated. For now, we pretend I'm here to inspect the mine."

Harald nodded, and in an instant his expression changed from keen intelligence back to affable companion. "We'll talk more tomorrow. Below."

Eirik understood. The less said here, the less chance of discovery. If what the miners had found beneath the ice pack was what Eirik and his brother thought, the Icelanders had a new weapon in their arsenal that would ensure their hard-won freedom. "Tomorrow is soon enough to see the mine," he said, raising his voice for the benefit of anyone trying to overhear. "Is there a pallet for me?"

"A pallet in a private nook." Harald winked. "And a woman to warm you while your clothing dries above the fire."

Low, masculine laughter erupted around the circle as men raised their cups and shared sly glances.

Eirik grimaced. "I've frost coating my balls." He drained his drink. The honey mead, made from the honey of the bees in Hel's meadow, slid down his throat, warming his belly.

"I bet you do. But we have the cure." Harald smiled and clapped his shoulder hard, and then shoved off his stool to lead Eirik away from the fire and toward a row of sectioned-off sleeping berths. He pulled back a heavy curtain from one.

Inside, a shelflike bed stretched across the back wall draped in gray wolf and brown bear skin. A small fire pit glowed in the center of the small cubby.

A woman knelt on the floor beside it, nude but for a soft, woven blanket clutched around her shoulders. Dark, sloe eyes lifted slowly and widened as Eirik entered.

Never looking back, Eirik reached behind him and snapped the curtain closed, leaving Harald laughing outside. Then he stepped closer, reached for the edge of the blanket, and inched it away to reveal the figure of the woman who sat still, chin down, her small catlike features glowing gold in the pure light.

She was a dark beauty, with long black hair and creamy brown skin. Perfect, if a little too petite. Still, she was a sex-thrall, so identified by the stamped metal cuff encircling one wrist, one of the women contracted to service the men because no Icelandic woman would demean herself to act the whore. His size shouldn't prove a problem.

His blood heated as he stared at her small, round breasts with their brown nipples. A hint of her sex, tucked between her thighs, was smooth and gleaming in the warm light. He noted her slender curves, her supple legs. She'd do nicely.

"Undress me. My fingers are numb," he growled, enjoying her quiver of fear. Best to let her know now that he wasn't a soft man.

Color infused her dusky cheeks, but she rose without hesitation and drew away his clothing, one item at a time.

Her spicy scent and lingering touches warmed him more than the radiant heat rising from the stones.

When he was naked and seated on the edge of the pallet, she dipped the blanket into the pit to warm the fibers, then rubbed his body with it, chafing away the cold, igniting a languorous heat that stirred his blood.

He breathed deeply, keeping his gaze averted, pretending to be unmoved although his cock was thickening and pulsing to the thrum of his heartbeat. Like a lynx, he waited until she circled to his front. Then he pounced, grabbing her hips and lifting her off the ground.

She gave a startled gasp, but opened her legs and straddled him, nestling her knees beside his hips on the mattress and bracing her hands against his shoulders. Her gaze locked with his as she slowly lowered herself onto his cock.

Slick heat surrounded him, obliterating the last vestige of the numbing cold that had slowed his body and his thoughts. "What is your name?" he murmured, his lips hovering over hers.

"Fatin," she whispered, meeting his gaze.

"You please me. I'll see you're well compensated."

She bit her lower lip and her glance fell away.

With a callused finger, he nudged her face and she tilted it, meeting his kiss, her eyes never closing.

She seemed young for her profession, and he wondered if he might be among her first lovers. The thought made him gentle his kiss, and he suckled at her lush lower lip, enticing rather than forcing her cooperation.

Her sweet breath seeped into his mouth, the sigh edged with a delicate moan that increased the tension in his body. He pushed back the rich fall of her hair, cupped her head in one large palm, and tipped her face to drink from her lips.

She panted and shivered as she rose and fell upon his lap. Eirik growled deep inside his chest, and she gave him a little half smile, then shook back her hair.

He gripped her hips hard, with both hands, urging her to rise and fall faster. Her eyelids drooped and moans trailed from her lips, one after another like chanting.

He could tell she enjoyed herself. Could feel the faint ripples building along her silky, inner walls. "How you please me, darkling," he breathed, willing himself to stave off his pleasure just a little while longer because he didn't want to lose the warm haven caressing his cock.

But something changed in her expression as he dragged her off his shaft and lowered her again. A crease deepened between her brows. Those brown doe eyes glittered. "You're mine, Viking," she whispered.

Eirik didn't have time to wonder what she meant. A sting pricked his neck, and his legs trembled. He fell to the floor on his knees, still clutching the girl close, his muscles locking as though frozen. "What . . . ?"

"Sleep," she whispered, excitement tightening her voice. "You'll feel no pain."

But it wasn't entirely true. His body felt heavy, leaden for a second, unresponsive to his will, and then it exploded in a burst of white heat, fragmenting and spilling away.

A silent scream echoed in his mind before Eirik, heir apparent to the Wolfskin clan, slipped into oblivion.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Be sure to check out the snippets on these other authors' blogs:

Leah Braemel

Lissa Matthews

Mari Carr

McKenna Jeffries

Taige Crenshaw

Eliza Gayle

Shelli Stevens

TJ Michaels

Ravished–The Hero

I don't know about you, but for me, the hero makes the book. At the start of Ravished, we get a first glimpse of Dagr, the clan-lord of the Wolfskins, from the eyes of a secondary character. You can read that first full impression, and all of chapter one, if you click on this link. But I wanted to show you another first impression—the one from our heroine's point of view with the hero acting the barbarian.

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Before the siren finished its first warning peal, Honora Turgay rolled to her feet from her bunk and slammed the comm switch on the wall with her palm. "Turk, tell me what's happening."

"Captain, we've been boarded by Vikings!"

"Pirates?" Her heart stuttered, then pounded hard against her chest. Norse pirates were a scourge on civilian vessels, but hadn't dared threaten Consortium ships. Her ship couldn't be the first. She could already hear the scornful whispers: What more would you expect from the daughter of Ahn Turgay?

"Not sure," Turk said, his voice tight with excitement. "They entered through the hold. No other ships appear in our quadrant."

"How many?" she bit out, pulling up her deep-space skin-suit and locking the tab at her neck.

"A dozen, no, two! More coming! They're huge!"

She ignored the edge of awe in his voice. "Keep them from the controls. I'm on my way." Touching the comm-patch on her collar to activate it, she decided against the additional seconds needed to don the outer layers of her uniform, opting to add only her boots. Time was of the essence. She had to get to the deck.

She slipped a stunner from its wall-mounted holster, then eased open her cabin door and glanced up and down the small private corridor in the left wing of the ship, leading from the officers' quarters to the bridge.

Finding it empty, she hurried down the corridor to the end and up a narrow, ringed ladder to the hatch that opened directly onto the command deck.

"This can't be happening," she muttered under her breath. First the Viking cargo the bounty hunters had gathered, and now Vikings attacking her ship. Definitely not a coincidence.

A bad, bad feeling sat like a lump of the cook's oatmeal at the bottom of her stomach. I am not my father. This moment will not define me.

Even before she shoved the door upward, she could hear angry shouts and the dull clang of metal. What the fuck kind of weapons were the pirates using?

Honora gripped her stunner tighter, slammed open the small round door, and climbed quickly through the hatch. All around her a pitched battle raged, and no one noticed her. She crouched behind the metal railing dividing the captain's dais from the rest of the bridge, and edged toward her chair. If only she could get a message out to her command . . .

But then she got a good look at the invaders, and her stomach dropped to her toes.



What could the Consortium do against warriors like these? The men who'd dared invade a Consortium ship fought like maddened animals with primitive weapons—and they wore animal skins! They bared their teeth in feral smiles. Their shouts and grunts filled the air with an awful noise that had to rattle the composure of even her most seasoned fighters.

She spotted Baraq Ata, her head of security, battling a black-haired giant with blue stripes painted diagonally across his face. Staring at the giant, she couldn't hide her surprise, and her mouth dropped open. Turk hadn't been exaggerating. The man was enormous. And Baraq was losing, if the sweat running in rivulets down his face and the whites of his widening eyes were any indication.

More invading Norsemen pushed through the doorway from the direction of the hold. In that moment, Honora conceded they'd have to surrender sooner or later.

She sank nearer the floor and crawled on her hands and knees toward her chair while keeping an eye on the battle around her.

The pirates fought with their fists and swords—heavy weapons needful of strong arms and close contact that should have hampered the invaders.

Her officers' stunners were the latest technology—non-lethal but effective at dropping a man while preserving life and equipment as well as the ship's delicate hull. But the crude-looking shields the pirates employed deflected the Proteus crew's stun charges, bouncing them off their surfaces to crash with sharp pings against the walls. The shields must have been treated to repel the stuns. How had barbarians managed to get the know-how only Consortium labs possessed?

Still, all the technology in the galaxy wasn't effective in a close fight, especially not when every painted, hairy barbarian on the bridge fought with fevered determination.

She ducked behind the navigator's console and peeked around. Only the length of her body stood between her and her goal.

Honora's gaze caught on one warrior more slender than the rest, clean-shaven, who took her first mate, Turk, to the ground, and then proceeded to pummel him to unconsciousness.

The warrior's beaten metal helmet tumbled to the floor, and a long blond braid spilled down the warrior's back. A woman?

The black-haired barbarian fighting Baraq caught sight of the woman, cursed, and crashed the pommel of his sword against Baraq's temple, which sent her lieutenant sliding limply to the floor. Then the barbarian glared daggers at the woman, who had already leapt to the aid of another Viking.

The giant roared.

The guttural sound caused Honora to jump.

"Frakki!" he shouted, catching the attention of the man battling beside him. "Protect her!"

The female barbarian glanced back to the leader. Her eyebrows lowered. Her blue-and-black-painted face settled into a fierce scowl.

Honora wondered at the woman's courage and sanity to face such a fearsome warrior with irritation rather than terror. A tremor ran through her body. Even the Viking's fairer sex was a force to be reckoned with.

The giant, blond-haired, and bearded Frakki moved toward the female, shoving her behind him, and then faced outward to block a blow from one of Honora's crewmen, a young ensign, who crumpled at his feet at the first clout from the warrior's ham-fist. The woman behind Frakki appeared to chomp at the bit as every time she tried to push past him to enter the fray, he or another of the Vikings battling nearby stepped in to block her.

Honora held her breath, waiting for the right moment to make her move when the leader's back was turned. She considered shooting him, but knew that as soon as she did she'd lose any advantage because she'd be spotted. Right now, getting a message to high command was first priority.

She ducked her head and crept beside her console. Crouching next to the chair, she reached up and slid her hand into the grooves at the end of the armrest that fit every digit, and depressed the hollow beneath her forefinger to open a hailing frequency.

But a heavy hand closed around the back of her neck and jerked her away. She swung back her elbow, but it bounced off metal, jerky tingles running along her nerves. The man shook her until her teeth rattled before he dropped her. A foot stomped on the stunner, catching her fingers beneath it, and she slipped them free.

She fought her way to her feet, cradling her throbbing hand, and turned to face her attacker, ready to do battle if need be. No Consortium ship's captain had ever surrendered to a pirate.

Her gaze rose to a broad chest covered in beaten metal, up to shoulders cloaked in thick animal fur. Even before she looked higher, she knew whom she faced and her heart pounded.

So much fur, leather, and facepaint would have looked ridiculous on another man, but made the barbarian look like a demon. Her gaze snagged again on his wide, thickly muscled shoulders.

Had to be all that fur.

Sucking in a deep breath, she shuttered her expression, drawing on her courage and her knowledge that however humiliating this defeat might be, the pirates wouldn't harm her or her crew. They were too valuable as hostages.

She met his hard-eyed gaze, staring into a face swept clean of all mercy. His features appeared cut from stone. His expression as sharp and lethal as the blade he held.

His glance swept down her body, his mouth crimping at the corners into a thin-lipped smile. When he speared her again with that ice-cold glare, she fought hard not to shiver. The thought of that hard, muscular frame cloaked in the trappings of a barbarian caused her to tremble—but this time not from fear. For the first time in her life, she felt dwarfed by a man. Supremely feminine. Not a reminder she needed at that precise moment. Completely inappropriate.

And still, she couldn't stop herself from imagining what he looked like nude, wondering if the fur hid a belly but seriously doubting it by the hard edge of the jaw clamping tight as he returned her stare. Arousal stirred deep in her belly. He'd be ripped—arms, abdomen, thighs. Gods, she loved a man with huge, muscled thighs and a hard ass—so perfectly honed to deliver deep, powerful thrusts . . . She gave herself a mental shake and tried to dart away.

His arm shot out, grabbing her arm and turning her quickly to bring her back against his taut chest and belly.

She lifted a foot and stomped on his toes, then dug an elbow into his side. His embrace tightened.

"Barbarian!" she gasped, and wriggled against him, but to no avail. His arm settled beneath her breasts and squeezed until she could barely breathe. Which was helpful. Her unwise attraction waned at the thought of the bruises his fierce grip would leave.

Cold steel tapped her neck, and she strained away from the wicked knife he held.

"Cease fighting!" he bellowed, the sound blasting her eardrums.

One by one, the Vikings quieted and straightened, their gazes still on their opponents, but their weapons easing back. Her own crew heaved deep breaths, turning to face the man who held her trapped against his body.

"I will know who your captain is," he ground out in a rasping baritone.

Baraq's black gaze locked with hers, and she gave him a subtle shake of her head. His jaw tightened, but he glanced around to warn the others not to speak.

"Warriors are fools to have women among them," the giant whispered against her ear. "It makes them weak. Makes them hesitate."

Although tempted, she didn't dare ask him why he'd brought a woman along with him. Maybe he didn't consider her female because she fought with all the skill and ferocity of any other Viking.

He shoved her forward and drew his sword, laid the blade against the side of her neck, and then swung back his arm.

Honora sucked in a deep breath.

"I will know who your captain is," he shouted, "or she will be the first to die."

Honora tipped back her head to glare at the odious man, her body growing calm as she breathed slowly, filling herself with rage to stave off a crippling fear. He meant it. He'd kill her. She saw it in his hard, blue gaze.

"So be it." He drew back his arm and sliced toward her neck.

"She's the captain!" two of her crew burst out.

The sword stopped an inch from her flesh, and Honora didn't blink. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction of showing him her fear—or her soul-deep relief that she'd lived past that moment.

A dark brow rose, and he swept her body again with a ruthless glare. "You will relinquish control of your ship."

She jutted out her chin, hoping that pretending she wasn't fearful for her life would lend her more courage. Maybe no one would notice that her knees were knocking together.

He slid his sword into its scabbard and fisted his hands on his hips. "I will have your hand on the controls," he said slowly, as though she were dim-witted. "You will then transfer command to my man."

She raised her chin higher, relieved she was finally getting pissed. "Make me."

He grunted. "Very well." His gaze cut toward one of his own men and he jerked his head.

The man he signaled grasped the collar of one of her crew and dragged him forward.

The Viking narrowed his gaze, not letting her look away. "Every time you refuse me your hand, one of your men will lose his. Don't doubt that I will be ruthless."

Shock at the barbarity of the threat shuddered through her. Her gaze wavered; her cheeks cooled as a sickening image of crewmen cradling bloody stumps flashed through her mind.

"Taking this ship is big mistake. You and every one of your men will be hunted down like dogs. You still have a chance to save yourselves—if you leave now."

His mouth firmed. "We are wolves, not dogs. Make your choice. Save your pride at the cost of your men's hands or transfer command to me."

She couldn't do it. Couldn't risk such grievous injuries for her pride's sake. Her crewmen weren't warriors; they were merchant marines.

She gave the barbarian a small, almost imperceptible nod, and stepped toward the captain's seat, settling into the cool leather. Then she slowly lifted her left hand to slide it over the controls. Light burst around the silhouette of her hand as the computer verified her identity.

The Viking came behind her. His large hands clasped her shoulders and squeezed until she winced. "No tricks. My man will know if you try anything."

She glanced up to see a Heliopolite, one of her own people, dressed in furs, his dark eyes glittering as he stared with ill-concealed excitement.

"I will know if you try to hail another ship," he said, his voice even, his face lowering to hers. "You know that I will."

Honora blinked, recognizing him beneath the paint. "Cyrus," she whispered, shock holding her still for a long moment. "You would ally yourself with these men?"

"What choice was I left with?"

She shook her head, knowing she couldn't fool him. They'd served as ensigns together on the same ship after graduating the academy before being promoted and separated. He'd been among the best of her class until his fall from grace.

He's a pirate now—just a pirate. All he wants is ransom. Cyrus knew as she did that her superiors would prefer to pay rather than see one of their precious ships damaged. She had no alternative but to concede.

Her middle finger tapped the release. "Speak your name," she said, her voice tight. "The ship is yours."

Cyrus's gaze lifted to his leader's. The tall Viking nodded, and Cyrus spoke, "Cyrus Tahir assumes command." He gripped her hand, lifting it from the control-grid, and placed his own over the indentations. Light flared around the edges of his palm as the computer imprinted his whole hand and DNA into its database.

Then he grabbed her arm and pulled her from the chair. He seated himself, his jaw rippling with tension. "Lord Dagr," Cyrus said, turning toward his leader. "We have control of the ship's systems."

"I would send a message to those who still fight."

Cyrus nodded and pressed the universal comm switch. "Just speak."

The black-haired Viking's gaze settled on Honora.

Her breath hitched, and she acknowledged deep inside that she'd been beaten and was completely at the Viking's mercy. Her life had changed, veering on an uncharted course.

Satisfaction gleamed in the warrior's ice-blue eyes as his stare bored into hers. Tension rippled along the edge of his jaw. "This is Dagr, clan-lord of the Wolfskins. We've taken your ship. I have your captain. Surrender your arms or die."