Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down (Vikings Underground #2)(22)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

They knew she was here. Approximately fifty Viking men had ceased their blacksmith work and were staring up at her, all of them clearly alerted to her presence somehow.

This is NOT happening!

Swallowing against the lump of fear in her throat that felt the size of an apple, Ronda’s wide brown eyes clashed with acutely intense blue ones. Her heart began pounding impossibly harder, beads of perspiration dotting her forehead.

The giant who’d snared her gaze made her mouth go cotton dry. His body was as formidable as his eyes. It was hard to judge from this height just how huge he was, but he had to be as tall or taller than the first man she’d seen—at least six and a half feet. And powerfully, heavily muscled.

His hair was dark brown and fell to the middle of his back. A braid at either temple had been pulled to the back of his head and knotted there to keep his hair out of his eyes. He wore only black leather brais, black boots, and a huge gold bangle clasped around each obscenely bulging biceps. No shirt to cover that massive chest or those vein-roped arms, which made him look even more frightening.

He was watching her, assessing her, sizing her up as if calculating every possible move she might make toward escape. She had fought against the deadliest of enemies during her field years, but this was the first man she’d ever gone up against whose mere stare made every hair at the nape of her neck stand on end. His ice blue eyes were as penetrating and merciless looking as the rugged, bitter cold terrain outside. And those eyes were watching her.

When she’d decided her life needed some excitement, this was not what she’d had in mind!

“Let go of me! You goddamn bastard—let go!”

Because the sound of clanging metal had ceased while all eyes were on her, Ronda heard the redheaded woman’s English-spoken cry from far below. Ronda’s gaze flew to the nak*d, shackled female whose br**sts were being rubbed and kneaded by two large hands. Her heartbeat racing, Ronda then returned her gaze to the giant who stood just one level below her.

The big man’s cold blue gaze glanced pointedly downward, then slowly back up to look Ronda in the eyes. A half smile twisted his lips.

Oh, no—oh, God!

Ronda’s entire body began to shake. He was telling her without words what he intended to happen to her.

Hell, no!

Breaking out of her frozen shock, Ronda whipped around and bolted back toward the cavern that contained the boiling liquid.

“Ta henne!”

She heard the battle cry, clearly an order to capture her. Then loud footfalls pounding, and the iron-caged elevator ascending toward the uppermost level.

What do I do now? Where do I go!

There was nothing outside to run to but a ten-thousand-foot drop off an icy cliff.

“Help me, God,” Ronda panted, running so fast it made her dizzy. “Please.”

As she reached the cavern filled with the pits of boiling fluid, her wild gaze darted about the rocky chamber for a hiding place. She espied a small, cramped space between two boulders and quickly squeezed her body in. Forcibly steadying her breathing, she remained as still as a statue. All she could do now was wait.

And hope they didn’t find her.

Chapter Three

Stay calm. Do not move. Do not breathe if you can help it. Stay calm…

Ronda repeated the mental mantra over and over, half-wondering if she was dreaming all this from a hospital bed. The sound of booming male voices jarred her back to reality.

The Viking men had entered the chamber.

Please don’t let them find me. God—please!

They talked amongst themselves, but she had no idea what they were saying. As the chamber became brighter, she guessed the men had lit some torches and were preparing to climb the spiral of the mountain to the top. She waited with infinite patience until the voices became mere echoes in the distance, then slowly, quietly, unwedged herself from between the rocks.

Prepared for a surprise attack, she took her time, careful not to get taken unaware. But no one was in the chamber.

Her best chance of escape was to go down rather than up—the last thing the enemy would expect her to do.

The one thing she least wanted to do.

Carefully tiptoeing toward the cavern entrance that would lead to the elevator, Ronda kept her eyes and ears on full alert. Ready to proceed with operation Get Me the Fuck Outta Here, she took off running, rounded a corner—and slammed smack-dab into the middle of a massive, muscular chest. She fell to the ground, landing on her backside.

Ronda gasped and looked up, the pain in her wounded head so blinding it made her cry out.

It was him—the giant. And, oh, boy, was he even bigger and deadlier looking up close. His heavily muscled body was tensed for battle. His face was a mask of fury, cold blue eyes narrowed into merciless slits.

Survival instincts taking over, Ronda put her weight on her left knee in a lightning-fast movement and karate-kicked her enemy in the groin with her right leg.

He bellowed in pain and anger as he fell to his knees. Her heart pounding so fast it felt as though it might beat out of her chest, Ronda darted past him. He howled as she ran by, sending goose bumps zinging down her spine.

Run faster! Faster! Faster! Faster!

Adrenaline rushed through her, and she dashed toward the elevator. The pain in her head was horrific, but getting caught by these sadists would be far worse.

Almost there!

As Ronda reached out to open the cage doors, two rough, calloused hands grabbed her by the back of the shoulders.

No!

She elbowed him in the gut. He grunted and released her. She dropped to the floor to deliver another kick to the groin, but he took her by surprise and went down to the floor with her. They wrestled for a moment, Ronda fighting like a wildcat.

“Let go of me!” she raged, clawing and hitting at him.

The giant got on top of her and pinned her hands to the ground over her head. He used his massive weight to subdue her, situating himself intimately between her thighs. She could feel the bulge of his erection pressing against her despite the black leather brais and army-green snowsuit that lay between them.

“Who are you?” the giant hissed in heavily accented English, his voice deep and angry. Those icy blue eyes sparked with fire and his nostrils flared, making his features appear impossibly more menacing. “Tell me!” he ground out, releasing her hands to seize two fistfuls of her golden hair by the roots.

Pain seared Ronda’s head wound and she cried out. Dizziness and nausea assailed her. The fear of death loomed hauntingly close.

“P-please,” she gasped. “Please d-don’t hurt me anymore.”

Nikolas’s jaw tensed as he stared down into the beautiful but cunning face of his quarry. He thought she might be feigning injury to surprise him with another attack, but then he saw the wound. He immediately released her hair and pinned her hands above her head once again.

“Who are you?” he repeated, slower this time in case she couldn’t understand his English. “How did you find this colony?” His teeth all but gnashed together. “Who sent you here?”

“My n-name is R-Ronda Tipton,” she gasped out. “I’m a corporal with the United States army.”

Nikolas’s stomach clenched. The Outsiders’ warriors knew of this place? Damn Toki!

“Why were you sent here?” he demanded harshly. “Tell me!”

She blinked. “Sent here?” she whispered, her voice weak and pained.

“Little girl,” he murmured, his temper barely restrained, “ ’Tis smart to give me the answers I seek.” His hands gripped hers tighter. He would get the old herbalist to mend her injury once she told him what he needed to know.

“Please,” she said softly, her face scrunched up into a mask of pain, “I don’t know what you are talking ab-bout. We were en route to a secret military base just north of the Arctic circle. The helicopter c-crashed into the mountain. I’m the only survivor.”

Nikolas stilled. He recalled a trembling of the entire colony that none could explain. Yet that had been two moon-risings ago.

He examined her wound more closely. Indeed, the head injury was not fresh. ’Twas at least a couple of moon-risings old.

He studied her face. She was as striking up close as he’d thought her to be from afar, beguilingly so. Her eyes were dark and beautiful, her hair a rich gold. Her nose was perfect for her face, neither too large nor too small. Her cheekbones were high and delineated, her lips full and richly colored.

Was it possible this “Ronda” spoke the truth? Or did her beauty make him want to believe she was but an innocent who’d unknowingly stumbled upon the stronghold of New Sweden? It was in a man’s nature to want to believe that a wench so fine of face was just as fine of character.

He would have Otrygg hunt for the remains of an Outsider’s flying bird. Until then, he would reserve judgment.

“I’ll carry you to a healer,” Nikolas told her. One dark brown eyebrow slowly rose. “If you attempt to thwart me again, I will show you no mercy.”

But the warning was of no consequence, for she had passed out cold.

Chapter Four

Two days later

Nikolas Ericsson removed his tunic and tossed it on a nearby hook after entering the grindstone. ’Twas smoldering hot within the highest-working echelon of New Sweden.

The grindstone was divided into two sectors. On one side, raw metals were hammered into tradable goods. On the other side, mined gemstones were cleaned for bartering. Nikolas owned the grindstone outright—not through inheritance, but due to hard work and determination on his part. ’Twas mayhap why he took the time to oversee his men and help them where needed. He carried no airs about him as many overlords did.

“Niko!”

Nikolas nodded at Otrygg, acknowledging him. Otrygg was one of his most trusted men and supporters. When the inevitable clash for ultimate power between Nikolas and Toki came, he knew he could count on Otrygg to stand beside him and fight.

Toki Ericsson was Nikolas’s cousin. Toki, the clan’s current jarl, was mayhap his sire’s heir in bloodline, but not in spirit. It had been the dead jarl’s dying wish to Nikolas that his nephew depose Toki as ruler and claim the kingship for himself.

Verily, he could empathize with his dearly departed uncle. Toki was crazed of the mind and given to bloodlust. His treatment of captured brides on the customary marriage auction block was more like chattel than revered soon-to-be wives. Additionally, he had nigh unto given up the clan’s underground position twice now.

For over a thousand years the various clans of New Norway, New Daneland, and New Sweden had existed without interference from Outsiders because naught was known of the clans’ existence. ’Twas how it was supposed to be. ’Twas how the gods and goddesses had decreed it to be.

In a couple more decades, those who lived above the ground would not escape the wrath of the gods for destroying their territory and perverting the laws of the natural world. Only those below the ground would survive, flourish, and prosper.

“Good day,” Nikolas rumbled out to Otrygg.

“Milord.” Otrygg respectfully inclined his white-blond head. “I believe two more of the oil pits are ready. I will take Old Myria up to inspect them.”

Oils were precious and bartered for high, as they could be used to make everything from soaps to perfumes to foodstuffs. It would bring the resistance more weapons.

“You can’t take her up to the pits today.” Nikolas resumed walking toward the blacksmiths to see if he could be of assistance. “Take her daughter instead,” he threw out over his shoulder. “Myria is still attending to my captive’s injuries.”

Otrygg bowed to Nikolas’s back before leaving.

Soon Nikolas was busy laboring alongside his men, pounding metals into workable material. His muscles tensed and bulged with every strike of hammer against metal. Sweat glistened on his nak*d chest; his forehead was soaked with the dampness of exertion.

’Twas just as it had been two eves past when he had first spotted her—his captive. He thought about Ronda as he toiled, hoping her fever had broken since he’d last seen her.

She wouldn’t know it until she woke up, but Ronda would never be leaving this colony. She couldn’t. Too much was at stake for their people to lose should Outsiders come to know of the Underground settlements.

Nikolas had given up a lot in life that he might concentrate on fulfilling the promise he had made to his dying uncle. Verily, he should already have taken a wife and begun the furthering of his line. Instead, he had spent his life learning how to fight, how to be the deadliest warrior the colonies had ever known. The past three years had been spent gaining supporters, developing superior weaponry to that of Toki and his warriors, and plotting with his most trusted allies to overthrow the mad jarl.

Nikolas had now seen thirty-six years. At times he got to feeling lonely, but such was the price a man paid for the greater good. Leastways, ’twas the price a warrior paid when he cared for his people. He would not marry until New Sweden was safely under his control.

Nikolas hoped Ronda had no husband and children in the world above the ground. Having seen such a situation occur once before with a captive named Meg, he remembered how overly long it had taken her to accept that she had a new husband and that she could never leave—she’d spent months, mayhap even years, hoping her first husband would find her and take her back above ground.