“You have been twice warned, wench. Summon me again, and you will see to my needs, all of them.”
“I’m supposed to offer you a fight also? Do I get to use your sword for it, or do you?”
She could have said the devil made her say that, but the fact was, she was getting angry. How dare he put such a price on the information she wanted?
And he had the nerve to answer her with “There is only one sword I will wield against you.”
That grin of his was back in spades. “Viking crudeness I can do without, thank you,” she replied stiffly. “And you’ve worn out your welcome, Thorn Blooddrinker.”
She pushed against him as she said it. It was galling to know that she couldn’t have budged him if the decision hadn’t been his to move off her. But he did move, until he was sitting on the edge of the bed again. There he glanced back at her, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that stopped her breath again. But then his gaze dropped to her breast, which was still exposed, and she realized that she hadn’t moved a single limb yet herself.
She groaned and scrambled off the bed, yanking her bra back into place, and practically ran for her wardrobe across the room. Behind her, she heard his deep laughter. The sound sparked her anger like nothing else could. But before she could turn around to blast him with what she was now feeling, the thunder cracked in the distance.
She didn’t have to turn to know he was gone. Her shoulders slumped with…relief, of course. Yes, definitely relief. She wasn’t going to bemoan missed opportunities. Dealing with a thousand-year-old jerk was more than she was capable of, obviously. He could rot in his mythical Valhalla before she’d be foolish enough to summon him again.
9
For five days, Roseleen managed not to think about Thorn Blooddrinker’s ultimatum. She tried not to think about what he’d done to her on her bed too, but that wasn’t as easy to ignore, when what she’d felt during those few minutes had been so wildly exciting, so uniquely pleasurable, she simply couldn’t get it out of her mind. She could blame her fear for the heightened feelings she had experienced, and yet—she’d be lying to herself if she tried to deny that he had aroused her in a really big way.
And she still didn’t know what he was.
It had been easier to accept that he was a ghost. Other people believed in them, swore they’d seen them. She’d merely been in the skeptical show-me-before-I’ll-believe-it group. Even an extraterrestrial being was more plausible because, again, so many people believed they were real. But an immortal? Someone who could live a thousand years and not show a gray hair for it? Someone who claimed to live in a mythical heaven exclusive to Vikings? No way.
Then who was Thorn Blooddrinker? An eccentric practical joker who could afford the kind of expensive imaging equipment that could fool her into thinking he could appear and disappear because of a cursed sword? He was real. There was nothing ghostly about that body that had covered hers, or that mouth that had felt so hot and…
She knew how she could prove it. There could be equipment set up in her room, in every room of her house, for that matter, even in the car she was using. She wasn’t going to tear her house apart looking for it. That wouldn’t be necessary. She’d just take her sword out to a secluded part of the countryside where nothing else was around.
And if he did show up again? That would prove…at least that he wasn’t a high-tech illusion. It still wouldn’t prove exactly what he was, but that was just one of the many things she still had to question him about. If he showed up, if she was actually willing to risk it again, she’d have his ultimatum to deal with first, and that was the only thing on her mind now.
Summon me again, and you will see to my needs, all of them.
The mere thought of it, seeing to his needs, his sexual needs, caused a hot fluttering deep in her belly. It almost made her wish that she wasn’t burdened with the strict morals her father had imparted to her. It even had her questioning her state of virginity, when she never had before. After all, how many other twenty-nine-year-old women could claim they’d never made love with a man? She’d have a hell of a time finding one in this day and age.
The sixties and seventies had been responsible for the sexual revolution. In the eighties, women had gained power and made strides toward attaining equality, and the process of changing people’s attitudes about women’s role in society had continued. Women had gained a lot, there was no question of that, but they’d lost true “gentlemen” in the process.
Barry was a prime example of the kind of man that had replaced the gentleman. He’d never opened doors for her, or seated her at a dinner table before he seated himself, or insisted on unlocking her door the few times he’d seen her home. Usually, he hadn’t even walked her to her door when they’d dated. He would simply meet her wherever they were going, and expect her to pay her own way. And she’d thought nothing of it. She was a child of the seventies, after all, even if she was very old-fashioned in one aspect of her life.
That one aspect had made her nervous, and embarrassed, when she had thought she was going to marry Barry. She’d dreaded the prospect of explaining her unusual condition to him on their wedding night. The irony was, men no longer expected to marry virgin brides. Disbelief was the very least she could have expected from Barry. Laughter and ridicule were also possibilities. No, she definitely had not been looking forward to justifying her morals.
And he had never questioned her refusal to sleep with him. He’d put it down to her reserved nature—he’d said as much—and she’d let him think that’s all it was. Of course, he’d never been that hot to get her into bed anyway, and she should have questioned that herself, though she’d merely been relieved at the time that he wasn’t pressuring her or getting angry, as some other fiancé might.
But the situation with Thorn Blooddrinker was different. She’d been given an ultimatum, and she didn’t like that at all. The prospect of making love with him might be consuming her thoughts and playing havoc with her body, but the fact was, he’d put a price on what she wanted from him. She’d have to pay with her body to get the information she craved, and she found that degrading, sordid, absolutely unacceptable.
If it had been anything else he was demanding, she wouldn’t have thought twice about it. That would have been no different than buying a research book, or paying for a guided tour of a historical site. To be fair, he deserved something for what she would get from him. But her body, her virginity in particular? That was asking too much, and she knew damn well that he knew it, that he had named that price because he didn’t want to be summoned again.
Finally allowing herself to think about her dilemma and get angry about it all over again, she soon figured out a way to get around it. After all, two could play the game of threats and ultimatums. And almost immediately after the solution occurred to her, she packed a very large picnic basket, grabbed the sword case, and was soon driving out into the country.
It took her a while to find the perfect setting, and she almost missed it because it was so perfect for her purpose. Between two fields of golden wheat and down a gentle slope that hid it from the road was a small, lush meadow. It was richly dotted with wildflowers, had a few low-branched trees thick with summer leaves for shade, and was disturbed only by flitting butterflies and a soft afternoon breeze.
With nothing but nature in view, it could have been a scene from any century, which was why it was ideal. She didn’t want her Viking distracted by the twentieth century. She wanted his undivided attention—at least until they got the bargaining out of the way.
It took her two trips to the car, because the large basket and the sword case were too heavy for her to carry at the same time, but soon she had a blanket spread out beneath one of the trees, the basket open to reveal the mountain of food she’d stuffed into it, and the sword case open too, though she was careful not to touch the weapon yet.
The food was a consolation prize. Thorn wasn’t going to be happy with her when she was done giving him her ultim
atum, so she figured the least she could do was assuage one of his needs. Satisfaction of the other two needs he professed to having he would have to do without, since she wasn’t going to barter on the intimate level he’d had in mind when he’d threatened her, and in this century he’d have a hard time finding the kind of battle he was used to.
She grinned to herself, thinking of that. Poor man. He really was going to get the short end of the bargain she was going to propose. And then it hit her suddenly that she really was expecting another appearance, was practically taking it for granted. And there weren’t any hidden gadgets out there. If he came with his thunder and lightning, she really was going to have to accept the fact that he was—
She groaned to herself. She didn’t want to think about that, didn’t want to face facts that were just too implausible to credit. There had to be another explanation, one that didn’t demand she suspend all known beliefs, and she was determined to find it.
She reached for the sword but didn’t quite touch it, because her heart was suddenly beating erratically, her blood started rushing, and deep inside her—dear God, just the thought of seeing him again was arousing her. No man had ever had this kind of effect on her before. She didn’t have to bargain with him. She could just—no. No. Not in payment for information she wanted, and not with a man she wasn’t even sure, yet, was real.
She took a deep breath, pulling her emotions and her body under control, and slipped her fingers firmly around the sword hilt. As usual, it was warm, another thing that defied logic. The metal should have been cold and warmed only to her touch, but not this sword.
The sun was out. If there was lightning, she didn’t see it, but there was no mistaking the crack of thunder. Yet she didn’t see Thorn Blooddrinker. She swung around quickly, but he hadn’t appeared behind her either. And she felt…crushed, devastated with disappointment. It was as if she had just lost something very, very dear to her, and she felt the urge to cry, to scream even. But she didn’t. She dropped the sword and pushed back the realization that the whole thing had been just a hoax, some cruel joke played by…whoever the man was who had invaded her bedroom. She wasn’t ready to deal with that yet, or how it had been accomplished, or why. She was too—
“You surprise me, lady. I would have thought you would prefer a bed.”
10
Roseleen slowly tilted her head back on her shoulders, and there he was, Thorn Blooddrinker, sitting on one of the lower branches in the tree above her. His legs were swinging back and forth, reminding her of a little boy. But there was nothing childlike about the smile he gave her. It was broad and distinctly wicked-looking, telling her exactly what he was thinking—that he figured his long abstinence would soon be over.
For a moment, she stared at him blankly, while her emotions readjusted from dejection to—well, she certainly didn’t feel dejected now. Acute nervousness would be an apt description of the feelings that were quickly taking over.
Had she really thought she could handle this man? He came from a race of the most aggressive, war-minded, barbaric men history had ever produced, men so arrogant that they believed in a heaven that was exclusively for them, and could only be entered if they died in battle, with weapons in hand. That alone said so much about the way they must have thought, the way this man thought.
She’d be running for her car in a moment, if she didn’t curb the direction of her thoughts, so she blurted out, “How did you get up there?” and hoped the question would distract him from his thoughts as well.
The very loose, thin white tunic he was wearing wasn’t tied at the neck and nearly slipped off his shoulder as he shrugged in response. A good portion of his chest was bare, and his dark brown leggings were tucked into soft high boots that were cross-gartered to his knees. He would have looked very casual, almost harmless, if there weren’t a scabbard attached to his wide belt. It was empty, but the vicious-looking, long-bladed dagger right next to it kept her from being relieved about that.
And then she had an answer from him, of sorts, “You may summon me, but I choose where to set my feet, and I chose not to set them down for the moment.”
That he would be setting them down right in front of her when he got around to dropping from that tree made her leap up and move out of his jumping distance. His laugh was soft, knowing. He knew exactly what she was feeling, how apprehensive he made her. Hardly conducive to a good bargaining position—for her.
She was wearing a long, ankle-length skirt today in a blue and yellow floral design, with a yellow silk tank top that she hadn’t bothered tucking in or belting, and sandals. She would have worn long sleeves if the weather weren’t so warm, so this was as close as she could get to what he was more accustomed to seeing women wear. After all, women’s knees hadn’t made an appearance out of the bedroom until this century, and it wasn’t until the last century that a few had bravely worn men’s pants. And she had no idea in what century he’d last been summoned—another thing she meant to find out.
She was wearing her glasses like battle armor, and her hair was even more tightly bunned than usual, just for good measure. She’d known she had been taking a risk that he would feel challenged to remove her glasses and hairpins again, but getting the message across that she had no intention of deliberately trying to attract him was more important.
Now she squared her shoulders and tried to correct the cowardly impression she’d just given him. And in the tone that managed to get two-hundred-and-fifty-pound jocks sitting up straighter in their chairs, she said, “I wish to talk to you, Thorn.”
He wasn’t impressed. In fact, his expression, just before he pushed off of that tree limb, said he was amused. “You may do so—after.”
He’d dropped to the ground about six feet away from her, but unfortunately, that wasn’t where he stayed. But she stood her ground as he approached. Running just wasn’t going to lend conviction to her ultimatum, which had to come out immediately, before he closed the gap between them.
“One more step, and you’ll never get back to where you come from.”
He stopped, about two feet away from her, within reaching distance, but he didn’t reach. Instead, he was looking at the ground between them as if he expected a trap to open up there and swallow him whole. Since it appeared to be no more than it was, soft grass with a few pink flowers, he looked elsewhere, all around him in fact, and his very tenseness told her he wasn’t discounting the possibility that an entire army was hiding in the wheatfields.
Without looking at her, still trying to find the tip of an arrow or the flash of a sword, he said urgently, “Explain, lady. What will keep me here?”
She considered running then, because after what she knew he’d just been thinking she was certain he’d be enraged by what she was about to say. She said it anyway.
“I will.”
His eyes came slowly back to her. At first, they were confused, then merely curious.
“You will? How will you?”
She had to clear her throat to get out, “By not saying the words that will release you.”
Still he showed no anger. Actually, he seemed amused. “So you would keep me with you?”
The conclusion he’d drawn startled her, and she narrowed her eyes on him to show that she didn’t share his amusement. “I don’t think you understand. All I want from you, Thorn, is answers to my questions—and for you to keep your hands to yourself. If we can agree on that, you’ll be back where you came from in no time at all.”
“I cannot agree to that.”
For some reason, she hadn’t expected a flat refusal, and it threw her into a panic. “Why not?” she demanded, her voice rising.
“Because I want you.”
The effect of those simple words was dramatic. Roseleen’s knees almost buckled under her. She made a sound very like a groan. And what his penetrating blue gaze was doing to her insides…
“And you want me,” he added.
“That’s not—that’s beside the—I can’t agree
to your terms!”
His expression hardened. “You would hold me here and not see to my hunger?”
“I anticipated your hunger. There is a basket behind you, full of food.”
“’Tis not that hunger I refer to, lady, and well you know it.”
There was anger in his voice now, and plenty of it. Oddly enough, it bolstered her own courage.
“Your hunger for food is the only one of your needs I am willing to satisfy,” she told him firmly. “I’ll provide you with that and a bed to sleep in—the operative word being sleep. What you were suggesting is out of the question. We barely know each other.”
“I have tasted you and found you to my liking. What more need I know?”
It was happening again, spirals of heat turning in her belly. But there was also heat in her cheeks. He was barbaric in his bluntness. She wondered if he even knew how to approach a subject with tact.
“Then let me rephrase that,” she said. “I barely know you—and don’t bother mentioning taste again. That subject is no longer under debate. You’ll keep your hands and your person off me, or—or you’ll never see your Valhalla again.”
“My person?”
She was amazed that she’d finally managed to sound stern and unaffected, especially since she was now dying of embarrassment. “Your body,” she clarified, and even more color flooded her cheeks, then more still when he threw back his head for a hearty laugh.
“’Twas wise of you to mention both, lady. Very well, I will not jump on you. Give me leave now to depart, and I will answer your questions.”
That was too easy a turnabout. “I’m supposed to trust you? I don’t think so. I’ll give you what you want just as soon as you give me what I want.”
“And I am to trust you?”
“At the moment, Thorn, I believe I hold the upper hand. I really don’t want to keep you long. I just want my curiosity satisfied—fully.”