At the Viking's Command (Warriors Unleashed Book 2) Read Free

you. And, hel , his beast liked hers. He blamed it on his imprisonment—it had to have affected his head, since he was a Viking berserker and she was a werewolf. It should have been death on first sight. As a mercenary for hire, he generally only gave a fuck about world politics and domination when caring earned him a paycheck, but even he wouldn’t stand around and let Armageddon happen. But the first week or so after a bite, the newly turned rarely remembered what they did. New wolves rampaged unchecked and that was likely why their captors had brought her here. She was pit fodder even if she likely remembered none of it.
    Still, although the keepers had dragged her out into the pit each night, each morning, they also brought her back. She didn’t die. By the third morning, she’d stopped screaming when she woke up and had started inventorying her hands. Yeah. She’d finally figured something was up and maybe she’d started to believe him. She didn’t like her situation and she definitely hadn’t accepted it—but she wasn’t stupid either.
    The fourth morning she came back over to his side of the cell, a woman on a mission.
    “You’re still here.” She dropped to the floor and crossed her legs, leaning against the wall like some kind of princess. Since werewolves shredded their clothing when they shifted, someone must have given her replacements. Not that the torn black leggings and wedge sneakers were going to do anything to keep her safe and protected. She still wore the same filthy USC T-shirt however and, when she bent forward and did some kind of yoga stretch to work out the kinks in her legs, she flashed him with a hot pink thong.
    He didn’t say anything. She still talked enough for both of them.
    “Where are we? You never answered that question. I want answers.” She moved closer. Another two feet and he could reach through the bars and snap her neck. Which would be a waste. Sooner or later the pit keepers would pit them against each other and he’d have to kill her then. He’d probably do it, too. He ignored the small pang of something that speared his chest. Emotions—like dying—were for the weak.
    Instead, he told her the truth. “We’re in the holding cells for an underground fight ring.”
    She nodded, like maybe she was finally ready to believe him, and pointed to the shallow gash on his arm. “What happened to you?”
    “I was slow. There are four pit matches each night.”
    “That’s a lot of fighters.” She craned her neck, like she could see through the walls surrounding them and get a head count. “Where do they keep them all?”
    “The fights are to the death.” Long-term housing was not an issue.
    “You kill someone each night?” Her face paled as she processed the fact that she was sharing air space with a killer. He itched to remind her she did the same thing.
    The first few nights after he’d been imprisoned here, he’d considered deliberately losing or simply refusing to fight but it went against every instinct he had. He was Viking. He fought. The poor bastards in the ring with him had made the same decision and he’d honor it. Kill or be killed. The rules of his world were brutally simple. Princess here, however, clearly had a different set of operating orders.
    Popping her happy bubble was easier than he’d expected.
    “You must fight better than you look.”
    “Excuse me?” She shoved to her feet, pushing up against the bars to get in his face. She was so easy to bait. And…she still smelled good, which was a small miracle given the lack of facilities in their prison. His keepers turned a hose on him after a fight and then sent him to the cell. Soap and hot water were unspeakable luxuries. “I don’t fight.”
    “You do.”
    She poked him in the chest and he was too surprised to do anything. She hadn’t touched him there before. He was nearly naked, clad only in the loincloth and leather gauntlets that amused the pit’s keepers. They both stared down