Free Ravished by a Viking by Delilah Devlin Page B

knew exactly whom to punish.
    Her head snapped toward him the moment he stepped onto the deck. The ship captain’s gaze swept his face, and her expression shifted from shuttered to wary in the space of a heartbeat. She knew he’d found nothing.
    While frustration fueled the anger boiling inside him, the woman herself provided another source of consternation. Physical awareness itched along his skin. Her slender frame, so delicate in comparison to the women of his clan, gave him pause, made him subdue the violent tension in his body. Which infuriated him. He didn’t want to show restraint toward any Outlander.
    Her short, dark brown hair was smooth and shiny as any subterranean crow, feathering against her cheek whenever she sharply turned her head. And her golden brown eyes, tilting at the corners, gave away her wariness every time her glance rested on him.
    Even in the midst of the fighting, he’d noticed her creeping toward the chair, her slim body crouched low, her bottom and even the outline of her pussy so perfectly revealed by the black skin-suit. He’d clipped the large warrior, sending him to the ground, and stalked toward the woman whose attention was so focused on the indentations on the chair’s arm that she never noticed him behind her until he grabbed the back of her neck and shook.
    As well, her courage when he’d swung his blade toward her neck had impressed him. Although her golden skin had drained of color, she hadn’t flinched. That she’d betrayed attraction even while he’d threatened her existence only fueled his lust. Her amber gaze had raked him head to toe, her nostrils flaring in her small oval face, her pupils dilating. Her nipples had sprung, the areolas swollen and outlined. She’d been aroused, which had sent an unwanted spike of desire south to harden his cock.
    He’d been irritated then, but was furious now for the distraction. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry to put space between them, he might not have wasted time scouring the ship top to bottom.
    Still, the search hadn’t been a complete waste of time—it had taught him much about the crew and the workings of the ship, and the exacting nature of the woman in charge.
    Dagr slowed his pace as he approached her now. He hardened his expression, flexed his fists and his arms.
    The large, unusually skilled man whom he’d fought on the bridge stiffened and started to rise when he saw Dagr’s direction, but his cousin Grimvarr clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder to hold him down. “This is not your fight, Outlander.”
    When Dagr stood inches from the woman, he glared down his nose. “Where have the men been taken?” he asked, adding a razor edge of tension to his softly spoken words.
    The deepening furrow on her forehead said she didn’t like having to lift her gaze so high. But she didn’t step back. “What men?”
    Dagr gave a low growl and crowded closer to her body. “We can play this game, but you will not win. Save yourself unnecessary pain.”
    She arched a brow. “Will you beat me? Do you want an answer that pleases you or one that is closer to the truth?”
    Blood pounded in his ears, and he tightened his fists, wishing she were male because he wanted to trade blows. But there were other ways to conquer. Ones that appealed more than they should.
    The glint of stubbornness in her golden brown eyes decided him. When was the last time anyone had defied him?
    “Before you interrogate her,” Cyrus said, his tone dry, “you’ll want the communicators removed from all the crew’s uniforms.”
    Dagr’s head whipped toward Cyrus. “Communicators?”
    “I think the patches on their collars are radios. They don’t wear utility belts anymore, so I wondered where they put them. Check the patches on their collars. They’ll be set to allow the crew to talk among themselves and to the ship’s systems, but they can be reprogrammed to access an external channel.”
    Dagr jerked his blade from its scabbard and held it