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“…The intense visuals, and impressions… the crack of the ice as the skiffs skim through the frozen waters, the colorful sea serpents that tunnel the icy depths, the frozen fortresses of New Iceland, and the seedy underworld of Karthagos all come alive in every sentence. As do the combustible romantic interludes of Dagr and Honora. Ravished is sexier, fleshier, and more mouth-watering than anything else that I have read from Devlin…” Fiendishly Bookish

“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.” Alien Places

“With the intriguing meshing of the past with the future this was an engrossing read…” Top Pick!, Night Owl Reviews

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 recalcitrant 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?

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 in front of the woman’s face. Her skin whitened, but again she didn’t flinch. When he tucked his finger beneath her collar to drag it open, the pulse at the side of her throat leapt. He pressed his finger against the spot and noted the quickening of her heartbeat.

Her glare was withering, which amused him.

He glided the finger under her chin and raised it, then fisted the banded collar and carved out the small patch, taking more material than he needed, baring her throat and the top of her chest. Holding the fabric between his fingers, he dropped the collar on the floor and crushed the patch beneath his boot.

“Give the order,” he said to Cyrus, not tearing his gaze from the woman.

Her cheeks were reddening, her body quivering. With anger now. Good. He ducked, shoved his shoulder into her belly, and lifted her off the ground.

“Khasi-bastard!” she said, her fists swinging at his head and kidneys.

“Cyrus! Check the computer. See whether another ship has docked here recently.”

“Aye, Captain,” Cyrus shouted after him, laughter in his voice. “I’ll check the logs and the manifests while you’re . . . busy.”

The woman bucked hard, legs and arms flailing to escape, but he clamped an arm around her thighs and strode toward the maintenance lift at the side of the corridor.

“Your cabin,” he bit out, nearly smiling because she wiggled harder than a black-headed eel. “Where is it?”

“Find it yourself, bastard!”

“Shall I take you against the wall, where anyone might see?” He didn’t mean it, but he wanted her nervous. He’d dull the edge of authority from her stubborn chin. Didn’t she know women were meant to be soft and yielding?

“That’s right. Prove you’re a watyie pirate. Rape me!”

When her toes slammed perilously close to his groin, he swatted her backside. “It will not be rape. We both know that.”

The wriggling calmed, but only because she’d worked a hand beneath his wolf headdress and was pulling his hair. “I’ll fight you.”

He grimaced. Her grip was fierce, and his scalp stung. “You’ll only make a show of it because you should, elskling.”

The doors of the lift closed, and the conveyance slid downward. When the doors opened again, he stepped into a deserted corridor, narrower than the one that tracked along the spine of the bird-shaped ship.

“Which way?” His hand rubbed her bottom, and she squirmed harder, trying to break his hold. “Make your choice. Will I take you here, where anyone might see us? Or in your room?” To prove his threat, he slid his hand between her legs and stroked her folds through the thin black skin.

Her body stiffened, and her gasp echoed in his ear. “Damn you. End of the hall.”

The corridor was barely higher than the top his head, and he pushed forward, crouching slightly but not caring that her bottom hit the ceiling here and there.

Her hands clasped his hips to steady herself and he grunted, enjoying the fact she was already adjusting, adapting to his control although she likely thought she was only trying to avoid further injury.

He came to the last door, pressed down the latch, and pushed open the oval metal hatch. He ducked inside and halted, remembering it from his search. The room was barely larger than the many closets he’d seen. The bed was little more than a shelf and too short for his body. Her furnishings were sparse—just the bed and a small built-in cabinet beside it with a gooseneck lamp jutting from the wall.

There were no pictures, no art or even maps on her walls, which were no more than cabinet doors. Not a single note of color warmed the small, airless, gray room. No softness was betrayed whatsoever. And yet she was fully feminine. The curves surrounding his shoulder and digging into his back were proof.

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 than 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. “I’m not some pleasure thrall.”

“Are you telling me this because you lack skill and fear I’ll be disappointed?” he drawled.

“I could care less whether you are disappointed,” she spat.

He leaned closer and trailed his lips across her forehead.

She jerked and turned away, her chest trembling around her quickening breaths.

“Why do you resist me? We can both seek our pleasure. You are as aroused as I am.” He pressed his fingers harder against her sex.

Her head swung back. Stark longing mixed with rage were reflected in her amber gaze. “You are my enemy.”

“Then treat this like another form of battle.”

Her jaw tensed, her lips firming, but she rolled her hips, a slight, shallow movement that ground her pussy against his palm as 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.

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

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