Chapter 1
I wake to the sound of the sea.
Not the gentle roll of waves that i have known all my life, but something deeper and heavier. Wood groans beneath me, thick beams shifting as if the world itself is breathing. My body sways, stomach lurching, and panic claws its way up my throat before I can stop it.
I am not in my village.
Memory crashes back in fragments—smoke, screams, heat against my skin. Iron hands. Firelight reflecting off steel. And him.
I push myself upright, wincing as my head throbs. I am lying on furs, not bound, not bruised the way I expected to be. My dress is torn but still on me. My hands shake as I touch my arms, my ribs, my throat—whole. Alive.
That frightens me more than blood would have.
The longship creaks around me, the scent of salt and tar thick in the air. Men’s voices murmur beyond the wooden wall, low and rough, speaking a language edged with sharp sounds. Laughter follows deep, careless, and most of all victorious.
My breath comes shallow to me making my chest twist with panic.
I am a prize.The door scrapes open.
He fills the doorway like a shadow given flesh.
Up close, he is even more terrifying than he was in the firelight—tall, broad, carved from muscle and battle. His hair is dark, pulled back, strands loose around a face marked by old scars. Not disfiguring. Earned. His eyes find me instantly, cold and assessing, as if he has been thinking of me even when I was unconscious.
I scramble back until my spine hits the wall.
He does not rush me.
That is worse.
“You are awake,” he says, voice low, calm. Not cruel. Not kind. Certain.
I swallow. “Where am I?”
“At sea.”
I knew that. The answer tightens my chest anyway. “Why?”
His gaze drifts over me—not leering, not hurried. Measured. As if he is committing me to memory.
“Because I chose you.”
A chill runs through me. “I am not yours to choose.”
One corner of his mouth lifts—not a smile. “You were standing when all others were kneeling.”
I don’t know why that matters to him, and I hate that it does.
“I will not scream,” I say, lifting my chin despite the fear burning through me. “And I will not beg.”
Something sharp flickers behind his eyes. Interest. Approval.
“Good,” he replies. “I do not keep broken things.”
He steps closer, and I feel his presence like heat—overwhelming, inescapable. I expect pain. Expect hands on me.
Instead, he stops.
“You will eat when food is brought,” he says. “No one will touch you.”
My breath stutters. “Why?”
His gaze locks onto mine, intense enough to steal the air from my lungs.
“Because you are under my protection.”
Protection.
I don't need protection from others, I need it from him.
Before I can speak, he turns and leaves, the door closing behind him with a final scrape of wood and thud against the frame.
I am alone again with my heart racing,and my mind spinning.
I was taken by the most feared man of the north.
And somehow… I am more afraid of what he isn’t doing than what he might.Night comes slowly, like the world is holding its breath.
The ship is quieter now. The roar of the sea has softened, the men’s voices dulled by exhaustion and drink. A torch burns outside the door, its light slipping through the cracks in the wood, painting the walls in restless gold.
I sit on the edge of the furs, knees drawn to my chest, listening.
Waiting.
I don’t know what I’m waiting for—but every instinct in me knows he will come.
The door opens without warning.
He steps inside and shuts it behind him, sealing us into the dim space together. The torchlight catches on his skin, on the thick leather strapped across his chest, on the faint sheen of salt and sweat along his throat. He looks as though he has just come from battle, even at rest—dangerous, coiled, controlled.
My pulse stutters.
“You should be sleeping,” he says.
“I don’t sleep in cages,” I reply, before fear can stop me.
Something unreadable crosses his face. He moves closer, slow enough that I could flee if I wanted to.
I don’t.
“This is not a cage,” he says. “You are free to walk the ship.”
“And jump into the sea?”
“If you wished,” he answers evenly. “I would not stop you.”
I laugh softly, the sound sharp with disbelief. “You dragged me from my home.”
“Yes.”
“You killed—”
“I know what I did.”
He stops directly in front of me. Too close. I can feel the heat of him now, the sheer weight of his presence pressing into my space. He lowers himself until we are eye level, his gaze steady, searching.
“You are afraid,” he says.
“Yes.”
“But you do not look away.”
My breath catches. I hate that he notices everything.
“Why me?” I whisper.
For the first time, he hesitates.
“Because you did not beg,” he finally says. “Because you looked at me like I was a man—not a god, not a monster.”
His hand lifts.
Every muscle in my body locks.
He pauses, waiting. Giving me time to pull back.
I don’t.
His fingers brush my chin, just barely—an almost-touch that sends heat spiraling through my chest. He tilts my face up, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“You do not belong to me,” he says quietly. “Not yet.”
Yet.
The word settles between us like a promise and a threat all at once.
His thumb traces my lower lip—once. Slow. Deliberate.
My breath breaks.
He leans in, close enough that his forehead nearly touches mine. His voice drops, rough and intimate.
“If I take you,” he murmurs, “it will not be in anger. It will not be stolen.”
My heart is pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.
“I will wait,” he says. “But do not mistake my patience for mercy.”
His hand slides from my face to my waist, firm, possessive—holding me there, just long enough for my knees to weaken.
Then he lets go.
He stands, turns away, and opens the door.
“Sleep,” he orders softly. “Tomorrow, you will see my world.”
The door closes behind him.
I am left shaking on the furs, skin burning where he touched me, knowing with terrifying certainty—
That next time, he will not stop.
Sleep does not come.
The ship rocks gently beneath me, but my body is wound too tight, every nerve still buzzing from his touch. I lie back on the furs, staring at the ceiling, my skin burning where his hand had been—as if he branded me without leaving a mark.
Time stretches.
Then footsteps.
Slow. Heavy. Familiar.
My heart stutters.
The door opens again, quieter this time, and he steps inside without speaking. He looks different now—no weapons, no armor. Just a simple tunic clinging to a body built for violence. The torchlight catches the planes of his chest, the thick cords of his arms.
“I told you to sleep,” he says.
“I tried.”
That seems to satisfy him.
He moves closer, and I push myself upright without thinking. The air between us tightens, thick with something unsaid. He kneels in front of me, bringing us level again, close enough that my knees brush his thighs. Too close.
“Why are you still here?” I whisper.
His gaze drops—to my mouth, my throat, the rise and fall of my chest. When he looks back up, his control is thinner now. Taut. Strained.
“Because if I leave,” he says quietly, “I will not return with restraint.”
My breath catches.
His hand lifts again, slower this time, giving me every chance to stop him. When his fingers touch my wrist, it’s firm but gentle, his thumb pressing lightly against my pulse.
He feels it jump.
“So alive,” he murmurs, almost to himself.
Heat coils low in my stomach. I should pull away. I don’t.
His hand slides up my arm, rough skin against mine, stopping at my shoulder. He doesn’t pull me closer and doesn't need to. I lean forward without realizing it, drawn in by the gravity of him.
“You are not afraid of me,” he says.
“I am,” I whisper.
“But you are curious.”
His other hand comes to my waist, fingers splaying wide, anchoring me there. Not forcing. Claiming. My breath shudders as his thumb presses into the small of my back, grounding, possessive.
“Say the word,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “And I will step away.”
I open my mouth.
No sound comes out.
His jaw tightens. A muscle jumps there, the only sign of the war raging behind his eyes. He leans in until his breath brushes my cheek, his nose grazing my temple.
Not a kiss but worse.
His forehead rests briefly against mine, heavy and intimate, and for a moment the world narrows to warmth and breath and the steady pressure of his hands holding me exactly where he wants me.
“This is restraint,” he murmurs. “Do not doubt that.”
Then slowly, deliberately he releases me.
The absence of his touch is almost painful.
He stands, straightening, rebuilding the distance between us brick by brick. Before he leaves, his gaze pins me in place one last time.
“Sleep,” he says again. “You will need your strength.”
The door closes.
I sink back onto the furs with my heart racing, body humming, knowing with absolute certainty that he is not waiting because he lacks desire.
He is waiting because when he finally takes me…
there will be no stopping him.He comes for me in the dark.
Not with words and not with warning.
One moment I am alone, pacing the narrow space, trying to quiet the storm in my chest—and the next, the door opens and he is there, filling the room like a force of nature finally unleashed.
His eyes find me instantly.
“You should not look at me like that,” he says.
“Like what?” I whisper.
“Like you are waiting.”
He closes the door and the sound is final.
He crosses the room and takes my face in both hands, rough palms warm against my skin, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. He tilts my head back, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“This ends tonight,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “One way or another.”
My breath shakes. “I’m not afraid.”
A lie. A lie that I am sure he can see right through.
He leans in, stopping a breath away from my mouth. Close enough that I feel the restraint in him cracking, feel it in the tension of his hands, the tightness of his jaw.
“Say it,” he murmurs.
“Say what?”
“That you want this.”
The world narrows to his eyes and his hands. And the heat between us grows.
“I—” My voice falters. I swallow. “I don’t want you to stop.”
That’s all it takes.
He pulls me into him, hard, one arm locking around my waist, the other tangling in my hair as his forehead presses to mine. His breath is ragged now, control fraying.
“Gods help you,” he murmurs, more vow than warning.
His mouth finds my neck and he begins kissing it. His kiss is not gentle and not cruel but claiming.
I gasp, fingers clutching at his shoulders as the floor seems to tilt beneath me. His grip tightens, lifting me just enough that my feet barely brush the ground, my body pinned to his by nothing but strength and intent.
The world disappears.
There is only heat, and breath, and the sound of my name on his lips for the first time low, reverent, dangerous.
He carries me toward the furs and the torchlight flickers. He lays me down gently and hovers over me. His hand grips my dress at the waist of it as if he is about to rip it from my body. Tears prick my eyes and he pauses.
“What's wrong? Do you not want me anymore?” I shake my head.
“That's not it, I just don't want you to rip my dress off of me, not this one at least, it was a gift from my mother.” He nods and kisses my neck again.
“I wasn't going to do that. I know I am a brute but I wouldn't do that to you. Not yet anyway.”
His lips meet mine again and when he pulls away I am left breathless. He removes his fur coat from his body and sets it down next to the bed he unbuttons his pants, takes them off and sets them next to the bed as well.
“Sit up please.” He says and removes my dress. My breasts are freed to the wind and my nipples perk up. I cover my breasts with my arm and he grabs my wrist and gently removes it from my chest.
He pushes me back against the furs and keeps my arm above my head.
He nudges my legs open and forces himself between my thighs. I feel him up against my entrance and I glance down between us to see him. My mouth falls open and shock courses through me. There is NO way that he is going to fit inside of me.
He lets go of my arm to gently grip my chin and force my eyes to his. “This is going to hurt but it'll be okay.”
He slowly eases his tip inside of me and I ignore the gentle stinging. He pushes himself in me inch by inch until he suddenly pauses.
“This is the final push. Its going to hurt the most.” He breaks my innocence in one more final push and tears fall down my face. He pulls out and slides back in. His thrusts are slow and eventually the pain stops and it feels nothing but good. I push back on his shoulders and he freezes.
“Please stop.” He pulls out of me immediately and I push him off me and onto his back. I grip him and force him back inside of me and my eyes roll back in my head as I slide up and down on his thick length. He groans and rests his arms behind his head as I continue on. I bounce a little faster and moan as I come around him. His hands come from behind his head and he grips my waist as he comes inside of me.The silence afterward is heavy.
I am the first to move.
I shift, carefully at first, then more decisively, pulling myself away from him. The furs slide beneath my hands as I climb off, my body still warm, unsteady, buzzing in ways I don’t yet have words for.
He doesn’t stop me and instead he watches.
I feel his gaze on my back as I reach for my clothes, fingers clumsy as I gather the torn fabric. I don’t look at him while I dress. I don’t want to see his expression—not yet. Not when I don’t know what this means.
Behind me, I hear him sit up. Leather creaks. Metal shifts. He moves with the same calm precision he always has, as if what just happened did not unmake him at all.
I tie my dress with shaking hands.
When I finally turn, he is standing, already dressed, already rebuilt into the man everyone fears. The distance between us feels deliberate now—measured, controlled.
“You should not leave the ship today,” he says.
No asking me are you well or do you regret it instead he just gives an order.
I lift my chin. “You don’t get to command me.”
A flicker of something dark and dangerous passes through his eyes—but it fades just as quickly.
“No,” he agrees. “Not like that.”
He steps closer, stopping just out of reach. His voice lowers.
“But you are no longer untouchable to the world. Only to me.”
My pulse jumps.
“You don’t get to decide what I am,” I say.
His mouth curves—not a smile. Something sharper.
“I already did.”
He turns away first, reaching for his cloak, giving me his back as if daring me to run.
I don’t.
When he opens the door, cold air rushes in, carrying the sounds of men, sea, and life continuing as if nothing has changed.
Everything has.
He pauses in the doorway and speaks without looking at me.
“Eat,” he says. “Then rest.”
Then he’s gone.
I stand alone, fully dressed, heart still racing, knowing one thing with brutal clarity whatever passed between us was not an ending it was a line that was crossed.The air on the deck is sharp and cold, biting at my skin as I step out from below. The sky is pale, washed thin with early light, the sun still low and distant. Men move around me—pulling ropes, checking sails, speaking in low voices—but no one speaks to me.
They watch and I walk past them anyway.
The edge of the ship looms ahead, the narrow curve of wood slick with spray. The sea stretches endlessly beyond it—dark, restless, alive. Wind tugs at my hair, at my clothes, urging me forward.
One more step and there would be nothing beneath me.
I place my foot on the rim.
A murmur ripples through the deck.
“Gods—” “Is she mad?”
I ignore them. I stand there, toes hanging just over the edge, the ocean roaring below like an open mouth. The ship rocks beneath me, a reminder of how little balance it would take.
I close my eyes and breath,I could jump.
The thought is calm. Clear. Almost peaceful.
Hands close around my waist.
Strong and unmistakable.
He doesn’t yank me back. Doesn’t shout. He simply holds me there, his chest solid against my back, anchoring me without a word. His grip is firm but steady, like he’s done this before—like he knows exactly how close to the edge I am.
“You will not die today,” he says quietly near my ear.
I inhale, my breath catching as the wind whips around us. “Let me go.”
“No.”
The word is absolute.
His hold tightens just enough to make the point, pulling me back an inch—just enough to bring my center of gravity onto the deck again. He rests his forehead briefly against the side of my head, not intimate, not gentle.
Certain.
“You do not get to choose the sea,” he continues. “Not while you are under my protection.”
I open my eyes.
The horizon stretches endlessly ahead of us, cold and beautiful and cruel. Slowly, I step back from the edge, his hands never leaving my waist until both my feet are solidly on the deck.
Only then does he release me.
When I turn, his face is carved from stone, eyes dark with something that looks dangerously close to fear.
“Do not test the water again,” he says. “It always answers.”
I hold his gaze, heart pounding. “And what if I had jumped?”
His jaw tightens.
“Then I would have followed,” he says simply.
He turns away before I can respond, barking orders to his men as if nothing happened.
But I know better.
Because from that moment on, no matter where I stand on this ship
He never lets me out of his sight.He is halfway across the deck when I speak.
“You told me you wouldn’t stop me.”
The words carry farther than I expect. The wind snatches them up, throws them back at him like a blade.
He freezes and slowly, he turns.
The men nearby pretend very hard not to listen. No one moves. Even the sea seems to quiet, waiting.
“You said,” I continue, my voice steady now, stronger than I feel, “that if I wanted to jump, you would not stop me.”
His eyes lock onto mine. There is something dark there now—not rage. Something worse.
“That was before,” he says.
“Before what?”
He walks back to me, each step deliberate, controlled, as if he is reining in something violent beneath his skin. He stops an arm’s length away.
“Before you stood on my ship,” he says. “Before you looked at me like you were testing whether I would let you die.”
I swallow. “So you lied.”
“No.” His voice drops. “I learned.”
The wind snaps his cloak around him. Up close, I can see it now—the tension in his jaw, the restraint in the way his hands curl into fists at his sides.
“You wanted to see if I meant it,” he says. “If I was the kind of man who would watch you fall.”
“And are you?” I ask.
His gaze flicks briefly to the edge of the ship. To the water below. Then back to me.
“I am the kind of man who would burn the world down to keep what is mine alive.”
The words are not loud.
They don’t need to be.
My pulse stutters. “I’m not yours.”
One corner of his mouth lifts, sharp and humorless.
“You stood at the edge and waited for me to come for you,” he says. “Do not pretend otherwise.”
I don’t answer.
He steps closer, lowering his voice so only I can hear.
“You can test me again,” he murmurs. “But do not mistake my small amount restraint for indifference.”
Then he straightens, turning away, the moment dismissed as if it were nothing.
But as he walks off, I realize the truth settling heavy in my chest
He didn’t stop me because he feared losing control.
He stopped me because he already had.
