Page 2 of Her Viking Lord
Not my regular phone. The burner I kept hidden in my tampon box. The one that I had never turned on, never fully activated. The screen glowed with a notification from an app I’d never seen before: a black icon with a silver raven.
Go to your bedroom. Remove your clothing. Stand in front of your mirror with this device.
The message vanished as soon as I’d read it, leaving only the strange app icon. My mouth went dry. How was this possible? The phone had been off—more important, it didn’t have any connection to a network that I was aware of.
I should have destroyed the phone immediately. Should have flushed the SIM down the toilet and pretended none of this had happened. Instead, I found myself walking toward our bedroom, each step feeling predetermined, as if I’d already made this choice long ago.
The mirror—full length, framed in austere steel that Takken had chosen—reflected a woman I barely recognized. When had my eyes gotten so hollow? When had my shoulders started curving inward like I was protecting myself from invisible blows?
I shook my head, trying to clear it, as I realized I’d just obeyed a command from… whom? And at the moment, apparently, I was considering obeying another one—of a very different kind. I watched myself shake my head again, more decisively.No.
I looked at the phone in my hand. I tapped the silver raven tentatively. A box opened up with a blinking cursor, but before I could type anything there, another message came in.
I told you to take off your clothes. Last chance.
I swallowed harder than I thought I’d ever swallowed in my life. I felt the breath coming shallow and rapid, in and out ofmy nostrils. I thought, then typed,This is to make sure I’m not wearing a wire or something?
I wanted it to be true. I chewed the inside of my cheek. No, Idesperatelywanted to want it to be true.
No. Ten seconds.
My lips parted as if I could say something that would reach the person at the other end of the terrifying messages. My finger trembled visibly as I tapped out,or what?
I had no idea whether ten seconds had actually elapsed, or whether whoever it was had simply decided to demonstrate. What seemed a microsecond after I had tapped send, I felt as if my panties had burst into flame. Fiery pain grew rapidly into tormenting heat between my thighs. I cried out, dropped the phone, hunched down, watching in the mirror as Lorna Norquist, the prime minister’s wife, clutched at her privates as if in terrible need of the toilet.
“Oh, God,” I sobbed. “Oh, no… please…”
It couldn’t be happening, yet it definitely, definitely was. I could see it happening in the mirror. I sobbed as I managed to move my hands from my lap to the zipper at my neck. As soon as I did that, the pain vanished as though it had never been there at all. The immediate result, though, felt almost as bad: I felt myself clench, down there, for the first time in months, and I felt how instantly damp I had just become.
My fingers fumbled with the zipper, pulling it down with trembling hands. The dress—a conservative gray sheath that Takken had approved for ‘casual Fridays at home’—pooled at myfeet. I stepped out of it mechanically, my mind still reeling from what had just happened. The pain had been real. Impossibly, inexplicably real.
The phone buzzed from where I’d dropped it. I bent to retrieve it, acutely aware of my near-nakedness, of the wetness that had gathered between my thighs. Another message waited:
Good girl. Now the rest.
Good girl. The words sent an unwelcome shiver through me. When was the last time anyone had praised me for anything? Takken only noticed me when I failed to meet his expectations.
I unhooked my bra with shaking fingers, let it fall. My panties followed, the damp fabric clinging briefly before I pushed them down my legs. I stood naked before the mirror, arms instinctively moving to cover myself.
Arms at your sides. Look at yourself.
I forced my arms down, made myself meet my own gaze in the mirror. The woman looking back at me seemed like a stranger—pale skin flushed pink, nipples hardened to tight peaks, a sheen of moisture visible on her inner thighs under the dark blonde pubic curls that preserved her modesty, if only slightly. When had I last really looked at my body? When had I last felt anything below the constant, numbing anger?
You’ve been very foolish, Lorna. That forum is monitored. Your husband should already know.
Ice flooded my veins. “No,” I whispered. “That’s not possible. I was careful?—”
The laptop. The VPNs. None of it mattered if they’d been watching from the beginning. My knees nearly buckled.
But we intercepted the alert before it reached him. You have two choices now. Submit to our training, or face what Takken will do when he learns of your betrayal.
Training?The word brought a deep crease to my forehead. I typed with a shaking thumb:Who are you?
That’s not one of your choices. Choose.
I stared at my reflection, at this naked woman who’d just committed treason against her husband’s government. The smart thing would be to confess everything to Takken, throw myself on his mercy. Except I knew exactly what his mercy looked like—I’d seen what happened to the minister of finance who’d questioned the Russian deals too loudly. A car accident. His wife institutionalized for ‘grief-induced psychosis.’
My thumb moved across the screen:I submit.
