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  “I am imprisoning you as an enemy of the crown.” Vohne’s voice remained calm and even, but Kres could feel fury pulsing through their link.

  “You can lock me up, but you can never stop us all. We will take back this planet from antiquated ideas and bring it into the future,” Niafe shrieked.

  Kres stepped forward. “We will stop you all. Anyone who threatens my man won’t have to worry about jail.” He let the threat hang in the air.

  She softened her stance as she looked at him. “Kres, we can be friends. I don’t blame you for following your mate’s lead. You’ve been doing it for so long you don’t know any better. Join with me and I can free you from his influence. As the acknowledged king-mate, you and I can rule together.”

  Kres couldn’t believe the woman’s gall. “You don’t care who rules by your side as long as you can rule. I don’t know who you have behind you, but they’d best watch for that knife in their back.”

  “I could make you king!” she screamed.

  Shaking his head, Kres gave her a pitying look. “Honey, that’s where you made your mistake. I’ve never wanted to be king.”

  With a shriek of fury, she shoved free of her guards. “If I can’t have him, neither can you.” With inhuman strength, she kicked Bleine’s chamber.

  Before their horrified gaze, the cryogenic pod fell over, the glass face plate shattering on the floor.

  “No!” Vohne rushed to his brother’s side. Bleine’s body convulsed from the shock of sudden exposure.

  “Get the medic!” Kres shouted. “And contain her.” He didn’t know what stood as a doctor on this planet, but if they didn’t get help soon, his mate’s brother wouldn’t survive.

  Vohne opened the tube, revealing Bleine gasping for air.

  The sound of someone choking drew Kres’ attention to his right.

  A soldier lay curled up and shivering on the floor. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked the closest soldier.

  The man rushed over to hold down the shaking man. “Sarler is an empath.”

  “Human?” Kres asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Perfect.”

  Kres lifted the slim human in his arms. Luckily, the guy was fairly light. He might be a soldier, but Kres wasn’t up to Thresl strength.

  He almost dropped Sarler twice on the way over to Bleine. The kid kept wiggling and convulsing.

  Vohne looked up. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m solving this problem. The medics are taking too long.”

  Kres carefully laid the empath beside Bleine then pressed the men’s hands together.

  Immediately, the convulsions stopped. Bleine’s eyes snapped open, the focus in them sharp as if he’d just closed them instead of having been in a cryogenic chamber. Sitting up, he leaned over the empath and planted a kiss on the young human.

  Pleased with his solution, Kres stepped back and found himself the focus of his mate’s disapproving look.

  “What?”

  “Bleine isn’t gay.”

  He looked down at the two men kissing then back at Vohne. “Looks like he’s doing fine to me. Want me to give him some pointers?”

  “No! He is mine. I’ll kill you!” Niafe’s voice cut through the room.

  Kres looked over in time to see Niafe slide a knife out of her boot and stab one of the distracted guards. The second guard grabbed at her as she ran for Bleine.

  Instinct took over.

  Snatching up his weapon, Kres threw it at her. The blade spun in the air with a soft whistling noise before embedding in the centre of her throat.

  With a strangled gasp, Niafe fell to the ground, fingers scrabbling at the dagger. Before she could pull it out, her movements stilled. Blood poured from the wound, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

  Kres was sick of people trying to kill him. Damn it, he’d come here to have a peaceful life with his lover, and he was going to have peace if he had to stab every one of the fuckers.

  A medic shoved through the crowd, falling to his knees beside her.

  “About time you got here,” Kres growled. “She’s dead. Check the prince.”

  The man paled beneath Kres’ glare. With shaking hands, he pulled an instrument out of his bag then waved a long glowing wand over the two men. “Prince Bleine and his mate will be fine.” He pulled a syringe out of his bag then quickly injected Bleine. “This will help his body adapt.”

  The human tore himself away from Bleine. “I can’t be his mate.”

  “Why not?” Bleine asked.

  “Neither of us are lovers of men.”

  Kres shook his head. “You people are too much drama for me. I’m going to bed. I’ve had a long day.” Turning on his heel, he marched out of the room.

  He hid his smile as he heard Vohne’s footsteps follow him. He’d know the sound of his mate anywhere.

  “Would you like company?”

  He gave his mate a careful once-over. “You might as well come along and pound me into the mattress. I mean, other than ruling a planet, you’ve got nothing to do.”

  Vohne gave a choked laugh. “True.”

  “Maybe we should get you a hobby, like flower arranging,” Kres said, warming to his theme.

  “Why would I need to arrange flowers?”

  Kres flashed him an innocent look. “Well, they’re not going to arrange themselves.”

  “True. Or I could just be your boy toy,” Vohne offered.

  “Hmmm.” Kres gave the idea the serious attention the proposal deserved. “You’re certainly pretty enough, but can you practise saying important things like yes, sir, whatever you say, sir? Because I really get off on the power thing.”

  Vohne’s rich laugh filled the corridor. “Yes, I’ve heard you’re a power hungry bastard.”

  “Yep, that’s me.” Switching thoughts, he turned serious. “We’ll need to figure out who Niafe was working with.”

  Vohne nodded. “But not today. Today we’ll enjoy each other. We’ll have time after our mating ceremony to hunt down the betrayers.”

  “Maybe your brother will have better insight.”

  “Maybe,” Vohne agreed.

  “I think that was supposed to be maybe, sir.” Reaching over, Kres pinched Vohne’s ass before fleeing down the hall, laughing as he heard his mate chasing after him. So much for kings never running.

  Tonight, they would enjoy their bond. Tomorrow, he had to be fitted with formal robes for the mating ceremony and do the million and one things a king-mate was required to do. Glancing back at his quickly gaining lover, he decided, despite all the drama, he would do anything for the man-cat he loved.

  About the Author

  Amber is one of those quiet people they always tell you to watch out for. She lives in Seattle with her husband, two sons, two cats and one extremely stupid dog.

  Email: [email protected]

  Amber loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.totallybound.com.

  Also by Amber Kell

  Hellbourne

  Back to Hell

  Matchmaker, Matchmaker

  Switching Payne

  Supernatural Mates: From Pack to Pride

  Supernatural Mates: A Prideful Mate

  Supernatural Mates: A Prideless Man

  Supernatural Mates: Nothing To Do With Pride

  Supernatural Mates: Talan’s Treasure

  Supernatural Mates: More Than Pride

  Supernatural Mates: Protecting His Pride

  Cowboy Lovin’: Tyler’s Cowboy

  Cowboy Lovin’: Robert’s Rancher

  Dangerous Lovers: Catching Mr Right

  Dangerous Lovers: Accounting for Luke

  Yearning Love: Taking Care of Charlie

  Yearning Love: Protecting Francis

  Planetary Submissives: Chalice

  Planetary Submissives: Orlin’s Fall

  Planetary Submissives: Zall’s Captain

  Magical Men: Keepin
g Dallas

  The Under Wolves: A Gamma’s Choice

  Mercenary Love: Tempting Sin

  Mercenary Love: Testing Arthur

  Mercenary Love: Teasing Jonathan

  The Thresl Chronicles: Soldier Mine

  The Thresl Chronicles: Prince Claimed

  The Thresl Chronicles: Politician Won

  The Thresl Chronicles: Bonded Broken

  The Thresl Chronicles: Duke Betrayed

  Hidden Magic: William’s House

  Hidden Magic: Modelling Death

  Hidden Magic: Magically His

  A Wizard’s Touch: Jaynell’s Wolf

  Heart Attack: My Subby Valentine

  Scared Stiff: Protecting His Soul

  Unconventional at Best: Convention Confusion

  Unconventional in Atlanta: Blown Away

  Lightning Strikes

  THE VIKING IN MY BED

  Jan Irving

  Dedication

  Be your own light—Buddha.

  This one’s for T.A. Chase.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Conan the Barbarian: Robert E Howard; Wildside Press

  The Lord of the Rings: JRR Tolkein

  Gundar the Invincible: Marvel Worldwide, Inc.

  Starbucks: Starbucks Corporation

  Dark Hunter: Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Queer Eye: Bravo Cable Television Network

  BlackBerry: Research In Motion

  Smart Car: Daimler AG

  Campbell’s: Campbell’s Soup Company

  Norwegian Wood: Lennon/McCartney

  Monopoly: Parker Brothers

  A Natural Woman: King/Goffin

  Darth Vader: George Lucas; 20th Century Fox

  Hallmark: Hallmark Cards, Inc.

  Goodreads: Goodreads Inc

  Buffy: Mutant Enemy Productions

  Dodge: Chrysler Group LLC

  Royal Doulton: WWRD United Kingdom Ltd

  X-Files: Chris Carter; 20th Century Fox

  Star Wars: George Lucas; 20th Century Fox

  Mork and Mindy: Henderson Productions

  Chapter One

  Oh. That felt just toooo good.

  Warm lips on my sweet spot. A lot of guys had made the mistake of thinking my sweet spot was in the obvious location, but I have a thing for having my right armpit licked and suckled, right over this little mole.

  A soft beard scraped my skin with just the right amount of pressure. I shivered, arching my body.

  I was aware I was close to waking up, like a boat about to bump onto a beach, but the hand stroking my bare chest felt so good I didn’t want to. What was good about Thursday? Thursday was rain, midterms, coffee with Candy, and maybe I’d be able to squeeze in an hour boarding. Maybe.

  Thursday was not vivid blue eyes staring into mine. A wide, delighted smile, like a kid’s smile. Plump ribbons of braided blond hair that framed a tanned face. Miles of muscle that I was…stroking?

  I sat up.

  “Good. This will be better when you’re awake, yes, seiðmaðr?” a heavily accented voice boomed.

  He was so loud I covered my ears. The guy on top of me had a chest like a fog horn.

  “What are you doing?” I squeaked.

  I was naked. Since I’d moved into college residence, I could sleep naked, which saved a lot of time on laundry. My two other roommates were guys, so it’s not like I was going to offend their tender sensibilities.

  “I am making love to you, of course,” the gigantic blond bellowed.

  “Stop shouting!” I yelled.

  He frowned, looking like a puzzled golden retriever. “You shouted.”

  “I live here!” I said with, I have to admit, very little logic. “Listen, Conan, can you get off me?”

  He was built like Arnie and he was squishing my legs into my bed. This had to be a set up. I wondered who wanted to yank my, uh, tail—which was hard enough to wag right now.

  But so was Conan’s.

  “I am not called Conan,” he told me stiffly.

  “Uh huh. So how much did my friends pay you?” He pushed back the blankets. His name might not be Conan, but if they made a rubber to fit his dick, it would be Conan-sized. I stared, my mouth watering.

  Focus, I scolded myself. Just because he has the kind of cock I’d love to suck, I mean love, going down as far as I could on the monster and holding those big rocks and squeezing them…

  Right, focus. I got out of bed and grabbed some briefs off the back of a chair.

  Conan got out of bed and stood there, hands on his hips, as naked as Michelangelo’s David.

  “Where’d you put your clothes?” I looked around, then sniffed. “Do you smell smoke?”

  “You ask a lot of questions,” he noted.

  “Is that a new kind of weed? What is that smell?” Had I left the boiler plate on again? Geez. It smelt like scorched earth in here. It hadn’t been that long since I’d done the laundry.

  “It is the mark of my passage to this world,” Conan said.

  Mark. I saw the hardwood floor was scuffed up. There was a burn on my fake wood wall and a seared heap of cloth that was a weird red colour. I stared at the wool, trying to figure out why it looked both familiar and strange. Oh, it had been dyed with raw madder. I’d helped Mom mix that natural dye for her weaving projects. I picked up the cloth, seeing fragments of a round neckline and cuffs with metal links featuring a snarling animal face. Wow. Mom would be really into this. I was about to ask Conan where he got the shirt when I noticed something else…

  “Oh no, my graphic!” The new knot design I’d finished the night before was scorched, the paper curled. Damn. I stuffed it carefully in my messenger bag. Maybe I could photocopy the design. I wanted to show it to my prof later today.

  I looked at the guy I’d woken up with.

  He was very tall, towering over me. He wore a neatly trimmed dark blond beard. On either side of his face were golden braids, though the rest of his hair was long and free.

  He was gorgeous, but obviously obsessed with some kind of role-playing. Figures there’d be something wrong with him since I’d woken up with him. I’d always picked the lemons in the barrel.

  But he had a sweet smile.

  And I had class in less than an hour.

  I tossed more of my clothing, looking for a clean T-shirt. I found one with palm trees and camels my Mom had snagged for me on a trip to Cairo. It was clean. Now I needed my favourite pair of stonewashed jeans.

  Conan was still standing there, glowering at me like I was a servant boy who’d forgotten to dress his royal highness.

  “Okay,” I said. “I gotta get to class. It was real funny.” I swallowed. How he got me so hard, so excited. How he felt covering me. “Ha ha. Now go, your Lordship.”

  “I am Freyr Grímsson,” he continued, in a language I didn’t understand. Maybe it was Middle-earth. I found my jeans.

  “There’s coffee and, I think, some left over pizza in the fridge,” I told him. “Bye.”

  I sneaked one last look at him over my shoulder as I snagged my backpack.

  He took my breath away. Glowing golden skin, glowering at me out of electric-blue eyes, hands on his corded hips, the kind of hips with dimples created by muscles. He had scars on his body too. Probably some kind of makeup to go with his persona. His cock hung long from a thatch of blond hair almost as bright as the gold on his head. Holy geez. I gave it a wistful glance and then slammed the door behind me.

  Haldir or Elderade, or whatever he called himself, bellowed again. I winced. Lucky my roommates were off on some kind of anthropological camping thing. Hopefully no one in the building would complain. Late night noise was tolerated. Early mornings, not so much.

  “Bailey!” Candy was waiting for me. “We’re going to be late!”

  My best friend, Candy Drake, gave me a scandalised look out of large, soul-heavy brown
eyes. Candy lived life as if she were a Regency romance heroine, with rules and etiquette. I’d had to get her drunk the night she’d got her first parking ticket. She was not a rebel at heart. Conformity was her thing.

  Fortunately I understood her, since Candy and I had the same taste in reading. Growing up, we’d read all kinds. Candy’s favourites were romantic suspense while mine were paranormal romances. We could spend hours talking about our favourite heroes.

  “We won’t be late. You have to factor in the time it takes for everyone to sit.” I had it down to a science because I am not remotely a morning person. I just hit my stride by 2am.

  Behind us, the door shook as if the mighty Thor had struck it with his hammer. Candy’s mouth gaped. “Wow, did one of your roommates run out of coffee?”

  Damn, there were actually splinters and a hole in my door!

  “As if you don’t know!” I flashed. I figured Candy had to be part of this. Today was my birthday. So she’d given me a Viking, like one of the demanding Alpha males in a Johanna Lindsey romance—except this guy took his role-playing a little too seriously.

  Candy shoved back her long dark hair, her face so pale her freckles stood out like flecks of sawdust on cream. “Bailey!” she squeaked, much as I had earlier that morning.

  She squeaked because the door exploded like a cannonball had fired through it.

  And there he was, Gundar the Invincible, completely and magnificently naked except for his mighty sword, which had two crescent moon shapes on either side of a pommel, the metal beaten. Wow, it looked really authentic to my untrained eye. I was surprised he’d used it on my door when it must have set him back quite a bit of dough, a reproduction weapon like that.

  He gave me an outraged look, as if I’d been the one to smash the freaking door.

  All down the hallway of my residence, half-dressed students with blurry eyes and bed hair appeared. They poked their heads out, staring open-mouthed at Gundar the Destroyer’s amazing ripped body.

  “Bailey?” Candy gasped.

  Gundar reached out one giant fist and snagged my T-shirt, dragging me to him.

  “You will do your duty by me,” he growled and shook me, like a puppy that had piddled on the rug.