Devil's Angel Read Online Free Page B

softness. “I will have answers.”
    The mercenary refused to answer him. Conor could do naught but stare at her. How comely she looked, glaring in pure Viking defiance. He wondered if she knew how her breasts pushed against the delicate fabric of her shift when she breathed.
    “Where are my belongings?” she demanded. “And my—my companions?”
    “The pain makes you rude, Angel,” he admonished her. “Your weapons are locked away safe. Most of your garments are ruined, but more will be procured for you. If you need them.”
    So, she was to be left with nothing. Erika knew then that she would die. She could accept that. It had always been the destination at the end of the path she had chosen. But by Odin, she would take this despicable cretin with her when she left this world!
    Despicable or not, her adversary was not unpleasant to look upon. She thought the men in her homeland were giants, but this man matched the size of many a Viking warrior. There was an air of masculine grace and prowess about him that was unmistakable. Just looking at him caused something to thrum deep inside her. Those gray eyes bored into her own, digging beneath her surface.
    The pain made her more than rude. It made her fanciful as well. Blinking to clear her thoughts, she demanded, “Will you tell me the fate of my companions?” Her jaw clenched as she jerked her eyes away from him to stare at the wall. She would not ask again.
    She heard him take a foundering breath. Would he tell her? “The elder Northman is dead,” he said bluntly. “The younger man still clings to life, but my healer is not optimistic.”
    Larangar. She wanted to shriek at the grief that welled inside her. Another two days, and her close-kin would have been on a ship bound for Anglia. She clung to the belief that he had found his way to Valhalla and was even now drinking with their fathers. She could not bear it if he was denied. Then his blood would be on her hands, as surely as if she’d felled him herself.
    Pushing the anguish away, Erika summoned anger as her shield. Weakness spread through her with each breath. If she wanted to vanquish this ignoble cur, she would have to do it now.
    “You wish to know what I accuse you of,” she said heavily. “I accuse you of being a thief and a coward and a murderer!”
    “What?” His roar of outrage could flatten the stoutest of men. Even Erika was not immune to it. Her legs crumpled beneath her, and she collapsed nerveless onto the coarse straw.
    “You would feign ignorance of your heinous deeds?” she demanded, wheezing as stars danced on the periphery of her vision. Her arm pressed against her side in a futile effort to staunch the pain that throbbed with every heartbeat. “You—you murdered the women and children of that village for nothing more than fish, pelts and a few pieces of silver!”
    “How dare you accuse me of raiding my own village?”
    “I have seen Irish as well as Viking attack villages and monasteries,” she answered, gasping. “Your protest means little to me. Devil or no, I will kill you. You will pay for what you have done.”
    She pushed him too far. Infuriated, Conor swooped down on her, grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her upright. It was no small accomplishment—though slight of build, the Viking had weight to match her height. He brought her close until a mere breath separated them.
    “What I have done?” he echoed, his anger blazing like a summer squall. “You are the one who will pay for what you have done!”
    She stared at him with eyes as hard as the amethysts they favored. “Threatening wounded women—that is so like a coward,” she sneered. “Is that how you earned your name?”
    “Woman, you try my patience!”
    “What will you do? Kill a defenseless woman? Surely you have more honor than that, Devil?”
    Unthinking, Conor backed her against the wall. “What would you know of honor, Angel of Death?” he asked, his voice brutal with rage. “You and your