She knew now why the candles still burned, why Selig had not tried to sleep. He had been waiting for this, likely savoring the thoughtof it, and now was going to thoroughly enjoy putting the chains on her himself.
Sweet Freya, she didn’t want to be chained. Selig the Blessed was not offering a choice.
She was shoved in front of him, practically between his spread knees. It was too close. He was naked sitting there on the bed, with only a corner of his blanket drawn over his lap. But when she tried to step back, it was to encounter Ivarr directly behind her.
The chains were tossed on the bed beside Selig, where Erika was able to get a closer look at them, and in fact jumped at the chance to look elsewhere than at the man. She had understood from Ivarr’s words that they were not normal chains, were made special to Selig’s specifications, but she was surprised now to see how unusual they were.
The metal links were not just thin, as Ivarr had mentioned, but were also quite small, like none she had ever seen before, at least not for this purpose. Silver and gold chained girdles had links this small. These looked, frankly, useless, too flimsy to hold anything. Hope rose, only to drop in the same instant. Ivarr had tested them. If he couldn’t break the links, she certainly couldn’t.
The shackles attached to the chains were of a normal size, but again she found the unexpected. The wide iron bands were covered in sleeves of stitched leather, with narrow slits for the attachment rings. Her skin would be protected from the iron. Why Selig should have a care for her skin, she couldn’t begin to guess.
“Give me your right hand.”
She hesitated for only a second. If she could help it, she wasn’t going to show him how much she hated this. Let him think it made no difference to her, what form of restraint he used. But it was difficult to keep from cringing when that first shackle clicked on.
It was a tight fit, with no hope of her being able to slip her hand through it. Not made for a man, then, but still weighty. It dragged her hand back to her side when he let go of her.
She gave him her other hand before he asked. His expression altered at that, wasn’t so pleased. Had he hoped to force the chains on her? Too bad.
“Hold to Ivarr and give me your right ankle,” she was ordered next.
To hell with Ivarr. She lifted her foot without losing her balance, and maintained her balance as the next shackle went on. Again he got the other foot without having to ask. But when his last command came, her resolve ended.
“On your knees, wench.”
She didn’t budge. He looked up at her, one brow raised in question. She glared back at him, crossing her arms over her chest. The chain between her hands, a good two feet worth, allowed that.
Selig shook his head when Ivarr put a hand to her shoulder to shove her to the floor. And in the next instant he demonstrated what, besides restraint, the chains could be used for.
He did it slowly, grasping the chain that presently dangled across her waist and tugging it downward. Her arms came uncrossed, then were straightened fully as the chain reached her knees. At that point his own arm was extended, and rather than bend himself, he lifted one leg to hook his foot on the chain, then abruptly brought his foot back to the floor, the chain with it. Erika’s arms, perforce, followed, bending her completely over.
To her horror, her chin hit his upper thigh, and her eyes were mere inches above his groin. And with Ivarr still behind her, she couldn’t change the position.
“You have a choice, wench. You can remain like this, the rest of the night if necessary, or you can get to your knees as I requested.”
He hadn’t requested, he had ordered. She knew the difference. A choice? If she bit the thigh her face was fairly pressed against, would she gain her release, or merely punishment and a return to this position? She wanted to swear and rail at him. She did, in fact, want to bite him. On her knees he wanted her. Her only choice?
Erika sat down instead, right between his feet.
Selig and Ivarr both laughed heartily at her temerity, surprising her. She had expected anger for not taking one of the choices given her. She had expected to be set on her knees by force. She didn’t expect them to be amused by her outright defiance.
She crossed her arms again, now that she was able to, and stared stonily at Selig’s left knee. A hand came to her chin to lift it. She shook it off, but it returned, the grip increased just enough to keep it there.
She disdained meeting his eyes, keeping hers lowered. So she was able to see his other hand reach for what was left on the bed. She stiffened. The last shackle went around her neck anyway.
Her chin was released, for he needed both hands to click it into place beneath her hair. Her own hands came up in a frantic rush to pull the shackle away. But his grip on it was stronger than hers.
She heard the click, felt the snugness around her throat. It wasn’t choking, but might as well have been for all the panic she felt. She pulled on it uselessly now. The chain between her hands carefully tugged her fingers away from it.
She looked up at him then. Fully chained, defeated, no longer just a prisoner. The shackle around her throat declared her a slave.
He studied her for a moment before he asked curiously, “Will you beg me to remove it?”
“Go to hell.”
He smiled, that smile she hated. “You have had your way. Now I will have mine.”
He hooked a finger through the iron ring at the center of the neck shackle. With it, he lifted her, bringing her to her knees after all.
