02 – No You Don’t, Mister!My Viking Alpha
Morrigan is frustrated and drained. She had expected to open the portal to Victorian era New York and find Silar’s brother. He could stop Silar from what he’s planning. The worst-case scenario would be that Lily and she got stuck in the past. Silar would never find her there. She gets the door to her apartment open and lets the wolf go first. She closes the door with her foot and drops the book on the dining room table as she carries Lily into the bedroom. Morrigan gets Lily stripped down to her bloomers and undershirt. She leaves Lily’s little pudgy body nestled to Specially. More stuffed animals than one could count surround her. She curls contentedly into the covers, murmuring something about Puppy.
Viggo, who has transformed back into human form, watches the ritual with fascination. He cares little about being naked as the girl is asleep. He grins when Morrigan turns bright red and silently ushers him out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her. Her nails dig into his arm, and he feels the little sparks of connection between them, just like he did when he licked her in the park. This angel of a woman is scrambling his mind. He knows he should be concerned. He is in a strange place with all these structures, and scents. There is little nature here. The power radiating off her beautiful form intrigues him as well. She does not smell of the devil. She smells of Earth and Fire, natural. Even in those ridiculous garments, she is shapely, and all he wants to do in this moment is claim her as his mate.
“What the hell is wrong with you? What if she saw you again? Pervert,” Morrigan hisses at Viggo when they are across the apartment in her room. She coughs and tries to maintain her anger. Morrigan made the mistake of giving him an appraising look, and she was not disappointed.
“Pups see nakedness, Mate. I would not touch your offspring. I am not a monster.” He steps forward, trying to close the gap between them. Morrigan dances back, putting the bed between them.
“Would you put some fucking clothes on?!” She snarls at him.
He gets a wolfish grin then. “Do you have clothes that will fit me? You brought me here, Mate. I was hunting. My clothes are where I left them.” He holds his hands up, trying to show he means no harm, and then he brings his hands down to cross in front of his manhood. “Better? What is this place you have brought me to?”
Morrigan is rubbing her forehead. She had studied that incantation for a year. She knew it by heart. Lily and she should be in 1821. How did this go so wrong? When he puts his hands down in front of him, she blinks, then laughs. She laughs at the absurdity of a naked man trying to make her comfortable by covering his raging hard on. Morrigan could not help but notice his failure to completely do so. She also had to admit to herself that she is aroused by his confidence. His hungry eyes take her in like he could devour every inch of her and it makes her cheeks flush. With a groan, she turns her back to him and rummages in her dresser. When she comes back with a pair of shorts, she murmurs a few words and they transform into boxers. “Put these on,” she closes the gap to hand him the boxers.
“So, you are a witch,” he grins at her again.
“I am. I am Morrigan Finley, daughter of Catarina Finley. Member of the Ember Tree coven. What year are you from?” Morrigan watches him look at the boxers in question. He lets his fingers brush hers on purpose, and she feels it again. It’s a terrifying and powerful feeling, like she could do anything when he touches her. It radiates from her fingers down to between her legs, making her throb. This brings the blush right back to her cheeks. She absolutely was not going to sleep with this strange werewolf just because he oozes sex appeal and dominance.
“I am in my thirty-third year,” He chuckles when she startles at realizing the two of them have sat on the edge of the bed together. He inhales again, drawing in her intoxicating scent. It is taking all his restraint to not claim her. If they were near the pack, he would have already claimed her by now, regardless of her point of view on the matter. Viggo is not a dumb pup, though. He is the Beta to his elder brother and knows better than to cross a witch. Witches are revered beings that are gifts from Freya. They bring her blessings to a clan. Mani, the moon god, must be rewarding him to give him such a precious mate.
“I didn’t mean you, I meant what year was it when you went to hunt,” Morrigan sounds exasperated and tries to scoot away from him.
He casually scoots closer with a mischievous smirk on his face. He knew well what she was asking. He enjoys seeing her flustered like this. It’s adorable. He leans in close, “Oh, so that is what you wished to know. In that case,” his voice a sultry growl near her, “you must give me something for the answer.”
“What?” Morrigan gasps and leans away from him, trapped at the edge of the bed. “No. Nuh uh,” she waggles her finger at him. “I am not giving you anything.”
“Suit yourself, Morrigan Finley.” With that, he eases himself onto the bed fully, lying on his back and tucking his hands behind his head. Viggo had not bothered to put on the boxers. He also cannot wipe that arrogant smirk off his face. He knows women want him. Fenrir knows how many of the free maids his brother and Luna have thrown at him in their desperate attempt to tame him.
“Fine. What do you want?” Morrigan tries not to look back at him, laying on her bed where he is attempting to trick her into mounting him.
“An honest answer to a question of mine,” he casually responds.
“Okay,” Morrigan replies in irritation.
“It is the year 1281 by the Christian calendar. Do they even still use that method? Or did all those heathens die off?” He rolls his eyes.
“What? Oh. Yeah. Christians are everywhere. Kind of like cockroaches,” Morrigan muses. “What is your question?”
Viggo clears his throat, which makes Morrigan turn to face him, and he waggles his eyebrows at her. The wolfish grin on his face says he knows exactly what his body looks like and then he briefly looks to his manhood, makes it bob for her again and then meets her gaze, bringing all his smolder to bear on her.
“Oh, no you don’t!” Morrigan whips up off the bed. “This is my bed. You sleep on the floor, or on the couch, in the other room. I am not having sex with you! My daughter is in the next room! Pervert.”
“What? You would be such a poor host to your mate? She’s asleep.” He pouts at her, letting his manhood bob.
Morrigan throws a pillow right onto his manhood. “Nope. Not happening. Not again. I’ve been married, pal, and he wants to kill me.”
This makes Viggo spring right up off the bed. “Where is he? I will solve this problem. No one harms my-,” All the playfulness has left his demeanor, but he cannot finish his sentence out loud. Morrigan has her fingers pinched in the air, having thrown a silence hex on him.
“No. You’re not listening. No more talking until you do. I am no one’s mate. You are not going to go kill anyone. And you are going to sleep on the couch, clothed. Got it?” Her eyes blaze as she looks at him. He grins and grimaces, then finally just shrugs. She releases him at that point.
“As you wish, mate,” he picks up the boxers and slides them on. Then, with abnormal speed he draws her right into him, kissing her hard. Morrigan loses herself in the kiss. Until his hands roam down to cup her ass. Then she steps back and slaps him. The ringing sound of her hand connecting with his cheek makes him laugh.
“Bad, Puppy,” she tries to sound angry, but is blushing and smiling. Viggo grins and winks at her as he struts from the room. He definitely postures for her as she shuts the door on him. Morrigan sinks down the door and looks to the ceiling. “What have I gotten myself into?”