Page 8 of Hungry Like a Wolf (Vikings Rock #3)

C armel looked up at the huge, bearded Viking, hardly believing her ears. “I beg your pardon?”

“Did he fuck you? My brother?”

“What?” She shook her head. “No, thank the Lord above, he didn’t.” She crossed herself out of habit.

“He didn’t touch you at all?”

“No.”

“Good.” He reached for her upper arms, wrapping his big fingers around them, and then pulled her to standing. “Because that would be wrong. It wouldn’t be wrong with just any slave—that would be up to him—but you being a princess, it wouldn’t be right, not at all.”

His vehemence surprised her. “I didn’t think Norsemen had any morals, princess or not.” She tilted her right eyebrow. “Or am I mistaken?”

“I think you have heard sagas and I think maybe you have not met the men of Drangar.”

“I can safely say I have, as have most of my father’s army, much to their peril.”

He nodded slowly, still studying her.

His quiet, intense gaze unnerved her as much as Orm’s flapping and rapid dialect that seemed to slip into his native tongue, creating a hybrid language that he entertained himself with. She took a step away. “What is wrong with your brother?”

He huffed. “Which one?”

“This one.” She gestured to the fur Orm had been sitting on; it was still flattened from his ass.

Ravn chuckled. “He was sent by the gods to test the patience of my parents, and now he tests the patience of his siblings.”

“He is…” She hesitated, not wanting to offend the tall bulk of muscle standing before her. “He is excitable.”

“ Ja , he is.” He reached forward and crooked his finger beneath her chin, tilting her face to his.

The gentle action had her breath catching in her throat and she tried not to think of the axe, sword, and dagger hanging from his belt or the scar over his right eye that sliced his eyebrow in two.

“He is excitable, but I do not wish him to be excitable with you.”

She swallowed, her throat tight.

“What I’m saying is if he tries to take you, mount you, you must shout for me.” His lips pressed into a tight line and he shook his head. “I will not have your honor disrespected, not when one day the goddess Freya will question me about my actions here in Tillicoulty.”

Carmel wanted to thank Ravn, but what if he said this because he wanted her for himself? What if it was because he wanted to claim her and take her maidenhood?

“So you promise?” he asked. “You will shout for me. I will listen for you, and if you need me, I will be at your side.”

“Why?”

He half-smiled. “Why not?”

Suddenly, he stepped away, to the door.

“I don’t understand,” she said, pulling in a deep breath. “Why are you being like this? I am an enemy of Tillicoulty, and right now, the lowest of the low in this village. Why are you being nice to me?”

He turned slowly to face her, shadows licking over his face. “I have come to learn my place, the way you have yours.”

“You are a king and a free man.” She held in a huff. “I don’t see your problem.”

“I have also come to see the faces of my constant companions.” He paused and held up his hand with three fingers pointing upward. “Regret. Grief. Loneliness. They do not make great bedfellows.”

“Grief, I have made friends with.” She held back the catch in her voice and blinked a few times to abate the prickle in her lower lids. “My father’s head is on a pike just yonder.”

He frowned. “For that, I am sorry and I had no part in it.”

She turned away to face the wall and stared at a small, black bug climbing up the stonework.

“War is unkind to all who know it.”

He was suddenly behind her again, close. His body heat radiated onto her back and his breaths breezed on her neck.

“My mother will be distraught when she hears the news,” Carmel whispered. “She loved him very much.”

“And she will want vengeance?”

Carmel turned to him, a sudden spark lighting her belly. “Aye, she will. My mother is not a woman to be crossed.”

“I sense it runs in the family.” He swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, leaving a soft sheen there. “Would your husband agree with me?”

“I am unwed.” She held up her left hand. “Look.”

“I do not know what that means.” He frowned at her fingers.

“No wedding ring.” She tutted. This man really was a heathen.

“So does that mean…” He bent his head closer.

So close, his nose nearly touched hers and she could see the star inked onto his face in stark detail.

Her instincts told her to step back, get away from this brute of a man, but the warrior in her stood her ground and she stared up at him defiantly. “Does that mean what?”

“That you are a virgin?” He raised his eyebrows as though amused at the very thought.

“If you are asking if I am a good Christian girl saving myself for marriage, then aye, I am.” A prickle of heat went up her spine and over her scalp. Her breasts tingled and she pressed her legs together as heat went through her. This was not a proper conversation to be having with a man.

“‘Girl’? I’d say you were all woman,” he murmured, his voice low and dark. “And being the age you are and not knowing what it is like to have a man in your bed, a cock in your cunny, is surely a… What do you call it…? A sin.”

A sudden burst of temper gripped her and she placed her hands on his chest and shoved. “How dare you speak of me that way? Of my… Of my…”

He laughed and stepped away. “How dare I talk of your royal cunny? Is that what you mean?”

“Aye.” She slammed her hands onto her hips.

“You didn’t mind a few moments ago when I said I would protect your cunny’s honor from my brother’s desires.”

Her belly clenched and she swallowed the taste of bile, sickened at the thought of Orm scrabbling between her legs and penetrating her.

“And I will protect you from him,” Ravn said, heading to the door again. “But not because I want you, just so we’re clear. But from one royal to another, it is the least I can do.”

“You are trying to make amends?”

“I’m trying a new path.”

“That may be, but it’s too late for your soul to be saved. For any of your souls to be saved.” She flicked her hand in the direction of the battlefield. “The blood and guts out there tell the story.”

“From what I’ve heard, Tillicoulty did not go searching for this fight, it came to them. Think about that, Princess.” He tapped the side of his head. “Think about that.”

Suddenly, he was gone, slipping out of the dwelling nimbly for a man of his size.

“Damn you to hell and the devil’s eternal flame,” she muttered, sloshing ale into a mug. As she sipped, she looked at the chain discarded on the floor. “God giveth, then God taketh away.”

What on earth was she going to do about her predicament?

*

“Thrall!”

Carmel jumped at the sound of Orm’s voice hollering from outside. She’d been praying beside her meager bed and enjoying the quiet, calming ritual.

“We need logs.” He pushed into the dwelling holding a dead chicken. “Go chop some.”

She scrabbled to her feet. “Aye, I’ll do it now.”

Slipping past him, she felt glad that it was a task that didn’t involve her doing something for him directly—washing his feet, plaiting his hair, or pouring his ale.

Outside, the snow still lay on the ground, though it was defrosting in the midday sun and dripped from the turf roofs. She spotted a pile of thick logs beside a tree stump that had an axe lodged into it.

She glanced around. The village was going about its business. Children played, a few older women chatted by the well, a dog chased a cat, and smoke drifted into the sky spreading the pleasant scent of food cooking.

But the scene didn’t bring solace to Carmel.

This wasn’t her home and she wanted to get away.

Her castle on the western coast awaited her.

A place where good Christians followed the rules of God and the scriptures.

A place where she gave the orders and was waited on while her parents deliberated over possible marriage matches—something they could never agree on.

“Lord, give me strength,” she muttered as she gripped the axe in the wood.

She pulled, then pulled harder—it was lodged solid.

Setting her foot on the stump and heaving with all her might, she felt it finally come free, though the force of it had her staggering backward and almost falling over, the axe was so heavy.

With a frown, she reached for a log and balanced it on the stump. The ground was slippery and she secured her footing before raising the hefty axe above her head.

For a moment, it teetered there, almost threatening to tip her over backward with the weight, then she brought it down with a violent blow, slicing the log in half and sending it skittering.

A sense of satisfaction went through her and she reached for another log.

She swung again, but this time, her aim wasn’t as accurate and she splintered the side of the log and buried the axe deep into the stump.

“Oh, in the name of…” She gripped it and pulled, trying to free it from its bind. Closing her eyes, she grimaced, then pulled some more. “Damn it.” The thing was well and truly stuck.

She glanced at the doorway, wondering if she should ask Orm to get it out.

No. She’d rather he stay away from her.

Another pull and a yank with a twist this time. But it was no good. The blade was lodged in tightly.

“You in a fix?”

She looked up.

Ravn was striding toward her.

“No.” She scowled and pulled again.

He stopped with his hands on his hips. He’d removed his cloak and wore a gray tunic with a deep open ‘ v ’ at the front that showed chest hair. “You sure?”

“Aye.”

She set her foot on the stump to put her entire weight behind her next heave.

He watched her struggle, one eyebrow raised.

“Damn and blast,” she muttered, releasing a fast exhalation and stepping away.

“Here. Let me.” He curled his fist around the axe handle, gave one effortless yank, and freed it.

Her irritation increased. Sometimes, it was maddening to be a feeble woman.

“Pass me that.” He nodded at a log.

“What?”

“Just do it.”

She gave him a thick log.

He set it on the stump. “Orm tell you to do this?”

“Aye.” She folded her arms.

He brought the axe down with deadly accuracy, splitting the thick log in two with a thwack and sending both pieces falling to the floor. “Next.”

“But…”

“Pass me another.” He held out his hand.

“Orm will…”

“Orm will what?”

“He told me to do this.” Despite her protest, she handed over another log.

“And I’ll do it for you.” He split the log. “Because otherwise, you’re going to take your own leg off and then you’ll be no use to him or anyone else.”

“I can chop logs.”

“I’m sure you can, and you could today if you had a lighter axe.” He picked up the log she’d splintered but not split and chopped it in two. “This is an axe made for a man. You could do it if you had a woman’s axe. Like the one Astrid has.”

“Your sister?”

“ Ja .” He nodded at the log pile. “Keep ’em coming.”

She positioned another log on the stump then stepped back as he chopped it. His breath huffed out in front of him and the tendons on his neck strained as he hoisted the heavy axe above his head.

“Hot work,” he said after a few minutes and several more logs. He wiped the back of his hand over his glistening brow and chuckled. “Not that I’m complaining. Back in Drangar, it’s hard to get hot this time of year.”

“How many people live in Drangar?”

“A few hundred, not including the children.”

“And it is by a river?”

He hit another log, splitting it into two perfectly equal halves. “It is on the shore of a fjord.”

“What is a fjord?”

“An inlet of water, with mountains either side.” He set down the axe and gripped the base of his tunic. In one swift movement, he pulled it up over his head and tossed it to the side, where it landed on a stack of the split logs.

Carmel swallowed, her throat suddenly tight.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen a man’s naked torso before—of course she had—but never one like Ravn’s.

His muscles had muscles and his belly was a series of bricks.

His pectorals were wide and defined and the round balls of his shoulders led to thick, bulging biceps; the right had a long scar.

A strip of dark hair ran from his navel to his pants and his left nipple was pierced with a silver bar.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “What?”

She tore her attention away and grabbed another log to be split. “Here.”

In one smooth movement, he drew the axe over his head then crashed it down. Tendons flexed beneath his smooth, golden flesh and he grunted with the effort.

“Brother, what are you doing?” Orm appeared with his hands in the air. “That is the job of my thrall.”

“This axe is too heavy for her.” Ravn held the handle in both hands and tossed it upward before catching it. “You should be more thoughtful.”

“Huh, why do I need to be when you are here?” He tapped the side of his head. “Though it is not a trait I remember in you. Oh, no, you usually only think of yourself.”

Ravn huffed and indicated for another log.

Carmel was quick to provide it.

“And on the subject of you being here, when are you leaving?” Orm asked, skipping backward as the split log flew his way and crashed to the ground at his feet.

“Why? You don’t like my company?”

“There is a reason I left Drangar.” Orm shrugged.

“You left because of father as much as me.”

“That might be true.” Orm twiddled his thumbs in a fast, frantic movement. “But now you have taken his place as king.”

“So you would have stayed if Haakon had killed me and he’d become King of Drangar?”

Carmel watched as Orm rolled his eyes and twisted his mouth as though thinking intensely. The brothers had a very strange relationship and a history she didn’t understand.

“Er, maybe I would have and maybe I wouldn’t.” Orm shrugged. “You’ll never know.”

Ravn huffed and reached for another log. He balanced it then brought down the axe. A sheen of sweat sat between his shoulder blades and on the hair at his sternum.

“I will leave you,” Orm said. “You seem to enjoy the company of my thrall.” He cackled and said something in his native language then threw his hand in the air and turned.

“Fool,” Ravn muttered.

Carmel folded her arms, hugging herself, if Ravn had taken her as his thrall, life maybe wouldn’t have been so bad.

No! What was she thinking? She didn’t want to be a slave to either of the heathen brothers.