Ravish Her Completely (2 page)

Stian Dagmar moved through the forest, his bow and arrow forward, his eyes scanning the surroundings in hopes of finding dinner tonight. Winter was coming, and he needed to stock up on supplies. Being away from the rest of the village had its benefits and disadvantages, but in the end he preferred his solitary existence, and preferred to be known as the Beast of Northbrook. He didn’t try to socialize with his people, didn’t help or fight when they needed. They made sure to keep him at a distance, and he made sure to stay away.

The sound of a bird overhead had him crouching, scanning the treetops, and listening. He scented the change of the seasons in the air, felt it as the coldness in the air that skated down his spine. He lifted his bow when he saw a Blue Skalla in the treetops, the massive bird flapping its wings and opening its beak to let out a loud noise. The Blue Skalla was plentiful in this part of the region, but they were hard to catch, swift in the air and had superior eyesight and hearing. But Stian was skilled in taking down these birds.

Stian aimed the arrow at the bird, and in a swift, soundless move let the arrow go. It landed right in the bird’s massive chest, and the creature fell to the forest floor. He moved over the brush and thick roots of the spruce trees that littered these parts of the forest. After picking up the carcass he turned to head back to his hut, which was far away from the other villagers. He was already far too close to the village for his comfort. But it was necessary as he had to hunt and eat, and stocking up on provisions meant he needed to go anywhere and everywhere that was necessary.

He was about to leave, but the sight of a motionless body on the ground, of brightly colored clothing covering the form atop the fallen leaves, had him stilling. He crouched once more. He waited for movement, knowing it was a human. Seeing the strange coloring of the clothing it wore led Stian to believe it was not someone from this area.

When no movement occurred for several moments he stood, grabbed the ax at his side, and walked toward the form. He stopped a few feet from it, and stared down at what he realized was a young female. Her skin was a pale, creamy color, and her long blonde hair was matted with dirt and leaves. She lay right in the middle of a mud patch, and her clothing was torn and dirty. He looked at her, stared at the strange, colorful things she wore, and the small satchel type bag that lay just a few feet from her.

Stian should have left her, but she would have surely die, especially when the sun set and the temperature dropped. It was frigid at night, especially with no fire to heat her. But something inside of Stian wouldn’t move away, wouldn’t forget about this stranger that was not from the neighboring village.

He glanced up, could see the very tops of the huts in the village just a short distance away, and told himself someone would surely come out hunting and find her. He turned, took a step away from her, but stopped. Stian turned around again and crouched before her. He sheathed his ax at his hip once more, reached out, and pushed a strand of her hair away.

She had a nasty wound on her forehead, dried blood on her flesh and hair, and a bruise starting to form. He scanned the rest of her body, took in the garments she wore, and picked at the material. The fabric was like nothing he’d ever felt or seen, seemingly to be poorly made. She wore no leathers and had no weapons. Who was this woman? Surely the gods had not dropped her here to die?

He looked at her face again. She was a beautiful woman, even if she was hurt, filthy, and clearly not of his people. But maybe that was a good thing. His people had shunned him, forced him out because they feared him. Stian welcomed that fear in them, though. It made them wary, made them smarter. She ate well, that he could tell by the thickness of her body, and the curves he could see through her filthy, wet clothing.

He lifted her easily into his arms. She was small, much shorter than his towering height. He could have left her to die, but instead he’d bring her back to his hut and make her his. He was in need of a wife, a bed partner, and what a perfect gift from the gods for a monster like him. Whoever she was didn’t matter anymore, because now she was the wife of Stian Dagmar.

****

Agata opened her eyes. The lighting was dim, and not painful as she looked at the ceiling. Her head throbbed, but the feeling of a warm, wet cloth on her forehead was pleasing. How had she gotten back to the hotel? She closed her eyes again, lifted her hand to rub her aching head, and breathed out. She couldn’t remember much, didn’t think she’d even had any alcohol at the festival, but she had to have gotten drunk to be feeling this way, right?

Opening her eyes again, she blinked at the ceiling, and then knitted her brows. That wasn’t the ceiling in her hotel room, not with those crude wooden beams, and what was that?
Hay?
When she pushed herself up a wince and gasp left her as her arm gave out from her weight. Looking down, she noticed a white bandage wrapped around her forearm, but it was the thick animal hides and fur she was on that had her confused. Was she still at the festival, maybe in one of the novelty huts?

The sound of metal on metal had her snapping her head to the right. She felt her eyes widen at the sight of a very naked male back in her view. The man that was crouched before a fire set in the center of the hut was monstrously big, with wide shoulders, and muscles layered upon each other. He also had scars that ran crisscross on the wide expanse, and what looked like Nordic symbols inked into his biceps and sides, back and shoulders. She could see his biceps, saw the same inked markings on them as well, and wondered what the front part of him looked like.

“Um, hello?” She cleared her throat, feeling like she’d swallowed a bucket full of sand. What she needed were some painkillers for this wicked headache and the throbbing in her arm. “Am I still at the festival?”

Why would she even ask that? Of course she was at the festival still, because no one lived this primal and raw anymore, not even in this part of the world. Did they?

The man hadn’t moved, hadn’t responded to her question either. Maybe he didn’t speak English?

“Hello? Am I at the festival still?” She asked in Norwegian this time, and even though it was rusty and probably thick with her American accent she knew he would have understood her well enough. He still didn’t respond or move. She pushed herself up on the bed and looked around more thoroughly now. The hut was bigger than the ones she’d seen at the festival. There was a long-standing fire basin in the center of the one room, and through the sides of the fire basin she saw the crackling flames and felt its heat. There was a scarred, wooden table off to the side, with wooden bowls, metal, crude looking utensils, and a basket full of vegetables and fruit. Bones and feathers hung from the ceiling, and she saw weapons close to the front door, as well as sporadically placed around the room. The floor was dirt covered wooden planks, and the fact there wasn’t anything modern about this place, nothing familiar to her, had her heart pounding harder with confusion and hesitation. She looked out the window, or at least tried to, but in her position and the way the wood shutters were positioned only showed her glimpses of trees.

“Excuse me,” she said more determinedly now. Bracing her hand on the hide, she pushed herself up as best she could because of her injured arm. One standing she swayed, her head growing fuzzy and starting to pound fiercely. She immediately sat back down and cupped her forehead. “I need to know where I’m at. I have to get back to the hotel. I have a flight to catch.” What time was it? What day was it even?

She dropped her hands to her sides and stared at the man again. He slowly started to rise, and she craned her neck to look at his towering height. Even in the sitting position and from the distance she was at she had to tilt her head back just to look at him. The leather pants he wore formed to his massively large thighs, and his height was staggering. She actually moved back on the pallet, not sure what in the hell was going on, but her flight or fight instincts were kicking in.

He turned around, his long blond hair falling to the bottom of his shoulder blades, and the plaits on either side of his temples making him seem more dangerous. His chest was hard, defined, and littered with scars. It was like this man was a warrior from long ago. He held a cup, a long, discolored looking one that was strange in appearance. But as he came closer, she realized it was actually a horn. She moved back another inch on the pallet, and when he stopped a few feet from her all she could do was stare at him.

He was huge, easily over six and a half feet in height, and his muscles were honed to godly proportions. He had leather ties wrapped around his bulging biceps, and when she looked down at his chest, saw the Nordic symbols and designs in his flesh, snaking around his arms and sides, even around his pecs, this strange arousal consumed her. God, what was wrong with her? What was she thinking to be feeling anything more than shock and horror that she was clearly not where she should be?

She stared into his face, looked right into his cold, hard blue eyes that were so bright in color they seemed unnatural, and she felt fear unlike anything she’d ever felt before slam into her. He held out the horn cup, and she eyed it. The memories of where she’d been before waking up in this hut came back to her: the old woman, the words she’d spoken, and then the drink Agata had consumed. No fucking way was she going to drink anything this man gave her. The last time she consumed anything landed her in this situation … wherever
this
was.

“I’m not thirsty.” For all she knew this man was some kind of psycho, wanting to experience some other time and live like a barbarian. Who knew what in the hell he wanted with her. She stood, not about to stay here any longer, especially when it was clear he wasn’t about to respond to her questions or tell her where she was or what was going on.

He pushed the cup to her again, and she shook her head, not taking her eyes off of him.

“I said I’m not thirsty. Why won’t you answer me?” She was speaking in Norwegian now, hoping that this man, this beast of a male, wouldn’t just stare at her like he was possibly thinking about how warm her skin would be during the winter months.

“
Dua manki drekka, konna mae,” he said in a hoarse, slightly scratchy voice. He wasn’t speaking a dialect of Norwegian she knew, and although she had no clue what he’d said, she did recognize one of the words.

Wife.
Why in the hell had he called her wife? Was this a joke? She looked around, went to stand because she needed to get out of here, but he shoved the horn cup in her face.

“Dua manki drekka.” He reached out, gently, but firmly grabbed her uninjured arm, and pulled her closer. “Konna, drekka.” He put the rim of the cup at her mouth, tilted it back, and poured the contents in her mouth.

She sputtered, but realized it was just water. She still wasn’t about to drink it. Agata wasn’t going to stay here either. With her head still aching, her arm throbbing painfully, she managed to muster up her strength and push past the Hulk of a man. He was either taken off guard by her sudden movements, or he wasn’t worried about her getting away, because he moved away far too easily.

She moved through the small hut toward the front entrance, and glanced over her shoulder to see him watching her. She was frozen for a moment, not knowing why she wasn’t escaping right now while he stood still. But the way he watched her, with hooded eyes, and this fierce determination in his expression, had fear and coldness moving through her. This man was dangerous, that was for sure.

Agata pushed open the wooden door, and the chill in the air startled her for a moment. She had no clue where she was. The woods surrounded her on every side, and the sun was just starting to set. She wouldn’t be able to see anything if she ran.

She looked over her shoulder once more, heard the low growl that came from him, and watched as he tossed the cup to the side of the room. Agata took off, not thinking about anything anymore. She felt her lungs burn as she moved through the forest, not knowing where she was going, but not caring. Getting away was the only important thing right now.

Her legs weren’t injured, but her head was growing more painful by the second, and her arm was tucked right against her chest. She cradled it, not sure how it had gotten hurt in the first place. Agata didn’t care if he had tended to her. She didn’t know who he was or what he wanted with her, and didn’t know where she was. It was clear that man wouldn’t be forthcoming with any answers.

She knew she’d missed her flight. It had been nightfall when she was at the festival, and with the sun just now setting it had to be at least the following day. Like one of those fools in horror movies she looked behind her shoulder. She couldn’t help it. Agata needed to know where he was, and if he was coming after her. The flash of his blond hair came through a break in the trees. He was running parallel with her, tracking her … hunting her. A soft cry left her at the nightmare she was in now.

The sight of light in the distance had her hopes rising. Was it the small town that the festival had been at? She ran harder, pushed herself faster, and knew that she needed to get to the tree line. That way she could yell out for help. The closer she got the more she felt like everything would be okay, but when she saw the rows of huts, crudely made and not of the twenty-first century, her footsteps stalled slightly.

She fell forward, her foot getting caught in one of the roots, and landed on her injured arm. Crying out from pain, she forced herself to stand up and move forward. She broke through the trees and stepped into the village. God, where in the hell was she?